Traffic in Haiti

Traffic jams exist in every major city in the world. My past records for gridlock were both in Ontario. In the late sixties, travelling with my Mom from Calgary to Toronto, we spent two hours on the 401 just north of Toronto. Nothing moved for those hours and then miraculously the traffic flowed quickly into Toronto. I remember my Mom was very tired and cranky. During the seventies, on my way home to Toronto from the Formula One Canadian Grand Prix at Mosport, I spent another two hours in a traffic jam.

Today I set a new record. On the way back from Jacmel to Port au Prince the traffic stopped in Carrefour, which is only about 10 miles from Port au Prince. The traffic moved so slowly, perhaps a meter a minute at best, and mostly not at all.

Now, I knew the traffic would be bad. The traffic was bad when I visited in March 2010 after the earthquake. Yesterday, the trip from the hospital to the hotel took 45 minutes to travel a modest 8 km. This morning we left for Jacmel at 6:30 AM, but this was not early enough to beat the traffic. We took 45 minutes to get out of the city. So, based on this, I asked the driver what time we needed to leave Jacmel to arrive back at the hotel at 5:30 (before dark) and he said 3 PM, but 2:30 would be best. I made sure that we left just before 2:30 PM, but the traffic stopped at Carrefour just after 4 PM. I gave up three hours later and asked the driver to turn around.

Fortunately, we had just passed a sign for Auberge du Quebec, a hotel I recognized as ranked in the top three on Trip Advisor. I asked the driver to turn around, and now, at 8 PM, I have a cup of hot tea, and an Internet connection, poolside. There is a Haitian wedding in progress in the restaurant. All is well. Now, this hotel is not La Ville Creole, but this hotel is far better than sitting in the dark in traffic with literally thousands of Haitian men and women walking by a car with a Blanc inside. I felt like a sitting duck.

After the first hour in the traffic jam I asked Samuel, the driver, who speaks OK English, if this kind of traffic is common. “Yes,” he replied.

At the 1½-hour mark, I asked the same question. “Yes,” he replied but with less conviction.

“So,” I responded, “what is the longest you have spent to drive from Carrefour to Port au Prince?” He thought for a bit and then responded, “Two hours.” 

At two hours, I suggested we turn around and go the Auberge du Quebec. Sam did not want to turn around. He wanted to stay in the traffic. He told me that we would lose whatever progress we had made if we turned around. I was not comfortable with his logic. He counseled patience. As best as I could tell, my patience was exceptional.

At the 2½-hour mark I asked Sam to turn around. Took us almost half an hour to go back the four blocks to the hotel, which was buried in some very dark streets off the main road.

Sam told me he “hates traffic,” which must be a real problem for a driver in Haiti. He was clearly frustrated in the traffic. He never lost his patience but he got close a few times with other drivers who were more aggressive. We had to wait a long time to cross the traffic to turn towards the hotel and when he finally did turn he pressed the pedal to the metal and roared in front of an oncoming pick-up truck.

What surprises me is that traffic moves at all in Haiti. Most of the cars are ten or twenty years old. No one in their right mind would drive a new car on these roads. Very few cars do not have multiple scrapes and dents. I suspect you can predict the age of a car by how many corners are pushed in. My sense is that it takes less than a year for one corner, and about ten years for all four corners. There are broken down cars and trucks beside the road everywhere. Two of the tires on Sam’s Nissan SUV were close to bald. He was careful with potholes with good cause. 

The roads are narrow, full of potholes, and there is no real concept of lines. Any side of the road is fine if the oncoming traffic is slow. Traffic accidents are the number one cause of death and serious injury at the hospital. The roads are filled with motorcycles, which weave around the cars with reckless abandon. Some motorcycles carry three people. Helmets are not common. 

There are lots of trucks and buses, all overloaded, and every open truck has passengers on top of whatever the vehicle is transporting and some of these people look as if they might be sleeping, which really amazes me. Perhaps they are tied onto the truck. Every bus has at least one person standing on the rear bumper and holding onto the luggage rack above.

Breathing in traffic is an issue. My lungs have been assaulted. They feel heavy and about an hour into the traffic jam I developed a dry cough, which I am sure is related to the toxic effects of gas and diesel fumes mixed with dust.

I arranged a driver back to La Villa Creole at 6 AM. Hopefully the traffic will have cleared by then, and I will find out if the traffic is any better from 6 to 6:30 AM.