The first person I spoke to, as I left the airport to enter the cacophony of Port-au-Prince, was a woman seeking to offer me taxi service. While we were driving I asked her the natural questions about "l'événement" (the event) as Haitians discretely refer to the earthquake, seeking to put it behind them by using a non-specific word.
She told me she had lost her husband and that her dream was to own a tent where she and her new-born could live. A simple enough dream, but a huge challenge amidst the desperation of two million homeless seeking shelter.
As the car negotiated the mountain of rubble that is today's Port-au-Prince I found myself wondering what her dreams had been before the earthquake when her husband, alive and hopeful, cradled their new daughter in his warm arms.