Port-au-Prince, Haiti -- I am returning home from Haiti, and the first thing that I am going to do when I get home is hug my daughters and count my blessings. A week ago, when I was en route to the earthquake- 
ravaged country, I didn't know what to expect. All I knew was that the first images being shown on television were those of total destruction. But it's one thing to watch it on television, and another to witness it yourself.

My crew and I arrived by helicopter at the Dominican Embassy in Port-au-Prince. The Dominican military was kind enough to transport us to a place where we might find our co-workers, who had arrived a day before. There was no water, no electricity and no communication except for satellite phones. The country was virtually isolated from the rest of the world.

As we traveled through the streets of the capital, the grim reality of what had happened began to unfold before our eyes. I was dumbfounded. I saw building after building reduced to rubble -- homes, businesses, factories, schools, hospitals, all in ruins. It wasn't just a specific sector of the city, no. There was not a single street that did not have a collapsed structure, and the few that were still standing were damaged.

On the streets were thousands of people walking in both directions, without an apparent place to go. Some carried bags or suitcases with whatever belongings they were able to recover. What most impressed me about these people on the streets was the blank look on their faces. It wasn't the expected look of pain and suffering or horror and confusion; it was an empty look, perhaps a look of hopelessness.

Continuing our journey through the streets of the Haitian capital, the scene became gruesome. There were dead bodies lying on the streets, some covered by sheets or cardboard boxes, or simply exposed. As days went by, bodies began to pile up, and were being loaded into trucks, then thrown into mass graves. Some were incinerated. There was fear that the decaying bodies would provoke disease.

In the town of Carrefour, south of Port-au-Prince, villagers blocked the roads in protest. They complained that the bodies thrown in the middle of the street were emanating a horrible stench. But no one stopped to ask who they were. Could it have been a neighbor, or someone's aunt, brother or grandfather? Those bodies never would be identified and never would receive a dignified burial.

Those who were lucky enough to survive were living in dire conditions. They set up makeshift refugee camps in any open space they could find -- parks, fields, monuments, sidewalks.   Tons of aid from around the world was not reaching those in need. It just sat there in crates and trucks on the airport tarmac for several days, while the authorities figured out how to deal with the logistical nightmare.

The Haitian government just could not deal with the calamity on its own. Virtually all of the government buildings were destroyed, and hundreds of government employees died under the rubble. The prime minister handed over control of the airport to the U.S. military to help coordinate the distribution of the aid and to support the U.N. peacekeeping forces in what was becoming a state of anarchy on the streets.

The Haitian minister of communications told me it was difficult to distribute aid when in every street there were people who needed food and water. In every street there were people who were injured and needed urgent medical care. In every street there were people who were trying to deal with the loss of their loved ones.

It is difficult to grasp the immensity of the tragedy unless you see it in person. There is not a single Haitian who did not lose a family member or friend. In a matter of 40 seconds on Jan. 12, the landscape of Port-au-Prince changed, and its population was reduced by possibly hundreds of thousands.

When I get home tonight, I am going to go to sleep in my bed with my daughters. But I can't help but think of all those women in Haiti who will never see their children again, and all those kids who will grow up orphans. That is why I count my blessings.

***

(Maria Elena Salinas is the author of “I AM MY FATHER'S DAUGHTER: LIVING A LIFE WITHOUT SECRETS.” Reach her at www .mariaesalinas.com)

© 2010 by Maria Elena Salinas

Distributed by King Features Syndicate