As I made my way into Port-au-Prince today, I kept waiting to see it. Waiting to see what was going to shock and horrify me, traumatize me forever. I saw a few collapsed buildings, houses leaning against each other, and some "We need food and water" signs. It was bad, but not nearly as horrible as I had expected. It really came as a shock to me, the fact that it was not the end of the world. Or at least it didn't seem like it.
It's partly because I didn't see the immediate aftermath, the sky covered with dust, the dead bodies on the street. But I realize now, after speaking to people on the street and off, that the horror lies in the individual stories. The terror they felt. The consequences they are dealing with. The lives that they've lost. And the fact that it will take months, years, for them to recover from this.