We are loading up with supplies to take to Haiti in the aftermath of Tuesday’s natural disaster.
The Dominican Republic and Haiti might share the same island, but historically that’s where the similarities end, writes Channel 4 News producer Hannah Storm.
The people of these two countries have different colonial forefathers, the French and Spanish, so speak different languages and while the streets of the Dominican Republic pulsate to the Latin rhythms of merengue and salsa, the culture of Haiti is a compelling mix of West African Creole, complete with Voodoo, and French colonial heritage.
Haiti was the first place in the New World where Christopher Columbus attempted to construct a permanent settlement and in years gone by it was a tourist destination but today that privilege is reserved solely for those who live to the east.
The Dominican Republic is a verdant land with a booming tourist industry.
Crossing the border is like a entering a different world. There’s a visible line where the Dominican green ends and the brown-grey deforested landscape of Haiti begins.
But for now we are in Santo Domingo the capital of the Dominican Republic, the first city actually built by the Europeans in the New World.
And we are loading up with supplies to take to Haiti in the aftermath of Tuesday’s natural disaster.
I ask Domingo our taxi driver if he felt the earthquake. “I felt a little shudder,” he explains, adding, “What happened in Haiti is a disaster. We haven’t been that alike in the past but now there’s a real solidarity between us and them.
“The wards of the hospitals here are filling up with people. They are seeking refuge here. We want to help.”
On the outside wall of a large commercial centre, a banner has been unfurled announcing a three-day fundraising drive for Haitians.
Clearly we are not the first to come for supplies. The pharmacy is running low on anti-diarrhoea medicine.
It has no more water purification tablets and we buy all of their stock of face masks and not those of the skin purifying kind.
We have been warned that the smell of dead bodies is one we want to try and limit as much as possible.
After buying various other bits and pieces, we go to the baby department.
“You can never have too many wet wipes,” my colleague Graham says. As the mother of a small child, and knowing we’re going into a hot, dusty dirty place where clean running water is unlikely, I agree entirely.
The hardware and camping departments supply us with a rope, penknives, tarpaulin, fuel cans, torches, batteries and a fold-up shovel.
There are two teams from Channel 4 News ahead of us in Port-au-Prince and we are getting supplies for them too.
Even still we left the UK in such a rush that we both need to pick up some warm weather clothes.
Neither of the other teams was able to buy a map. It’s not as easy as it sounds. I finally lay my hands on what feels like the only map of the island in the country.
I’m thankful to have grabbed my eight-year-old travel guide and taken it to the island.
It’s already proved itself invaluable in many ways. In fact I had a Norwegian TV crew try and buy it from me as we arrived yesterday.
We attract strange glances as we pile bottle after bottle of water into our trolley and then at the checkout a knowing word from the man behind us, “are you going to Haiti? It’s too terrible what has happened. Be so very careful.”
Shopping list in hand we find another pharmacy for what is left to buy.
The lady asks me to take some medicine she wants to donate. I apologise, feeling bad that I can’t help, but reassuring her we’ll leave what we don’t use behind. Like so many of the Dominican people we’ve met in the past 24 hours, she is visibly shocked by what has happened to her fellow islanders. She wishes us luck.
Loaded up, we head for the airport to collect Jon Snow and a fellow producer Helene.
They are bringing tents and sleeping bags and army-style rations.
Then it’s a trip to the petrol station to fill those fuel containers, as Haiti has apparently all but run out of petrol.
As we weave in and out of the traffic in Santo Domingo, less than a day before we expect to arrive in Port-au-Prince, past petrol stations, supermarkets and to a functioning airport, it’s a stark reminder of the disparities that can be present on such a small island.