Monocle

 “Why is it so difficult to find Vicks Vapour Rub in the Dominican Republic?” asks my producer. We have already stopped at three pharmacies without any luck. “I don’t know,” I tell her, even though I do know the dreadful reason. She is already worried about driving into Haiti from the Dominican Republic and I don’t want to give her another reason to panic.

We finally find two jars of the precious rub in Duborge, a small Dominican town an hour from the border. By then, however, she isn’t wondering why anymore, she is just happy that my caprice had been fulfilled.

When we arrive at Port au Prince after a bumpy and uneventful seven-hour drive she has another question. This one catches me by surprise.

I think she is going to ask me about the massive destruction all over the city or the penetrating smell that permeates the city. But no. She asks why so many people have what looks like dry snot on their upper lips. I must admit that in the middle of the worst tragedy I have witnessed in 16 years as a reporter, she makes me laugh.

The death toll is in the tens of thousands, bodies are everywhere, the city and at least three surrounding towns have completely collapsed, the living are desperate and hungry and she wants to know about snot. “Here, put some Vicks under your nose, it will dry and collect dust and soon you’ll look like that. It will also keep the smell of death from penetrating your brain.”

It seems that a lot of people coming from the Dominican Republic know the same trick and they have raided the pharmacies. It confirms that in the middle of a tragedy, a small jar can make a big Vicks difference.

The rub softens the worst smell a man can endure. There is, however, no way to close my eyes and stop seeing decomposing bodies trapped in buildings. I wish there was an ointment that could numb my feelings instead of my nose. As Thomas Paine says, these are the times that try a man’s soul.

I’m in front of a collapsed supermarket called Caribbean in Port au Prince. Here I have seen rescue workers search for survivors until they collapse from dehydration. Joseph Fernandes from South Florida search and rescue says that every time he tries to sleep, his mind starts thinking about the cries for help coming from the supermarket. He’s still hearing them, which means there are still people alive in there after 72 hours. Fifteen minutes later, he collapses and has to be taken to the US Embassy but he intends to come back.

Fernandes is a Cuban American from a south Miami suburb called Pembroke Pines. His group has helped pull five people alive from the supermarket since Thursday. He personally rescued a 50 year old woman who had been grocery shopping when the earthquake hit. That one rescue took five hours of digging and drilling in intense heat. At one point he had to stop because there was yet another aftershock while they were inside the unstable structure.

Minutes later, undeterred, he went back in. When Fernandes finally reached the woman he asked her name and if she was OK. She was OK, she whispered. She responded in perfect English so he asked her where she was from. Pembroke Pines, Florida, she managed to say. He told me he could not believe it. “I flew all the way from Florida to rescue a neighbour. I got goosebumps,” is all Fernandes could say before his voice faltered. Then he concluded, “It’s a small world.”

Victor Saavedra is correspondent for Univision’s Aquí y Ahora