It was a foggy night on Trafalgar Road coming back from my friend’s place. I needed to concentrate a lot to make sure the cargo in my back seat – my little boy, Noah River – was safe.

All the while, I considered that it was somewhat dangerous to be on these roads, but I realized, too, that at any time, we could pull to the side if necessary or stop at a doughnut shop. We didn’t do either, though. Rather, we followed the rear lights in front of us and stayed close to the white line.

It’s Sunday night in Gressier, Haiti, and 200 orphaned children are alive, virtually untouched by one of the worst earthquakes ever. Many people are working around the clock to determine how best to help the House of Hope orphanage. We are receiving e-mails that their food supply has dwindled dramatically and little drinking water is left on the roof for the kids.

Noah had fallen asleep in the car. It’s tough to shlep up my bag and his while he is asleep in my arms. The Little Man is getting heavier, and my biceps aren’t what they used to be. I saw a woman I know in the elevator, but we didn’t speak much, mostly because I was too tired and a little bit annoyed that the straps from the bags were pulling taut around my hands.

I just got word that the House of Hope is rationing food and taking in people from the surrounding village. Of the 2,500 people who lived in Gressier, 800  – or one-third of all its citizens –were killed by this act of God. Imagine: one moment you have a neighbour, the next you don’t. Imagine: one second there’s a clinic down the road, the next there isn’t. That’s Gressier. The thugs are coming out, and what was a dangerous place before is now perilous. And the children are young. They are without parents.

I piled through the door. Noah is asleep and seems satiated. He ate a wonderful dinner tonight at our friend’s home, including fresh vegetables and fruits, rolled rice and cheese, and eggplant prepared with the finest ingredients. His tummy is full. He’s satisfied.

I only had to open one lock.

Security for the orphans is a big issue at the House of Hope. There’s a three-metre-high stone wall around the complex and a big iron gate in the front. We’ve heard that the air is contaminated. Alice Barthole, the founder of the House of Hope, says she’s housing people inside the orphanage who escaped the deadly hand of the earthquake. Alice doesn’t turn anyone away.

One of the most physically demanding things about raising children is undressing them while they sleep. You don’t want to wake them on the one hand, and on the other hand, it’s hell to get a T-shirt over their head. So I struggled and fought to ensure that my boy stayed asleep. He did, but somehow in his slumber he obliged me by putting his arms through his pyjama tops. It was warm in his room and his bed looked comfy. The black mollies swam around the aquarium waiting to be fed. It had been two days since they’d eaten.

By the time this is published, things will have changed at the House of Hope. How? I’m not sure. The kids may have been evacuated or the food and water may have arrived and all could be good. I don’t know. We just have no clue.

Noah slept all night and awoke singing.

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