The Haitian city of Gonaives was still only reachable by air and water last week when I sailed along the coastline with five other staffers in an old fishing boat navigated by a diving instructor. Its insides had been stripped and there was plenty of room for supplies and the food provisions we carried in our bags to last us the 5-10 days we'd be in the field. It was a two-hour boat ride through waters littered with debris - empty bottles, trash, and pieces of wood stirred up by the hurricanes.

The port of Gonaives was teeming with activity. There was a U.S. freighter with three landing crafts taking supplies in to the city. Six helicopters flew overhead, bringing more supplies - including ours - from the capital Port-au-Prince.

My first impression as I surveyed the city was of the high mountains devoid of any trees or grass. There was no foliage in sight only rock and dirt. It was so barren, and it was very hot because there is hardly any shade. Mud-caked buildings lined Gonaives' streets. People were scooping out bucketfuls of water or shoveling through the 3-4 feet of mud that Ike and Hanna had dumped into their homes. Overturned vehicles were everywhere, also cars and trucks that had either gotten stuck in the mud or had tried to cross while the water was rising.

The need is tremendous. As we drove through the streets people would see our NGO logo and run up to our truck with outstretched hands pleading for help. Every food distribution done by the World Food Program (WFP), for example, is guarded by U.N. troops. If a truck pulls up with food, people will chase it. They'll follow it. One night, out of safety concerns, we left our truck parked by the police station. The next morning we had to walk through a wave of people. At least 1,000 had gathered thinking there was going to be a food distribution. We had to maneuver our way out from the crowd with the help of the police.

One of the first distributions we did was at the bishop's house. Anywhere from 500-600 people were living there. I had to wade through waist-deep water to get to the front door. My knee-high rubber boots quickly filled with muddy water. There were areas where you couldn't even see the floor, you just saw mud. I'm just not used to seeing that much water in an inhabited area. The water was everywhere. People have to walk through it, work in it, and play in it. You can't see the bottom, so you're walking through blindly hoping you don't step into a hole or ditch.

At the bishop's house, much like at many other makeshift shelters, there are only children and a handful of women that stay there during the day. Most of the adults are out looking for food and water - which continue to be scarce - or they are at their homes cleaning or looking for work. Rooftops are populated with people airing out their belongings - chairs, bed frames, and other prized possessions. But at night these people return to the shelters to sleep.

Over the course of the week we did seven distributions that included enough food to feed roughly 4,000 people. Our days usually started at 7 a.m. We were staying on the third floor of a hotel that had also been flooded, but the waters had receded, and had never reached our floor. Thankfully our beds and rooms were intact. We didn't have electricity the first few days, but the owner eventually provided us with a generator that gave us a little bit of light and allowed us to run the water pumps for us to take showers. We ended each night around 8 p.m. with a meeting with all the U.N. agencies, the government of Haiti, representatives and other NGOs to coordinate our work so that we didn't overlap our efforts.

For Gonaives I think that the food distributions will continue for another month or more as people continue to get back on their feet, commerce improves, and the streets are cleaned. The official clean up will start really soon. That's going to take a lot of money, a lot of resources. But already there are signs of life around the town. Banks and commerce have reopened. You see a lot of desperation, but at the same time you see people who are hard at work trying to get their homes back in order and rebuild their lives - it's a sign of hope, a ray of sunshine.

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