Ryan-Nena Community Health Center in the East Village. Photo by Simon McCormack

Maria Nazario said she’s counted on the Ryan-NENA Community Health Center in Alphabet City for more than 40 years.

The senior citizen said her doctors have helped her deal with her chronic asthma and diabetes ever since she moved to Alphabet City. She said her doctor keeps pushing her to make sure she takes care of herself.

“I can’t pay the prices of other clinics,” Nazario said. “If I couldn’t come here, I’d have to go to the hospital, and you die waiting in a hospital. Here I get individual attention, which I need.”

As Nazario turned to walk home, a Ryan-NENA doctor burst out the door and jogged down Third Street toward Avenue C.

“Raul!” the doctor shouted. “Raul, wait a second.”

A portly, unshaven man with a large gap between his two front teeth turned around, and the doctor handed him a sheet of paper with his prescription written on it. Raul thanked the doctor, first in Spanish, then in English, before heading on his way.

Amidst the fierce debate over what works when it comes to health care, for many patients, Ryan-NENA serves as a model for success.

Many of the patients who go to Ryan-NENA are on Medicaid. In 2009, in order to qualify for benefits, a family of two had to earn less than $19, 378 a year. Without government assistance or the clinic’s sliding pay scale, some patients questioned whether they could afford health care.

Elaine Lugo, a senior citizen and Medicaid recipient, said she appreciates that her doctor at Ryan-NENA listens to her feedback before deciding how to treat her.

“They take good care of me,” Lugo said. “They know what they’re doing.”

Elaine Lugo audio
Elaine Lugo on whether health care is a privilege or a right.

But Mia Jones had less than flattering things to say about the center. The mother of three said the care her children receive is fine, but the women’s health unit is another story. She said her doctors keep leaving, and it’s difficult to develop a rapport with a particular physician.

“It seems like there’s always some new doctor,” Jones said. “It’s very frustrating. I need to find myself another clinic.”

Jones said when the doctor she’s been seeing leaves, she has to wait a month before she can get an appointment with another physician. If she comes in during walk-in hours, Jones said the wait can be four or five hours.

“I wish they’d get their act together at women’s health,” she said.

mia jones audio
Mia Jones on the center’s women’s health unit.

Victoria Gonzalez, the center’s community relations coordinator, said Ryan-NENA can’t afford to pay doctors as much as other health-care providers who charge more for their services.

That means some doctors could be lured away by a bigger paycheck elsewhere. Even so, Gonzalez contends the turnover rate of doctors isn’t especially high at Ryan-NENA.

The center’s medical director, Dr. Matthew Weissman, said most doctors stay at Ryan-NENA for at least four years. The center was founded in 1968. The non-profit organization is part of the Ryan Network, which also includes the Ryan Center on the Upper West Side and the Ryan/Chelsea-Clinton Community Health Center in Midtown. Ryan-NENA provides a broad swath of services including mental and geriatric health, dental care and optometry.

According to Gonzalez, in 2008, 51 percent of the patients who came through the center’s doors were on Medicaid. In that same year, 37 percent were uninsured. Gonzalez said more than half of Ryan-NENA patients speak English and Spanish, and that’s true of the center’s staff as well.

Depending on their family size and income, patients without insurance pay between $32 and $93 a visit.

“We work with the person as much as possible to make sure they can afford care,” Gonzalez said. “Community health centers never turn anyone away.”

To pay for the services patients can’t afford, Ryan-NENA gets funding from the city, state and federal government. With budgets being slashed at the city and state level, Gonzalez said, the center has had to eliminate “anything that’s not going to improve patient care or access.”

Gerard McGovern audio
Ryan-NENA patient Gerard McGovern explains why he won’t go anywhere else for health care.

Upper-management at Ryan-NENA took small pay cuts this year. Caring for people without a lot of cash affects how doctors at Ryan-NENA approach treatment plans for their patients.

When deciding what medicine to prescribe, for example, Weissman said doctors must make sure they select a drug their patients can afford.

“It’s an exciting challenge,” Weisman said. “It’s not just take this pill and call me in two weeks. You get to know more about your patients.”

Doctors at Ryan-NENA must become familiar with the pressures facing each person they treat, Weissman said. If the patient is a diabetic living in a homeless shelter, for instance, Weissman said they might not be able to check their blood sugar because they aren’t allowed to carry needles.

“The doctors get involved not only in the medical care, but the social aspects of their patients’ lives,” Weissman said. Ryan-NENA and many of the people at the center serves are on tight budgets. But Weissman said his center provides care that’s just as good, if not better than its for-profit counterparts.

Weissman explains Ryan-NENA is under greater scrutiny than health care organizations that don’t rely on government funding or private grants. The center must prove to its funders that it is using its cash wisely.

“All the granters who are giving us money are constantly checking up on us,” Weissman said. “They do surveys, they check our charts, and they make sure we’re providing the quality care they expect.”

Lugo said she hopes the center continues to be a resource for the community. “If something happens and it closes for some reason, I’ll go to another clinic,” Lugo said. “But I don’t have any reason to leave now. I’m happy there.”

The recently closed Guss' Pickles storefront. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

In the span of a few blocks of Manhattan’s Lower East Side, residents and visitors can find themselves sipping wine at a gallery opening, shopping for knockoff purses, touring historic tenement apartments, and ending up at high-end boutique or $3 dumpling shop.

More than any other neighborhood in New York City, the Lower East Side is known for it’s remarkable diversity and rich artistic culture. But now more than ever, store owners and residents fear that growing numbers of affluent middle-class transplants are threatening the area’s unique character.

“When I moved to the Lower East Side 20 years ago, it was the ruckus neighborhood,” said Steven “Sunshine” Potter, longtime resident and manager of the recently opened neighborhood joint Mikey’s Burgers. “Now it’s only a bland, watered-down version of what it used to be.”

Mikey's Burger on the Lower East Side. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

Just as the Lower East Side was transformed from immigrant neighborhood to counter-culture capital in the 1960s, the area has been going through another massive shift. Middle-class residential upgrades have pushed out artists and longtime businesses, such as Guss’ Pickles on Orchard Street near Delancey Street. The pickle shop has sold some of the city’s most renowned pickles for more than 89 years, when Polish immigrant Isidor Guss began selling his products out of a pushcart on the Lower East Side.

But in the beginning of this year, Guss’ finally buckled under the pressure of increasing rent prices. Owner Patricia Fairhurst decided to move from Orchard Street to Borough Park in Brooklyn.

“It’s gotten too expensive here,” said Fairhurst. “And we only have an outdoor storefront — we freeze standing out here in the winter.”

Steve Liebowitz, owner of United Pickle Enterprises based in the Bronx, is also sole owner of the Guss’ trademark and name. In a contentious court battle, Fairhurst lost all rights to use the name when she relocated. He believes that the Orchard Street Guss’ is moving to Brooklyn for another reason.

“They didn’t move to Brooklyn because of the rent prices or because of the neighborhood,” Liebowitz said. “When they stopped buying from us five years ago, the pickle quality slipped. That was the problem — they weren’t getting as much business.”

Whether the rent or the quality of their pickles drove them out of the Lower East Side, Guss’ did manage to hold on long enough to see the block change completely. Now, the neighborhood institution seems out of place.

Upscale boutiques and specialty shops — a spa frequented by celebs, a coffee shop that roasts its own beans, a shoe store that only sells items made from organic materials — have overshadowed the red pickle barrels that once crowded the narrow sidewalk.

Even though the pickle shop is moving to Brooklyn, 88 Orchard, the expensive café directly across from the old location, includes Guss’ famous half-sours with their $11 gourmet sandwiches.

“It’s really too bad that they’ve been pushed out,” said Soo Chin Han, 22, who has recently moved to Orchard Street from the Upper West Side. “Especially since yet another trendy hipster boutique will probably go in its place.”

While some residents are angered by the displacement of shops like Guss’, others are resigned to the fact that the neighborhood’s shifting landscape is inevitable.

“The Lower East Side might have held on to its identity for longer than other places, but everything is becoming gentrified in a sense,” Potter said. “People move down here and want to change it instead of embracing it.”

Potter, whose burger spot opened only a few months ago, is pleased with some of the changes.

“In the ’80s, there would be people partying and doing drugs and getting food at diners at 9 in the morning, not looking for the newest restaurants,” Potter said. “Now the Lower East Side food scene is a destination, which is great for us.”

The same influx of affluence that fuels the success of upscale restaurants is helping business for small boutiques in the area. While it’s still possible to buy a fake-leather coat off the street, the ‘bargain district’ title is becoming less and less appropriate as fashionable clothing stores displace old discount emporiums.

Isidoro A. Francisco, 29, is also happy with the way business is being affected. An employee at Yumi Kim, a designer boutique opened in 2008, he is still concerned that his clientele, among others, are taking away from the neighborhood’s distinct identity.

“People from the Upper East and Upper West Sides are moving down here and spending money because they think it’s the place to be,” Francisco said. “But now everyone who made the LES cool is moving out to Brooklyn.”
izzymp3
Isidoro A. Francisco on the changing Lower East Side

Francisco noted the arrested development of several hotels in the area, such as Hotel Ludlow and developer Morris Platt’s plan to build it at 180 Orchard St. Once these developments gather momentum, he said, Lower East Side culture will face a serious blow.

“The Lower East Side still has its edge, but it’s only a matter of time until it loses it,” he said.

Jackson Heights, a middle-class neighborhood in northwest Queens, is touted as New York City’s most diverse neighborhood. Residents relish the distinction, but some admit the community is not as integrated as it could be.

“What we want to see more of is assimilation of cultures,” said longtime resident Edwin Westley. “It’s difficult to accomplish. We made some progress but not enough.”

Westley is the president of the Jackson Heights Beautification Group, which oversees the preservation of the area’s historic district. The group prides itself on welcoming participation from residents of all ethnic backgrounds. Members have elected a Latino director in the past and the organization currently has gay representation, but Westley admits that one of its “shortfalls” is that it’s “primarily white.”

Boundaries, but no racial tension

At first glance, Jackson Heights looks as if it is sectioned off into various ethnic enclaves. Indian and Bangladeshi business owners dominate 74^th Street, informally dubbed “Little India” by residents because of the street’s numerous sari shops and Hindi movie stores.

Many South Americans and Latino businesses occupy Roosevelt Avenue where taco stands, Spanish-language store signs and advertisements for adult English classes are ubiquitous.

Asians generally live closer to Northern Boulevard, Jackson Heights’ northern border.

Jackson Heights was originally built as a haven for upper-class, white working families who wanted to get away from an increasingly crowded Manhattan but still be a 10-minute subway ride away from the center of the city. By the 1970s, a significant Colombian population had arrived in Jackson Heights, and scores of immigrants from all over the world have since moved to northwest Queens.

Chinese, Koreans, Filipinos, Bangladeshis, Pakistanis, Argentineans, Ecuadorians, Peruvians, Bolivians, Jews, Italians, Russians and generations of white Americans call Jackson Heights home today. By many accounts the groups coexist well but not necessarily as one.

“There is very little racial tension,” Westley said. “The reason the neighborhood works is that no one is in the majority.”

Immigrant groups struggle for clout

Recent immigrants are still struggling to make their voices heard in Jackson Heights. Some say they receive little help from community leaders and other more-established immigrant groups.

“It’s a challenge to get the city to understand the needs of the (immigrant) community,” said Martha Chavez, advocacy coordinator of the New Immigrant Community Empowerment program.

The organization represents mostly South American, Mexican and Caribbean immigrants who have flocked to Jackson Heights to live with relatives or to take advantage of cheap rent, which is half the price of rent in Brooklyn and a quarter of the price of rent in Manhattan. Chavez said many of them are undocumented, do not speak English, and have little knowledge of their work and medical rights.

Chavez says the organization’s goal is to empower immigrant groups to speak up for themselves instead of allowing advocates from outside agencies to communicate with city leaders on their behalf.  She says the movement has been slow because different ethnic groups tend not to help one another.

“That’s something we face, too, that I don’t think there is a lot of unity,” Chavez said.

Sometimes second- and third-generation immigrant groups refuse to help new immigrants and often take advantage of their naïveté, according to Chavez, who emigrated from Mexico to the United States.

Parishioners worship the same, but separately

The Community United Methodist Church, located at the geographic center of the community, draws worshipers from virtually every ethnic group represented in Jackson Heights — and 18 different languages are spoken among parishioners. Banners that hang outside the historic-looking, stone building exemplify the diversity of the congregation. One poster advertises the meeting time of an Indonesian group, and another welcomes a Catholic congregation. The church even houses 82^nd Street Academics, one of Jackson Height’s largest schools, which was originally established for Chinese students in 1985.

“We are representatives of community,” said the church’s senior pastor Enrique Lebron, who is Puerto Rican. “You will see Little Colombia and Little India. We have a lot of Hispanics, and even (people) from Russia, so I believe the church represents what is in the community.”

Community United Methodist offers three Sunday church services in English, Spanish and Mandarin, and provides space for many ethnic groups to worship in their own languages.

Lebron acknowledges that providing three separate services for parishioners could be viewed as segregation, but says doing so is the best way to give parishioners what they want.

“The reason we do things separate is because there is a need for people to celebrate faith in their own culture, and you have to respect that,” he said.

He added that it is a blessing for his parishioners to “celebrate their differences.”

On the brink of gentrification

Jeff Maskovsky, a sociologist and Queens College professor, argues that celebrating cultural differences is a far cry from integration.

He has seen that Jackson Heights is socially, but not spatially integrated.

“Residential integration is nonexistent,” said Maskovsky, who moved to Jackson Heights five years ago.

He says residents themselves are not to blame and contends Realtors and banks across the United States restrict residential integration. He argues that this is the case in Jackson Heights.

Maskovsky says the community is on its way to forfeiting diversity altogether because of gentrification.

He says developers are targeting a specific new group of people that could potentially price out existing renters and homeowners — young white families.

“(Developers are) targeting Jackson Heights as the new Brooklyn,” Maskovsky said. “The white hipster crowd.”

His evidence is a billboard on the Brooklyn Queens Expressway in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, that advertized the abundance of refurbished pre-war garden co-ops managed by Jackson Heights property firm MPC Properties. It’s gone now, but was up for nearly a year.

According to MPC Properties, 70 percent of people who have recently moved to into MPC buildings are from Brooklyn. The other 30 percent come from Manhattan or other parts of northwest Queens, such as Astoria.

The owner of MPC Properties, Michael Carfagna, says there is “no dominant group of people” that move into Jackson Heights and that he has sold co-ops to people of all “backgrounds and professions.”

Carfagna says Jackson Heights is just a microcosm of New York City, but Maskovsky argues Jackson Heights is becoming a microcosm of a wealthy New York City and points to real-estate stickers as proof.

According to the most recent Jackson Heights Real Estate Report, the median price of a single-family home rose to $800,000 at the end of 2007, though prices have dropped in the recession. The median household income hovers around $40,000, according to numerous demographic databases.

Maskovsky says Jackson Heights is now in a precarious situation, as similar diverse communities have either “flipped and turned into one minority population” or “become gentrified.”

He believes it is Jackson Heights’ diversity — the community’s self-proclaimed strength — that is attracting a wealthier, whiter population, which craves the multicultural lifestyle.

“The diversity is exactly what may de-diversify it,” he said.

Marisol Bello

It was sheer devastation, and USA Today national reporter Marisol Bello witnessed it all.

As the newspaper’s disaster reporter, Bello, 38, has covered numerous national catastrophes, including 9/11, but she said nothing compared to Haiti.

“It was the singular most amazing story I have ever covered,” she said to a group of New York University journalism students on Feb. 9.

Her nine-day stint in Haiti proved to be a profoundly emotional endeavor.

Bello was embedded with the relief organization World Vision, which was immediately dispatched to one of Haiti’s largest hospitals. On the way to her post, she saw a succession of collapsed buildings. The closer she got to the rubble, the more mutilated bodies she saw.

“As we got into downtown the bodies started piling up,” Bello said. “Then you start seeing rows. Closer to the hospital the entire streets were lined with bodies. At that point they were not covered because it just happened. They were just there and they began to bloat.”

She said the injured, barely-alive victims lingered right next to the dead. Most were bleeding badly and the smell was unbearable.

“It was a putrid-smelling, visually-shocking thing to see,” she said. “Mingled in all the dead bodies are all the injured people desperate for care. Everybody was in an unbelievable collective state of shock.”

Later Bello headed away from cacophony in the streets and into what was left of a nursing school where it was “eerily quiet.”

Bello said she immediately came across a twisted woman with a black skirt hiked up past her legs, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at her face. She backed away from the flattened building, which was really a big pile of rubble, and experienced a “very personal moment.”

Bello confessed that it still haunts her.

There was no shortage of stories in Haiti, and Bello said she focused on how to best tell those stories. She didn’t allow herself to process the horror until she had quiet, private moments.

That’s when she “got really choked up and really emotional.”

Most of the time, though, Bello put aside her feelings and concentrated on the storytelling. She said the logistics on the ground made the reporting process extremely difficult.

Bello didn’t speak Creole or French. Her cell phone didn’t work. She wrote many of her dispatches on her Blackberry. She stayed in a bordello with no electricity. She only had $800, which she admitted was not nearly enough to last nine days. She arrived with nothing more than a few pieces of electronic equipment — a satellite phone, laptop and video camera — and the clothes on her back.

Bello experienced the severe aftershock that struck a week after she arrived in Haiti.

It was early. Bello was asleep in her hotel room when she felt rumbling. She bolted for the door and tried to open it, but it was stuck. She said she could hear a security guard frantically scream at people to run. Before she escaped, she feared she was going to be one more mangled body lost in the enormity of the disaster. She described it as “sheer panic.”

Despite her absorption in the horror, Bello said she had no interest in becoming part of the story like some journalists, namely CNN anchors Anderson Cooper and Sanjay Gupta who helped rescue children and perform surgery, respectively.

“I just feel like we should never be part of the story,” Bello said. “In this way I can be old-school. If you want to be an actor in that and if you need to be an advocate or aid worker, do that so then you get interviewed.”

Bello began her reporting career 17 years ago and worked in Dayton, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh and Detroit before moving to Washington, D.C., three years ago.

Bello is an experienced beat reporter having covered Detroit city hall and currently specializing in national civil rights issues. While she enjoys being a so-called expert in certain areas, Bello said nothing compares to being a general assignment reporter especially when it comes to stories like the Haiti earthquake.

She said the best part is getting to experience “amazing, fascinating places” and to be “a witness to history.”

Bello’s talk inspired the future journalists.

“It convinced me that urban reporting is the most fundamental form of journalism,” said Darren Tobia, whose beat is Jersey City. “The same skills she uses in covering disasters, she acquired as a metro reporter in Philadelphia and Detroit.”

Student Simon McCormack took to Bello’s softer side.

“She is simultaneously a hardened news reporter and a deeply empathetic human being,” said McCormack. “That’s a rare mix in the news business.”

The concert boasted some big-name musicians: Bacon Brothers, featuring Kevin Bacon as front-man; 2010 Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame nominee Darlene Love; Tabitha Fair, who performed at President Obama’s inauguration; Patty Smyth, former lead singer of ‘80s rock band Scandal; Pete Francis; and the Bev Leslies.

The artists donated their time and the Canal Room, a club in Tribeca, donated the space. With ticket prices starting at $20 and a table set up for additional donations, and attendance at an estimated 250, event organizers agreed it was “a success.”

“The energy in the room was amazing. They had so much fun,” said Deana Concilio-Lenz, founder and president of DCL production company. “There were accountants, doctors, younger people … It was a great cross-section of New York who came to show their support.”

Jose Taveras gives Jay Hernandez a shave inside Groom Team barbershop in Washington Heights. Taveras contends Dominicans and Haitians no longer bare resentment toward one another, but other Dominicans disagree. Photo by Simon McCormack

Fifteen minutes after he heard about the earthquake in Haiti, Dominican barber Jose Taveras said he made a donation to the Red Cross. Taveras was born in the Dominican Republic, a country that shares the island of Hispaniola with Haiti.

“I consider Haiti a part of my country,” Taveras said through his friend Jay Hernandez, who acted as his interpreter. “We are one people.”

But not every Dominican feels that way. Taveras admits the two countries have not always gotten along. He said the Haitian occupation of the Dominican Republic between 1821 and 1843 is a source of resentment between the two nations. Even so, the owner of Groom Team barbershop in Washington Heights insists any grudges between Haitians and Dominicans have been buried, at least in his mind.

“That’s in the past,” Taveras said. “It’s not something we think about now.”

Dominicans in Washington Heights expressed remorse for the devastation and lives lost after the Jan. 12 quake, but some, unlike Taveras, did not paint a rosy picture of the current relations between the two countries. Victor Sangiovanni, whose father still lives in the Dominican Republic, says illegal Haitian immigrants in the D.R. are a continuing cause of frustration.

The Christian Science Monitor estimates that, in 2009, between 700,000 and 1 million illegal Haitian immigrants were living in the D.R. Most, according to the Monitor, come seeking economic opportunities, often in the construction industry.

“I don’t really like Haitians,” Sangiovanni said. “They keep trying to take over our country, and we keep having to send them back.” Despite his distaste for illegal Haitian immigrants, Sangiovani’s eyes widen with surprise when asked whether he’s donated money to the relief effort. “Of course,” he said. “They live so close to where I come from. I would hope they would do the same for us if an earthquake happened in the Dominican.”

Nicholas Gomez insists it’s no coincidence that Haiti was ravaged by a natural disaster while the Dominican was spared. He contends that belief in Catholicism, the primary religion practiced in the Dominican, spared his home country from catastrophe. “God is watching out for us,” Gomez said. “When you have God, you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Gomez said Haitians believe in voodoo and “worship the devil.” He stops short of claiming that practicing voodoo is what caused the earthquake, but he says Haitians must be careful who they pledge allegiance to.

“The devil will trick you,” Gomez said. “Haiti is living in the dark. They are moving in the wrong direction.”

Contrary to Gomez’ assertions, a 2008 United Nations report on national religions found that only 2 percent of Haitians practice voodoo. Further, those who believe in Haitian voodoo do not typically worship the devil. The primary deity in the religion is Bondye, whose name is derived from the French “bon Dieu” or “good God.” The U.N. report found that 55 percent of those living in Haiti are Roman Catholic.

Although he condemns what he claims are Haitian religious practices, Gomez said he made a donation to Catholic Relief Services, an international aid group contributing to the relief effort. Like Taveras, Gomez explains that geographical proximity fosters a feeling of brotherhood between the two countries.

“We feel like we are a part of them,” Gomez said. “They are like our relatives.”

Doyanica Pineda bristles at the notion that God had anything to do with the disaster, which has claimed an estimated 200,000 lives. The nurse, whose family resides in the Dominican, said it was purely a matter of chance that Haiti was struck.

“Some people say God is the one who made the earthquake happen,” Pineda said. “I don’t believe that at all. God is not responsible for this.”

Gethsemane — a Seventh-Day Adventist Church in Flatbush, which has one of the largest Haitian-American congregations in NYC — has had to transform itself, almost overnight, into a makeshift emergency command center. Run by 42 volunteers and church staff, the headquarters serves as a crisis management center, fielding concerns of neighborhood residents, and a communications tower for its delegation, which arrived in Haiti, via the Dominican Republic, on Jan. 19.

The remains of the Deslouches' house in Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

Like so many Haitian-Americans, Samira Louis and her family eagerly awaited news of relatives in Haiti in the wake of the Jan. 12 earthquake. Within hours, the Louises were saddened to learn that the sturdy house in which her father had grown up in Port-au-Prince had collapsed to the ground.

When they later learned that her aunt and uncle were on the second floor when the house crumbled, their sadness quickly changed to devastation.

“We heard that everyone was downstairs watching TV when they felt a shake,” said Louis, 23, of East Orange, N.J. “My uncle Gaston and my cousins ran out of the house, but my aunt was still on the second floor.”

By the time Gaston Deslouches reached his wife, Adeline, it was too late; the entire structure fell to the ground while they were still inside. Louis and her family tried frantically to regain communication with their aunt and uncle, but were unable to get any information.

“We all thought that they were dead,” Louis said. “We had no idea what was going on because there was no communication, so my parents decided to fly to Haiti and find out.”

Gaston and Adeline Deslouches

Just as Louis’ parents arrived in the Dominican Republic, en route to Haiti two days after the quake, they got word that Deslouches and his wife had been rescued from beneath the debris and were safe. Deslouches, a Haitian-born Yale graduate and retired doctor, had returned to Port-au-Prince in order to provide medical care to the underprivileged.

Louis’ parents, Marie-Lucie and Nikolai R. Louis Sr., flew to Haiti with only a carry-on bag of medical supplies and $200.

“They thought, ‘Maybe we should wait. Maybe we should go when everything is settled,’ ” Louis said. “But one thing about Haitian people is, no matter what our differences are, we always stick together. Even if the situation is dangerous.”

Her parents told her that because there is so little food, communities pool resources and cook one pot of food for everyone to share for the day, but there is never enough to go around.

“It’s hard for my parents and the other volunteers because they feel like they aren’t the ones who should be eating,” Louis said. “They are in full survival mode — everyone is.”

Thing aboutSamira Louis explains why her parents went to Haiti despite the danger

Despite the overwhelming sense of worry surrounding the events in Haiti, Louis’s first instinct was to become involved with the relief effort.

Samira Louis packs boxes to aid Haiti's earthquake victims.

“When I actually realized the gravity of the situation, my initial thought was, ‘What can I do to help?’ ” Louis said.

She decided to work with friends to create a donation plan of her own.

“Immediately after the earthquake, I was on conference calls with friends, working to contribute,” Louis said. “We reached out to the largest Haitian church in the area and organized a drop-off box where community members could donate supplies.”

The plan was a success. After two days, enough supplies had been collected to fill two church vans, and were delivered to the Charity Waters, a non-profit organization in New York. The donations were then flown directly to Haiti.

Countless New Yorkers who are not directly affected by the disaster in Haiti have taken the initiative to participate in relief efforts as well. Tyler Fischer, 22, of Fort Greene, was wary of text message donations and chose to contribute in other ways.

“I’ve been going to restaurants and events that will donate their profits to various charities,” Fischer said. “I’m donating the same amount as I would via text, but am able to feel like I’m participating in something.”

Haitians line up in a Flatbush money-transfer store to wire funds to Haiti to help relatives who are victims of the earthquake. Photo by Zanub Saeed

Haitians in Flatbush stood in line at the UniTransfer money transfer service on Tuesday afternoon, waiting to send funds to relatives and friends trying to survive in the aftermath of the massive earthquake that hit the Caribbean nation a week before.

Family and friends of the victims have been trying to send money, though it has not been easy. As numerous money transfer buildings and services crumbled to the ground in the capital city of Port-au-Prince and neighboring villages, Haitians living in Flatbush were forced to wait a week to send funds to their relatives via wire services such as UniTransfer on Church Street. The money would be used to buy basic needs such as food and water, both of which are presently scarce in Haiti.

Renel Bazile, a Flatbush native, waited to be told when to send money to his relatives in Haiti. His cousins in Haiti — with whom he was able finally to make contact this Sunday — searched for a wire service that was still standing amid the rubble, and sent word back when they had finally found one. Bazile immediately headed to UniTransfer when receiving confirmation.

“Here, if you want to, you send the money, and you call them to get it, and they’ll go and get it,” Bazile, 51, said.

Bazile, who regularly sends money to his relatives in Haiti every other week, gave a bit more this time. He also planned to donate money to Haiti relief organizations, but knew that the wire transfer would assist his family quicker.

“I’m planning to give some to them, but I have to think of family first,” Bazile said. “With charity, it’s going to take time before getting there.”

Bettina Abellard, who stood patiently in line at UniTransfer, was of the same mind set as Bazile. She noted the money transfer could take up to “a couple of minutes” to get the Haiti.

“Well, it’s going to take a while before the (charity) money is distributed in Haiti, and they need to survive before that,” said Abellard, 28, who sent $500 — about 20,000 Haitian Gourdes — to relatives in Haiti.

Haitians in Flatbush provided funds to those outside their family circle. Darlene Sanon said that her neighbors, who did not have family in Haiti, sent money to friends suffering in the Caribbean. Sanon, 42, wanted to send food to her family, who were living “outside in the field, actually, the soccer field,” but due to the poor conditions, she was afraid it would not get to them.

“We can’t send food because there’s no transportation, no delivery there,” Sanon said. “They can go and get the money, and have money in their hand because they’re selling food down there. They have some merchants, some restaurants that aren’t broken down.”

Although goods and money are being transported to Haitians in need, the prices of goods in the nation have inflated greatly. Jude Domond sent $500 to his parents and cousins in Port-au-Prince to buy food, but was wary of the prices.

“They’re going to buy some food, some drink and some water. It’s expensive right now, so expensive,” said Domond, 33. “A bottle of water was one or two (Haitian) dollars, but right now it’s ten (Haitian) dollars.”

Despite the catastrophe and the rising number of casualties, Haitians are optimistic.

“Everybody is fine,” Bazile said. “Their homes were destroyed, and they sleep on the street, but thank God they’re still alive.”

Digital Media, on Nostrand Avenue in Brooklyn, is collecting donations for Haiti's earthquake victims. Photo by Amanda VanAllen

Digital Media on Nostrand Avenue in Brooklyn was spilling over with donations for relief efforts in Haiti yesterday. Cases of water and bags of clothes covered most of the floor space, barely leaving a narrow path for customers. Outside of the store barrels with the word “Haiti”were rolled in and garbage bags full of clothing lined the side door.

Owner Yvens Brizard, 43, a native of Haiti, plans to travel to Haiti in the next couple of days to aid ‘Life for the World,’ an orphanage founded by Brizard’s cousin, where more than 150 children are starving.

“We are going there with doctors, reporters and plenty of people that can help,” Brizard said. “We hope to get food to these kids and medical supplies. We were told that there is no more food for these children, which means 150 kids aren’t eating. We have to get to them as soon as possible.”

Twenty-three percent of all Hatians in the United States live in New York City, and many of them are concentrated on Nostrand Avenue. Places like Digital Media serve as a venue for them to express themselves during this crisis. Many bring in pictures of their family members and listen to the news reports as they come in over the radio.

“Lots of people come here for support, and we give it to them,” said Brizard.

He is holding it together for his community in spite of his own loses. One of his best friends died in the earthquake, and his father is still missing. When he goes to Haiti, he plans only to work with the children instead of searching for his father, which he considers a nearly impossible task.

Brizard and his crew will fly into the Dominican Republic and then take a bus into Haiti. They have a plethora of donations and plan on taking them all by stuffing as much as possible into carry-on luggage, sending some supplies ahead of time and paying for extra baggage. His cousin, the founder of ‘Life for the World,’ helped him plan the best possible route into the city and tried to make him aware of the severity of the situation.

“My cousin says everyone is trying to leave the capital because the smell is too bad there,” said Brizard. “You are walking and there is a dead body at your side. It’s bad. It’s a terrible situation.”

Digital Media only accepts donations of food, clothes and medical supplies because even American money is no good in Haiti right now.

“It doesn’t make sense to send money to Haiti,” yelled one. “What are they going to buy?”

With the current death toll at nearly 70,000 and many more dying each minute, the Nostrand community is thankful for what Brizard and his crew are doing.

“It is really sad what happened to all of those people,” said Joseph Cesear, 43, a native of Haiti. “Thank God I haven’t lost any family members, but it’s still really horrible because I lived there the first 16 years of my life. I am happy to see people here are really working hard to make a difference.”