Haiti: Uncertain Holidays Between Exodus and the Crackle of Bullets

Summer 2025 is gradually taking shape, with gusty winds under a sun hovering around 30 °C. The final exams of the main schools are over, the summer period is slowly beginning. Childhood memories, we recall the passage of years, regretting, one by one, the intricacies of the past. Leisure Under Bullets In Haiti, holidays no longer have any flavor. In a country torn by violence, the season that should be one of games and discoveries is now one of fear and flight. While millions of children around the world enjoy beaches, parks, and summer camps, Haitian children, for their part, seek refuge, shelter, a space to survive. Although not at war with another country, bullets whistle all day long in the streets of Port-au-Prince, Kenscoff, Carrefour-Feuilles, Delmas 30, Solino, and even to the towns of Mirebalais, Saut-d’Eau, Petite-Rivière de l’Artibonite, and now La Chapelle. Playgrounds are deserted, beaches and rivers abandoned to gangs. Leisure no longer exists. Childhood is suspended. According to data from the International Organization for Migration (IOM), 1.3 million people are currently displaced within the country. Among them, thousands of children live crammed into more than 246 informal sites, often without access to water, food, or basic care. More than 8,400 people, a majority of whom are women and children, are currently facing famine, according to the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC). A Child's Narrative During Holidays in a Shelter In displaced persons' camps, holidays take on a different face. At the makeshift camp of Lycée Anténor Firmin, in Port-au-Prince, not far from the Ministry of Justice, children invent games in the dust with pieces of cardboard and stones under a scorching sun. Among them, a nine-year-old boy, sitting near an improvised plastic tent, watches the others in silence. He couldn't bring any toys, only the clothes he was wearing when he fled with his family from Carrefour-Feuilles. He would like to play during the holidays, but here, there is only the heat, the queues for water, and the interminable wait for food distributions. Some children haven't even experienced the start of the school year. In several neighborhoods of Port-au-Prince severely affected by armed violence, schools could not reopen their doors this year, while others had to be relocated. A teenager who fled the Carrefour-Feuilles neighborhood recounts these months spent in shelters, confined, unable to go out, much less play or imagine holidays. For him, holidays never began, as if the calendar had frozen amidst fear and sporadic gunfire. Distant Illusion of a Childhood-less Generation More seriously, armed groups are massively recruiting children. According to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC), children represent up to 30% of gang members in some neighborhoods of the capital. They become lookouts, messengers, arms bearers, and sometimes direct perpetrators of violence. This generation is forcibly enlisted or driven by poverty and a complete lack of prospects. The latest UN report warns of an explosion in grave violations against children: from 383 cases in 2023 to 2,269 incidents in 2024. Forced recruitment, sexual assaults, and child assassinations are multiplying in areas dominated by criminal groups. Holidays, for these young Haitians, have become a distant illusion. Beaches are empty, displaced persons' camps are full. Laughter is stifled by the din of weapons and daily fear. The season of freedom is replaced by one of restrictions and hasty escapes. Dreaming of Another Future In this context, local law enforcement and the Multinational Security Support (MSS) Mission remain largely overwhelmed. Gangs continue to expand their territorial control, taking advantage of the absence of effective strategies and the persistent weakness of the Haitian state. In Haiti, holidays do not truly exist. They are stolen, suspended, erased by a crisis that deprives children of their most fundamental rights, including education. Yet, deep within the deserted streets and in the tents of improvised camps, dreams subsist. Children continue to hope, despite everything, for a summer where they can finally laugh, play, and run freely. “I hope that one day I can walk on the lawn of the Vincent gymnasium, downtown, without hearing the whistle of large-caliber weapons,” confides Junior, a 13-year-old teenager who used to play football and who now sits in front of the premises of the displaced persons' site located at the Ministry of Communication, with an almost lost look. Wideberlin Sénexant