Il y a un bidonville dans un petit quartier de mon esprit. Ici, je cherche un petit fragment de ma mémoire. I search and I remember. It comes easily to me. Time has passed: Hope is lost... Hope is at hand... Je ne vais pas vous oublier, Haïti. ______________________________ Accept my apologies if my French is poor. I am trying hard to improve it with the help of a Rwandan friend in Kigali. The word 'bidonville' (shantytown - literally 'tin-town') was first taught to me by my mother shortly before I visited Rwanda this year. The poem is really me taking a short walk and expressing, in a veiled way, the frustrating fact that we seldom hear any updates from Haiti following the earthquake there earlier this year.