It’s been a month since the earthquake, and it’s time to head home. The work has been rewarding, the friendships developed deep, and the experiences will last a lifetime.

In Port-au-Prince, economic life has slowly returned, and along with it traffic that turns any trip around town into a long one. Fuel shortages are largely gone, and restaurants are starting to open again for dinner (it is still too early for traditional nightlife). People still sleep outdoors in makeshift tents, not trusting their homes. The economic vulnerability continues and will continue. Haiti will remain the poorest country in the Western hemisphere—earthquake relief will not end that.

Two days of R&R are in order. I’ve made my way to the coastal hotel in the Dominican Republic filled with tourists, mainly European, seemingly oblivious to what is going on a few hours away. I sit at dinner alone and for a moment have the feeling I’m at the center of the cinematographic technique where the camera focuses on one person in a crowd and everyone else goes about their lives in time-lapse.

I had taken a shower, but my skin still has the dirt and dust from the camps in Haiti. My clothes are even worse. Someone looks at me as if I’m a scrappy visitor who belongs somewhere else. Maybe I do.