Shelter in the Storm: How Pi Gwo Byen Protects Its Community

Hurricane Isaac arrived on La Gonâve in a way I’ll never forget. In Haiti, storms often pass nearby without touching us directly — a brush of rain, a few hours of wind. But Isaac didn’t brush past. It came straight for the island, gathering force as it approached, pushing the sea higher and higher until it rose all the way to my doorstep.

The night it hit, the wind was unlike anything I had ever heard. It roared. It carried objects through the air — branches, buckets, stones — slamming them against walls in the darkness. Rain moved sideways. The air itself felt violent. Everyone on the island could feel it.

When I opened the door, the sea was right there. Not down the hill where it belonged. Not in the distance where it usually glimmered. But at the threshold of where I was staying.

That was the moment I understood how vulnerable La Gonâve truly is in a major storm — and how much our community needed a safe place to gather when hurricanes arrived.

When the Storm Finds You

Hurricanes in Haiti arrive with very little warning. Weather services cover the mainland, but the smaller islands often receive forecasts late or not at all. Even when storms are predicted to pass north or south, they can change direction without notice. And because Haiti doesn’t make headlines unless the storm strikes the United States as well, many people don’t even learn that a hurricane hit us unless they hear it from someone on the ground.

On La Gonâve, preparation looks very different than in wealthier countries. People nail plywood across windows if they can find it. They move animals under shelter. They cook food in advance if charcoal is available. But most homes are not built to withstand heavy winds. Concrete walls may not have proper reinforcement. Metal roofs lift easily in storms. And there is no official evacuation plan.

When Hurricane Isaac approached, we gathered in the only structure strong enough to give us a chance: the school pavilion. It wasn’t enclosed — just a large open room with a roof, supported by pillars, overlooking the sea — but it was the best shelter we had then. We pushed tables to one side to create a barrier and huddled together.Staff. Children. Neighbours. Anyone who needed a place to stay.

The wind was deafening. You could feel the building vibrate. People prayed out loud. We held hands. We listened to the sea slamming against the rocks. Storms can make you feel very small.

Hours passed that felt like days. And then, slowly, the storm began to drift away. When the sun finally rose, we stepped outside into a landscape that barely looked like the one we knew.

Trees were down. Animals were gone. Roofs were missing. The shoreline had changed shape entirely.

But we were alive. And in the middle of the fear and destruction, one thing became clear: we needed a better kind of shelter — one strong enough to protect the people we love.

Why La Gonâve Feels Every Storm Twice

La Gonâve experiences hurricanes differently than mainland Haiti.

The island sits exposed in the Gulf of Gonâve, with very little natural protection. When storms come, they wrap around the island. Wind spirals through open terrain, and water rises quickly along the coast. Houses are simple and often built from materials that cannot withstand major weather events.

Families know this. They know that when the wind rises, their homes may not be safe.

For years, the pavilion at Pi Gwo Byen was the only place strong enough for people to gather. But it wasn’t a true shelter — just a covered space. When storms came, the fear was still there: Will the roof hold? Will the sea reach us again? Will we survive this one?

This collective memory stayed with all of us, long after Isaac passed.

Building Something Strong Enough to Stand

Years later, when we began constructing Earthship classrooms on our school land, I didn’t realise how much they would change our sense of safety.

Earthship buildings are made from recycled materials — tires filled with compacted earth, bottles embedded in walls, cans, and rice bags stuffed with clean inorganic trash. They are passive-solar structures, cool without air-conditioning, stable enough to withstand powerful storms, and designed to resist earthquakes.

When the first Earthship classroom was completed, it was beautiful. Rounded walls. Bright bottle-light windows. Thick, solid construction. But the real test wasn’t how it looked — it was how it would perform in a storm.

We didn’t have to wait long to find out.

During the next serious weather system, families gathered inside the Earthship classroom voluntarily. They trusted it. They had seen how sturdy the walls were. They had participated in the building process. They knew what was inside those walls: strength.

Inside, the atmosphere was completely different from the pavilion during Isaac. Where the hurricane had brought noise, the Earthship brought quiet. Where the storm had shaken doors and walls, the Earthship barely moved. Where fear had filled the air, there was a sense of calm.

Teachers describe the building during storms as “a quiet place in the middle of chaos.”

Word spread quickly across the community:

“If a storm comes, go to Pi Gwo Byen.
The classrooms are strong.
They will hold.”

And they have — again and again.

Families now use the Earthship classrooms as shelters not only during hurricanes, but also after earthquakes. Many Haitians fear sleeping in their homes after tremors. Concrete buildings can fail. Roofs collapse. So they sleep in the Earthship classrooms — bringing mats, blankets, and the people they love — because they trust those walls more than their own.

Safety Is the Foundation of Education

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned in Haiti is this: children cannot learn if they do not feel safe. A school building is not just a structure. It’s a promise.

A promise that when the wind rises, you will still be protected. A promise that your classroom won’t collapse. A promise that adults will gather around you and keep you safe when the world outside feels frightening. Pi Gwo Byen is more than a school because safety came first.

Our teachers know that storms are part of life on La Gonâve. They know that parents worry each year when hurricane season begins. And they know that the Earthship classrooms give the community something many families have never had before:

A reliable place to survive a storm.

That knowledge strengthens everything else we do — from reading lessons to maths to character building. When fear is removed, learning can finally take its place.

The Community Holds Together

Storms have a strange way of revealing the heart of a community.

When Hurricane Isaac hit, teachers cared for neighbours’ children. Parents comforted one another. People shared food, blankets, jokes, prayers.  Everyone looked after everyone else.

That same spirit lives inside our school today.

During hurricanes, you see children sleeping side-by-side in the Earthship room, teachers standing watch at the doors, and families arriving with flashlights, bedding, and hope. You see calm where fear used to be. You see strength where there was once uncertainty.

Pi Gwo Byen has become a kind of anchor — a place people move toward when storms come.

And I think that is one of the most beautiful things a school can be.

Looking Back — and Forward

When I think back to the night Hurricane Isaac pushed the sea to my doorstep, I remember the fear. The unknown. The pounding wind. The darkness. The sound of the ocean climbing toward the house.

But I also remember the people. The ones who gathered in the pavilion. We have come a long way from that night.

Today, our Earthship classrooms stand strong — not just as places of learning, but as sanctuaries. They remind us that safety is possible. That community is powerful. That a school can protect both bodies and spirits.

We still have more to build and more classrooms to finish once we can get back to Haiti. But we are stronger now and the walls around our children are stronger. And the belief within our community is stronger still.

On La Gonâve, where hurricanes will always come, Pi Gwo Byen stands strong.