The Long Journey of a Backpack
How school supplies travel across borders, ferries, and roadblocks to reach our students on La Gonâve
For years, my August routine was simple. I would fly from California to Port-au-Prince, Haiti, carrying three or four suitcases stuffed with everything our students needed for the new school year — backpacks, uniforms, pencils, shoes, and notebooks. I would land, meet our team, and take the familiar road and ferry across to the island of La Gonâve. Within a few days, the supplies would be in our classrooms, ready for excited children.
Then the country changed.
Since May 2023, I haven’t been able to travel safely to Haiti. Gang violence, road blockades, and kidnappings have made movement across the mainland unpredictable and, at times, deadly. The roads we once drove freely are now controlled by armed groups. Trucks are hijacked, goods are seized, and sometimes entire shipments disappear.
But school doesn’t wait for peace. The children on La Gonâve still need uniforms, backpacks, and books. And so we found another way.
A new route through the Dominican Republic
Each August, instead of flying into Port-au-Prince, I now fly into Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic. The difference is striking. In Haiti, airports close without warning; in the Dominican Republic, tourists still line up at baggage claim.
I pack the same suitcases as always — this year there were four of them — but their journey is far longer and far more complicated than mine.
Our plan began two years ago. One of our former kitchen staff, Dalis, had married and moved across the border. She and her husband, Akus, agreed to help. I deliver the suitcases to them in Santo Domingo. From there, the chain of hands begins.
Akus has cousins in Port-au-Prince. They, along with two trusted couriers, are paid to carry the suitcases from the Dominican Republic across the border and into Haiti. These men take enormous risks. Gangs often patrol the main crossings, seizing anything of value — fuel, food, electronics, or in our case, school supplies. Sometimes they demand a “fee” to let people pass.
From Port-au-Prince, the cousins hire drivers to move the bags west to the coastal town of Carries, about ninety minutes from the capital. There, another group of men loads them onto a Batima — a small, hand-built ferry that carries people and cargo between the mainland and La Gonâve.
Once the Batima docks at Anse-à-Galets, our own staff and teachers unload the bags and carry them up to the school. It’s an entire relay of goodwill stretching across two countries and an ocean channel.
The obstacles along the way
This year, the trip took two weeks from the day I left Santo Domingo to the moment the backpacks arrived at the school. For ten of those days, the suitcases sat motionless in Port-au-Prince because roadblocks made the highway to Carriès impossible to cross. We waited anxiously, checking in by phone whenever the lines were working.
Finally, the call came: the bags had made it onto the ferry. When our staff opened them in Anse-à-Galets, every item was there — not a single thing missing.
That might sound ordinary. To us, it was a triumph.
The previous year, three backpacks disappeared along the way. Later, we learned why. The men transporting them had been stopped at a roadblock and used the backpacks as bribes to be allowed through. “They gave them to the gang,” I was told. “It was the only way to pass.”
How could I be angry? They had risked their lives to deliver the rest. Three backpacks were a small price compared to what could have been lost.
Paying the price of resilience
Moving goods through Haiti now requires more than courage — it requires cash at every link in the chain. We pay each person who touches the bags: the couriers, the bus driver, the men on the ferry.
This year, we were fortunate to find an unusual ally. Akus knew the driver of a bus that carries Haitian diplomats and lawyers between Santo Domingo and Port-au-Prince. Because of who travels on it, that bus is heavily guarded and rarely stopped. The driver agreed to transport our suitcases on one of his trips. It was the safest way to move them, though still not guaranteed.
Inflation in Haiti has climbed to around 30 percent this year, pushing up every cost — fuel, food, even ferry tickets. We pay more, wait longer, and hold our breath each time the Batima crosses the channel. But every successful delivery is proof that determination still matters.
Keeping a school running in Haiti has always been hard work. Today, it is an act of constant improvisation.
When a ferry means the world
The Batima ferries are the lifeline of La Gonâve. They carry students, teachers, and families back and forth for work, shopping, and study. They also carry our suitcases.
But even the sea routes aren’t safe anymore. In recent months, gangs have raided some ferries, stealing goods from passengers — especially merchants bringing fruits, vegetables, and supplies back from the mainland. When that happens, it ripples through the island economy. Fewer goods reach the markets; prices rise; families struggle.
So, when our ferry arrived untouched, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. For the children, the backpacks were just exciting new supplies. For us, they were a symbol that cooperation and trust still work in a country that too often seems broken.
The people behind the journey
No part of this process belongs to one person. It’s a chain of faith and persistence.
Dalis, who left her job in our school kitchen years ago but still volunteers to receive the suitcases in the Dominican Republic.
Akus, who negotiates safe passage with drivers and border contacts.
The cousins who risk the road to Port-au-Prince.
The men who lift the bags onto the ferry at Carriès.
The staff who meet them at the port on La Gonâve.
Each plays a role in keeping our classrooms supplied. None of it is easy, and yet everyone says yes when asked.
That, to me, is what Greater Good really means — ordinary people stepping up, again and again, because they believe education is worth the effort.
The wider crisis
The difficulties we face are part of a larger picture. Inflation, gang control, and shortages have touched every sector of life in Haiti. Goods are commandeered, markets are empty, and transportation costs have soared.
Many families on La Gonâve can no longer rely on regular shipments of food or materials. When gangs block highways, trucks carrying produce can’t reach the ports, so island merchants return home with nothing to sell. Those disruptions create hunger, drive up prices, and deepen poverty.
And yet, amid all of this, our school continues to function. Teachers show up, lessons go on, and children learn. That is nothing short of a miracle of coordination — and love.
Finding local solutions
One lesson from these challenges is clear: the fewer miles our supplies have to travel, the safer and more sustainable they become.
That’s why we’ve started working with a Haitian-owned, fair-trade company in Port-au-Prince that hand-makes school shoes. Instead of shipping second-hand shoes from abroad, we place orders locally. Teachers measure every student’s feet, send us the sizes, and the company crafts the pairs by hand.
Even this isn’t simple. Finished shoes are valuable and often targeted for theft, so transporting them from Port-au-Prince to La Gonâve takes patience and planning. As of early October, our new shoes were still waiting for a safe passage.
We’ll share more about this shift in another story soon, but it reflects a broader goal: investing in Haitian talent and reducing our reliance on imports that must cross dangerous roads.
A community that refuses to stop
Every year we ask ourselves the same question: will the supplies make it through this time? And every year, despite the roadblocks, the delays, and the fear, the answer has been yes.
That success belongs to the community — the drivers, the couriers, the teachers, the parents, and the students who wait patiently for their new uniforms. It belongs to people who believe, like we do, that education is worth the risk.
When I see our students walking into class with their new backpacks, I think about all the hands that carried those bags: across borders, along broken roads, over the sea. I think about the faith it takes to keep saying yes in a world that says no.
Every backpack counts
When those suitcases finally reached our school two weeks after leaving the Dominican Republic, we opened them one by one. Inside were neatly folded uniforms, stacks of notebooks, and the smell of new supplies — a smell that, to our teachers and students, means possibility.
Not one backpack was missing.
It might sound like a small victory. But in a country where so much is uncertain, that moment felt extraordinary. It was a reminder that collaboration still works, that courage still matters, and that even in hard times, good can still travel.
Each backpack that reaches La Gonâve represents more than a school supply. It’s a story of people who refuse to give up — a story of hope, ingenuity, and community strength.
If you’d like to help us continue getting vital supplies safely to our students on La Gonâve, please consider supporting our work. Every contribution keeps this long, remarkable journey moving forward.