It became evident that it was going to be difficult to transition myself from Haiti and sever the ties established over my nine months as resident and teacher. Two days before my departure, Cyclone Chantal was gathering momentum in the Caribbean and threatening the southeast coast.

My personal project this year was not a film but a series of photographs – portraits of the eight young women in the graduating class. Assisted by an excellent first year student by the name of Gasner, and armed with the theme of “destiny,” I undertook the project at the beginning of the year; in January and February.

Friends and colleagues have asked me if I’m shooting any films while down here in Haiti – no doubt thinking that the country is rich with images and compelling stories from ancient and modern history – enough to build a documentary or drama around. And the country is, indeed, rich in content and possibilities.

The common usage for the word “money” in Haitian Créole is not the simple French conversion “argent” but rather the broader term “monnaie” whose French meaning is closer to “currency” – it has stuck probably because of its English-sounding phonetics. I have found the most peculiar behaviour around money in this culture.

For three nights in the final week of March as a full moon hovered in the Haitian sky and as pious folk prepared for national observances of Good Friday and Easter, I took advantage of a short break in classes – our last before starting the third term. I wished to expand my knowledge of the country’s contradictions so I visited Pétionville, the uptown enclave of the capital city, Port-au-Prince.

I am one among many creatures here. Once Haiti had numerous animal species but many were hunted to extinction while others have disappeared along with their habitats due to the clear-cutting of forests for fuel. Deforestation and the effects of the 2010 quake have also caused the majority of the country’s fifty amphibian species to be placed on the endangered list.

It was Wednesday morning at 6am as the campus lights were switched off and the sun appeared on the horizon through the windows of my bungalow when I awoke. Suddenly, as I stepped out onto the floor, the walls and floor began to extend dramatically – the ceiling of my life, as it were, was listing and bowing uncontrollably, trying to right itself to my head’s position.

The sole road to Port-au-Prince from Jacmel is full of wonders. Called Route de L’amitié (Friendship Road), it starts in downtown Jacmel on the country’s southeast shore, climbing the rough mountain range known as the Massif de la Selle over its summit then descending into the valley of the capital city along its quake-devastated western shore.

Returning from the Christmas break to the reality of Ciné Institute, I found that the fixtures and elements of my Haitian experience had been shifted and rearranged.

When I was a student I was obsessed with lines – lines that vibrated, bendable lines, lines that traversed barriers to join two realities, lines that posed questions, lines in infinity, shape forming lines, lines that measured. I built an environment of lines, bendable lines measured in square cubits running from ceiling to floor and from wall to wall – a three-dimensional maze of elastic lines.

Once classes are over I often wonder what kind of environment the students go home to. Leaving through the gates of the campus just after five into the long shadows of twilight some hitch a ride on the back of a comrade’s moto, others flag down crowded tap taps on the main road while many do the long walk on the four to five kilometre trek through fields and country roads to reach their domiciles in the city.

In the dead of night this past 18 November Sunday, while the proud citizens of Jacmel slept, and while an electrical blackout was in effect, a man was shot to death in his home while trying to prevent the kidnapping of his three year-old nephew.

I finally went down through the caves to the seashore – my first time since the storm. It took a good week for the water level to go down and safe passage assured. I remember feeling the rumbling in my bungalow as the stormed raged and thinking it was more than just waves pounding the shore.

On Thursday 1 November, the Haitian feast of Guédé began (mentioned in Baron Samedi section) – it would continue to Friday with a national holiday and over the weekend. During this time the sound of voodoo drums filled the dense Haitian atmosphere over mountain, field and sea.

The ground is shaking from the pounding of the waves – there is thunder and lightning and a general rumbling. We’re taking the brunt of Tropical Storm Sandy. Classes were cancelled this morning because of the constant downpour of rain that made the main road impassable in parts and impossible for many students and staff to travel.

Just outside my bungalow on the campus is a little altar dedicated to Baron Samedi. He is the head of the Guédé family in Haitian vodou existing at the axis of life and death – his portfolio includes powers of fertility and the protection of children.