The classrooms at Anténor Firmin school in Hinche in central Haiti are no longer studiously quiet.
Once a place of learning, it now echoes with the sounds of babies crying, water containers clanking, and voices murmuring through the night.
Over 700 people displaced by violence are crammed into the crumbling compound, sleeping on floors where children once solved math problems.
Among them is Edens Désir, a former teacher, who continues to believe that education should be the key to a more prosperous and peaceful future for this beleaguered Caribbean Island nation.
Edens Désir teaches a class at Anténor Firmin school.
A trained accountant and former secondary-school teacher, his life was upended by the violent clashes that erupted in March 2025 in Saut-d’Eau and Mirebalais, two small towns south of Hinche.
Like 6,000 others, he fled massacres, rape, arson, and looting.
“Everything I built, little by little, was destroyed,” he said. “I walked away with nothing.”
Warring gangs have long controlled most of the Haitian capital, Port-au-Prince, some 30 miles (48 km) away.
It is only recently that their sphere of influence has moved to more the more rural areas of Centre department where, Hinche and Saut-d’Eau are located.
Edens Désir, found refuge in the school where he once studied, a place now stripped of its purpose. Desks have become beds. Classrooms have turned into shelters. Families lie packed into rooms never meant to house them.
A classroom at Anténor Firmin school in Hinche now serves as both a shelter and an informal learning space for displaced children.
Even in these crowded rooms, he found a way to start over. Not for himself, but for the children around him. With a whiteboard, a marker, and quiet determination, he has brought a sense of purpose to lives that have been thrown off course.
“Ever since I was a kid, I loved teaching,” he explained. “It’s what matters most to me. I’d rather be in front of a class than sitting around doing nothing. For these kids, school is the only real chance they’ve got.”
Living in limbo
Once on the verge of expanding a small business, Mr. Désir now lives in limbo. “That plan is gone. Violence made sure of it. My only option now is to leave and try to start over somewhere else. But as long as I’m here, I will keep sharing what I know.”
These days, he takes life one day at a time. “I can’t make plans anymore,” he said. “Each day, I just figure things out as they come. Each night, I wonder if there will be food tomorrow.”
Clean water is scarce. Long queues stretch at distribution points, where women and children wait patiently, balancing heavy containers.
Hygiene conditions are dire. With few latrines and showers available, hundreds are left without privacy or sanitation. The health risks are growing, especially for the most vulnerable.
Food is just as uncertain. “There are nights I go to sleep without eating,” he says. “But I keep teaching because the kids are here.”
IOM staff and a civil protection agent asses the needs of displaced people
Delivering aid to the displaced is no easy task. The main road between Port-au-Prince and Hinche remains blocked by insecurity, cutting off supply routes and isolating entire communities.
Despite the hurdles, the UN’s International Organization for Migration (IOM) has reached over 800 families across 17 displacement sites, providing emergency items such as shelter kits, blankets, kitchen sets, and jerrycans.
IOM teams continue working directly with displaced families, host communities, and local authorities to assess needs and provide relief.
Site committees and civil protection teams are being trained to better manage the shelters. The most fragile sites are being relocated to safer areas and mental health support is offered to those affected by the violence.
Protect the vulnerable
These efforts aim to protect the most vulnerable, especially children, from a crisis they did not choose but are now forced to navigate.
Edens Désir believes that knowledge is the best defence against dehumanization. When violence tears everything apart, forcing children into displacement, splitting families, and cutting off access to education, teaching becomes an act of resistance.
Even when the days feel heavy, he keeps showing up for the children who still believe in him.
“If we want things to change, we need people who grow into better citizens,” he said. “I don’t know if what I’m doing is enough to make that happen, but it gives me purpose. It breaks my heart to know that one day I’ll have to leave them behind and look for a better future.”
