God does not live here anymore.

God does not live here anymore.

More than 100 years, was enthroned as the Notre-Dame de L'Assomption on the downtown Port-au-Prince. She survived three dictators and countless hurricanes, the earthquake on 12 January 2010, she did not survive.

A year later, the cathedral is still in ruins, no one cares, no one gives them away.

When we visited the church a year ago, we blocked the way a metal fence. Too dangerous boulders weighing several tons, which dangled from the ceiling, over head-high mountains of rubble that buried everything inside forever among themselves. A year later, no one cares. Through a window we get in, climb through the shattered aisle, then out again.

We drive over to the presidential palace, past the huge refugee camp, which was once the city park of Port-au-Prince.

People have broken lamp posts, and tap the power from their barren crates. Compared with the remains of the palace still retains its domes resting askew on the ruins. To the fence in front of the palace someone has attached photos of the presidential candidates, as if the ruins a good advertisement for them.

In April, 100 days after the quake, excavators had begun to clear the debris. Now they have given up. No one knows how long the symbol of the State of Haiti is still lying in ruins. What a picture, 365 days after the quake.

In general, the city looks like a year ago. Hardly a ruin is cleared. All the houses bear marks: red, yellow, green. Green means habitable. Yellow: repairable. Red means the risk of collapse, enter under any circumstances. Every other house has a red stamp. Also, the College Francois Capois, a beautiful colonial building with two floors, has pulled in the event a huge hole. You will need experts and heavy equipment to demolish the house. Both are available in Haiti remains difficult.

We walk up the Avenue Pouplard. In a ruin sits Roland Saint Jean, on an old Singer sewing his Polo shirts. "We had such a beautiful house," says Schneider, "then came the earthquake, and everything was broken."

With his hands he dug the machine again, cleared the rubble of his house to the side. On the black market, he bought tarpaulins, the aid agencies after the quake actually distributed for free, they stressed on his property. Now he is back there, where once stood his house, and sews and sews. "Business is not good," says Roland, on good days he makes 500 Gourdes, or 10 €. On bad days, he earns nothing.

Behind his shelter is a hut made of tin, in which he now lives, all alone. And his family?

"This is no longer there."