More than two weeks have passed since an earthquake destroyed much of Haiti's capital and left a vacuum of power over who should rebuild the country.
In a snapshot of the growing desperation, a private security guard fatally shot a looter who joined with others in breaking into a damaged appliance store in the commercial district Friday. As young scavengers carted away ovens, refrigerators and an air conditioner, an Associated Press journalist watched as the guard arrived firing an automatic pistol.
About a dozen soldiers from the U.S. Army's 82nd Airborne Division rushed to calm the situation but it was too late. The looter lay dead, face-down at the bottom of the stairs, splattered in blood.
Other Haitians are trying to focus on getting on with life, but the mood is grim everywhere.
"The situation is only getting worse," said Josielle Noel, 46, who was among dozens of people pooling their labor to start rebuilding in the concrete slum of Canape Vert, an area devastated by the quake.
Noel's house partially collapsed in the Jan. 12 earthquake. Two more small aftershocks shook parts of the capital Friday, although new damage is hard to spot in a landscape of buildings cracked, partially collapsed or flattened.
Tired of waiting for government help, the families lugged heavy bundles of wood and tin up steep hillsides to start rebuilding new homes on top of old ones.
Few tents have been supplied to the quake's survivors, rubble remains and signs begging for help in English — not Haitian Creole — dot nearly every street corner in Port-au-Prince.
It could take weeks to get the 200,000 tents needed for Haiti's homeless, said Marie-Laurence Jocelyn Lassegue, the culture and communications minister. Haiti now has fewer than 5,000 donated tents and coordinating the aid operation remains a problem.
"I have 44 years' worth of memories in this house," said Noel Marie Jose, 44, whose family was reinforcing crumbling walls with tin and wood in Canape Vert.
Houses on their side of a mountain were nearly all destroyed while dwellings on the other side remained intact.
"I got married here. I met my husband here. My mother braided my hair there, where these walls used to stand," Jose said. "Even if it's unsafe, I can't imagine leaving. Even if the government helps, it will come too late. This is how it is in Haiti."
Surrounding her, concrete homes were either crushed or had toppled down a hill. Jose and other families said they were worried both about the coming rainy season and fear they may lose their plots after demolitions because they either lack clear title or the government does not want them to rebuild on land it considers unsafe.
Reconstruction, resettlement and land titles are all priorities of the government of President Rene Preval — but so far in name only.
The government has been nearly paralyzed by the quake — its own infrastructure, including the National Palace, was destroyed — and so far it has been limited to appeals for foreign aid and meetings with foreign donors that have yet to produce detailed plans for the emergencies it confronts.
Its first priority is moving people from areas prone to more quakes and landslides into tent cities that have sanitation and security but have yet to be built. Preval held dozens of meetings with potential outside contractors to discuss debris removal, sanitation and other long-term needs.
Albert Ramdin, assistant secretary of the Organization of American States, has offered help in creating a new Haitian land registry — a process that could take months if not years because countless government records were destroyed in the quake.
Haitians ardently defend their property rights. If a family has occupied land for more than 10 years, they gain ownership rights even without a deed. For some families, small homes have been passed down through generations. Few Haitians have insurance, and the loss of what few assets they have has crippled countless families.
Many have tired of living in tents improvised from tarps, sheets and bedspreads, opting to rebuild their homes rather than find new plots.
Lassegue, the communications minister, said such rebuilding won't be tolerated — and the government wants to develop and implement a comprehensive reconstruction plan that might feature building codes, an anomaly in this impoverished nation.
"We've been sleeping outside but the rains will come soon," said Merilus Lovis, 27, taking wooden planks and erecting them for walls inside the foundation of his former home, where his wife and daughter died. "I'm scared of the floods on this hillside but I don't think that God would let such bad things happen twice."
Paul Louis, a 45-year-old porter, has started a business buying wood from scavengers and selling it on the street. He purchased a cracked and worn 1-by-8-foot board for about $2 and was selling it Friday for $3.
"People are afraid to build with concrete now," Louis said.
In another neighborhood, people dug through destroyed homes to salvage materials. Women did the wash amid the ruins.
"I have stayed, but I lost my home," said Thomas Brutus, who lives perched precariously on a debris-strewn hillside in a shack made from the remains of destroyed homes. "So I made this little house, even though I know it's dangerous. We have been here for 14 days and have received no help."
Many residents say they're staying because they grow vegetables on their small plots. Thousands of others have swarmed to improvised tent camps, where Elisabeth Byrs, an official of the U.N.'s humanitarian coordination office, said there is a "major concern" about sanitation.
About 200,000 people are in need of post-surgery follow-up treatment and an unknown number have untreated injuries, she said.
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Associated Press writers Evens Sanon and Michelle Faul contributed to this report.