A Lifeline for Haiti Inside Used Vehicles
Recently, Louis Spano stood on the deck of a cargo ship in Brooklyn, looking out over vehicles waiting to be loaded on board.
There was a Mack truck stacked high with mattresses, a few peeling school buses, two hulking pieces of equipment — parts of an old cement plant — and dozens of older model cars that, if you got close enough, you could see were stuffed to capacity with blankets, rugs, bicycles, spare tires, microwaves, packs of fruit juice, a fake Christmas tree.
Mr. Spano, the 57-year- old owner of Red Hook Shipping Inc., specializes in shipping used vehicles from Brooklyn to Haiti. But not only cars and trucks.
Haitian import rules allow used vehicles to hold personal effects and used household goods. And so, twice a month, Mr. Spano ships vehicles that are loaded with all manner of items collected by local Haitian immigrants to send to people back home, from bundles of clothes to sacks of rice to crutches to pots and pans.
The trucks and cars have become, in a sense, shipping containers — a practice that some criticize for having filled the struggling island nation with decrepit vehicles and junk, while others describe it as a vital link.
“People always sent stuff in the vehicles, but after the earthquake it was more,” said E. Z. Vallon, an employee of Red Hook Shipping who oversees vehicle drop- offs and helps translate for Mr. Spano, who speaks only basic Creole. “It was stuff they really needed.”
There are nearly 90,000 Haitian- born immigrants living in New York, according to the Census Bureau’s American Community Survey from 2015. It is among the largest Haitian populations outside Port-au-Prince, and after the 2010 earthquake, the diaspora across the region played a role in helping rebuild the country.
Mr. Spano charges $1,500 to ship a standard S.U.V.
“Things we neglect every day, stoves, refrigerators — it’s of great value to them,” he said.
“If you knew how much I didn’t charge for, you’d think I was crazy,” said Mr. Spano, who often finds himself trying to find space for someone’s couch or first communion gifts before closing the hatch.
Mr. Spano got into the Caribbean shipping business in the late 1980s. Then, in 1991, an international trade embargo was imposed on Haiti, bringing business to a halt. Anticipating an end to the sanctions, Mr. Spano started advertising on local Haitian radio, and when the embargo was lifted in 1994, business took off.
Customers drop vehicles off in Mr. Spano’s lot every day of the week.
Recently, Pierre Bonner, of Brooklyn, was crouched in the back of a six-meter box truck that he had paid to stuff with things.
The pile appeared to be about twice the size of the truck. Mr. Bonner wedged things in, as if putting together a puzzle he’d completed before. “When he’s finished, nothing will be outside,” Mr. Vallon said. “It will all be in.”
The ship is bound for St. Marc, a small port. Amid the crowd, Mr. Spano will be waiting. He flies to Haiti twice a month to watch over every ship as it’s unloaded.
He can be heard shouting in Creole. “‘Camion’ is ‘truck,’ ” he said.
Mr. Spano, who ships about 4,800 stuffed camions a year, shrugs off the unusual demands of his business.
“When in Rome, you’re Roman, honey.”