By all accounts, Haiti had a relatively peaceful election.

There were moments of chaos and lack of preparation on all sides, but the early word here is that more than 50 percent of Haitians voted. Now people are just waiting to see the results. Already the Rene Preval campaign is claiming a first round victory of over 60 percent of the vote, enough to win outright without a runoff.

Though the official count is still underway, local election officials were posting unofficial results at polling places throughout Port-au-Prince. In Preval strongholds such as Cite Soleil, he seemed to be ahead with as much as 90 percent.

As his supporters await word -- some with guns and others with dreams -- the capital has begun to regain some normalcy. Traffic is picking up, schools are to open and the checkpoints and U.N. patrols are fading.

Here again is the cycle of stilted democracy that has existed in Haiti since 1990: Election, overthrow, election, overthrow and now hopefully, a new era of sustained peace.

Award-winning photojournalist Ron Haviv documents Haiti's presidential and legislative elections from Port-au-Prince. >>About This Blog

Thousands of people took to the streets of Port-au-Prince early Tuesday, some to vote and others to protest that they couldn't. Many polling stations opened hours late and others were without the proper paperwork. Some ballot registrations were sent to precincts miles away. The largest show of frustration came in Preval's stronghold of Cite Soleil, where the election commission had barred polling stations. By late Tuesday, U.N. troops were able to restore order and election officials extended polling hours to allow everyone to vote. >>Full Story: After Chaotic Start in Haiti, Election Lurches Forward

Hatian women read from the bible outside a polling place ahead of Tuesday's vote. >>More Photos (Ron Haviv / VII for washingtonpost.com)

A calm has descended over Port-au-Prince. No one really knows why.

Some suggest that the chimeres (the ghosts) -- ousted president Jean-Bertrand Aristide's supporters in Cite Soleil and other poor areas -- have decided to keep the calm ... at least until the election is over.

Haiti is an amazing place in that it never fails to surprise even the most hardened observers, not to mention the Haitians themselves. The election that has been postponed so many times over recent months is finally taking place today. And everyone has a theory about what will happen afterward and what it all means. There are so many theories, in fact, that it becomes apparent that no one really knows.

But people keep asking: What will happen? Will violence erupt again if frontrunner Rene Preval does not win outright in the first round? Will his supporters react only if Preval seems sure to lose the election? Will Preval's opponents and their supporters cause problems?

There are so many factors. All one can do is wait and see.

The location of the polling stations is still confusing to many. As of last evening, many stations had not received their voting materials. Within a one-block area, people answer differently when asked if there is a polling station there. Polling stations were removed altogether from the hot spot of Cite Soleil. But not everyone knows where to go to cast their vote.

"The election is very important for me because the country is going from bad to worse," says a student who wants to study in America. "God will help me try to choose a good president for this country, to help change this country."

Another day of reckoning has dawned in Haiti. Those who voted in the 1990 election, when Aristide became Haiti's first freely-elected leader after decades of dictatorship, have another chance to grasp their future.

In the words of one person who stopped to watch a polling station being set up: "There are a lot of people who are going to try and vote. The Haitian people are supposed to care and vote for their country. I will vote because I care about Haiti."

Award-winning photojournalist Ron Haviv is on the ground in Port-au-Prince documenting the run-up to Haiti's presidential and legislative elections. >>About This Blog

Tomorrow, Haitians will vote to establish a new presidency and parliament. The new president will be in office from 2006 to 2011. The hope on the street is that this president will be able to serve his full term, something not always guaranteed in Haiti.

On the streets of Port-au-Prince and through the countryside, posters representing more than 30 candidates are plastered on every wall space. Murals and giant portraits wrap street corners. The slogans of front-runner René Préval (a message of hope) and of parliamentary candidate Ronald Jonauel ("No Free Lunch") are made into songs. The campaign, low-key by Haitian standards, ended officially on Sunday with rallies and meetings across the country. Préval, who hadn't been seen in Port-au-Prince in a number of days, left for the countryside to vote.

Préval, a slight man with a graying beard and easy smile, met with people along the road near Gonaives before making his way to Ennery for a rally, where he was welcomed like a king. People lined the main street to meet him. Guarded by Argentinean United Nations troops and Haitian police, Préval took every chance to jump into the crowd, exchanging words and rubbing elbows.

Rallies were also held without the candidate. In the Bel Air section of Port-au-Prince, a Préval rally was canceled, reinstated and canceled again. His core supporters, having no interest in being told they couldn't march, gathered and headed toward the palace. Haitians, many waving flags, followed a truck laden with speakers and another displaying a giant, smiling Préval. Music led the crowd as the number of marchers grew into the thousands. Intermittent political slogans pierced the air above the sounds of song.

In the countryside, after traveling for hours on pothole-filled roads, Préval arrived at Ennery. The quintessential politician, Préval didn't miss a chance to be photographed kissing babies and hugging children. At times he seemed reluctant to be there, each step toward the crowd appearing measured and precise. It was as if he realized perhaps he might be the only one to help, whether he wants to or not.

Occasionally, women would jump into his path to grab, hug or kiss any part of him they could grasp. Calmly and quietly, Préval made his way to the stage to address the crowd.

Award-winning photojournalist Ron Haviv is on the ground in Port-au-Prince documenting the run-up to Haiti's presidential and legislative elections. >>About This Blog

Susan Scott Krabacher with a child at the Mercy House Orphanage . >>Narrated Slideshow (Ron Haviv / VII for washingtonpost.com)

The child was stiff, unable to move her arms by even a few inches.

The young girl, appearing almost like a doll, had just been found abandoned in a hospital and wasn't thought to have much life left in her. But in her last days, Carol would find some comfort at the Mercy and Sharing Foundation, sharing space with many other orphans.

Susan Scott Krabacher comforts Carol in her arms, noting how she responds to human touch. But she is surprised Carol is still alive.

"We got her too late," she says. "When I saw her she had that death stare. I don't think she has a lot of time left."

Krabacher, a former Playboy model, founded the orphanage in 1995. Returning to her religious roots, she left her life at the Playboy mansion to establish a group that now cares for thousands of Haitian children.

Children who share a room filled with wooden bunk beds take every opportunity to run around. The orphans, segregated by their condition, are required to stay inside because of security concerns. The mentally challenged and handicapped children, according to Haitian law, stay in a building apart from the others. But in the courtyard, they all intermingle and play together, a sight rarely seen on the streets of Port-au-Prince.

Krabacher says she can relate in some ways to Haiti's people, especially the children. She had a troubled childhood and was forced to seek her own way in the world.

"I felt equal with the poor," she says. "I wasn't educated, they weren't educated. I had a lot to give and they had a lot to give. I had a lot of love and I wanted to change things and they needed things to change. So it was a perfect match."

Award-winning photojournalist Ron Haviv is on the ground in Port-au-Prince documenting the run-up to Haiti's presidential and legislative elections. >>About This Blog

You can turn left or right, walk straight or backward -- the direction doesn't matter. In the streets of Port-au-Prince and surrounding slums, the children of Haiti are everywhere.

Maladies that strike the children here are similar to those plaguing strife-ridden Darfur, Sudan, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The main difference is that Haiti is not officially at war. Less than four hours by plane from New York and even closer to Miami, this country's next generation is in serious danger of not growing up.

The future -- and that is all Haiti has -- lies with this country's youngest generation -- and with nearly 4 million children, almost half of Haiti‚s population is under the age of 18. But children facing a serious lack of education, medical care, nutrition and housing are forced to live their lives doing nothing. Haiti is so poor that the child labor common in other parts of the developing world doesn't exist -- there is simply no work at all.

Haiti is a tough place to have a childhood, but for orphans it is something unimaginable. There are thousands of children who have no one. With the help of his faith, Bishop Yves-Innocent Louis does his part running the Life is Wealth Orphanage, a 60-bed facility filled mostly with girls from 2 to 17 years old.

In a scene straight from Oliver Twist, children line up at a table eating in unison. The only difference from the Dickens version is that they smile as they eat the second of three meals that day. The orphanage is run with religious fervor and supported by Americans and the World Food Program. These children live in an entirely different world than those with families in places like Cité Soleil: They have a school, computer lessons and attend required religious services each week.

Fabienne Jean Baptiste, an 11-year-old girl with a soft voice, pigtails held in pink and blue berets and a checkered shirt, has been here since she was 2. She says she's happy and has many friends at the orphanage.

On another side of town, children are struggling just to eat more than one meal a day. Malnutrition runs rampant throughout the country, evident in swollen stomachs and the turning of hair to red. Contrast the hunger with the toy guns made of plastic and metal that can be found everywhere and the graffiti picturing the latest in weaponry that decorates many people's walls. The violence once meted out by the military is now alive and well in the minds and homes of the Haitian people.

Already, Haiti's youngest generation seems lost like so many before it, unable to lead the country out of its mess, or even to imagine a society free of violence and hunger. Then again, if Fabienne is able to realize her dreams of becoming a doctor, there just might be a chance for Haiti.

Award-winning photojournalist Ron Haviv is on the ground in Port-au-Prince documenting the run-up to Haiti's presidential and legislative elections. >>About This Blog

A patient at the Doctors Without Borders clinic in Port-au-Prince. >>More Photos (Ron Haviv / VII for washingtonpost.com)

The Gingerbread House stands on a crowded street, a towering, mustard-colored structure that housed U.S. troops during the military intervention of 1994. Today, Doctors without Borders (MSF) runs the space as a rehabilitation clinic.

Opened in December 2004, the clinic has become a lifeline of hope to Haitians. As violence has continued relatively unabated in the post-Aristide Haiti, the number of gunshot victims has steadily risen. Since opening, MSF says its personnel have treated nearly 2,500 people for violence-related injuries, including 1,500 gunshot victims and 500 stabbing victims. In the last month alone, there were 47 gunshot victims from Cite Soleil.

As Haiti continues to implode, havens of medical care have become beyond necessary for survival. Walking through the wards of the Gingerbread House, as locals call the clinic, victims as young as 10 years old lay on beds being cared for by their mothers. Jean Michelit turns to his mother and winces. A six-inch bullet wound, bound by Frankenstein-like stitches, starts on the top of his forehead and reaches just above his right eye. Jean's story is similar to those of the many other gunshot victims strewn about the ward's two floors.

Nearly two weeks ago, 10-year-old Jean was walking home from school and had just entered his home in the Grand Ravine neighborhood when he suddenly fell to the ground -- struck in the head by a gunshot that no one heard and no one expected. The area had been peaceful until that time. Jean and his family's lives were changed instantly. Jocelyn, his mother, is no longer able to care for her other two children. Jean is paralyzed from the waist down and requires full-time care.

"I got shot in my neck," Jean Paul said. "My cousin went to the U.N. troops to ask for help. They asked if he was American and since he wasn't, they couldn't help."

The U.N. thought he was dead. So did the ambulance workers who came and took him away. Still alive, doctors told him he would be dead in six hours. Then, "The doctor who did the surgery told me if I don't die, I would never have the chance to walk again," Jean Paul said. "The bullet is still inside me."

As more and more patients are brought in from a wider area of Port-au-Prince, MSF's actions will help for now. But what of the future? One MSF worker spoke of a desire to cure not only the physical, but also the social breakdowns caused by these injuries. Watching Haiti die from the inside -- an exercise in futility.

"I don't know how many days, how many weeks, how many months I will have to stay here," said Jean Paul.

Award-winning photojournalist Ron Haviv is on the ground in Port-au-Prince documenting the run-up to Haiti's presidential and legislative elections. >>About This Blog

A girl on a street in Cite Soleil, a slum just outside Port-au-Prince. >>More Photos (Ron Haviv / VII for washingtonpost.com)

Cite Soleil has long been a poster child for the poorest of the poor. It is a slum of Haiti, one of the poorest countries in Western Hemisphere. But in the last few years, it has been changing its image. This slum on the edge of Port-au-Prince is also becoming one of the most dangerous poor places in the Western Hemisphere.

In the last few months kidnappings, shootings and robbery have led people to refer to it as a cross between Baghdad and Mogadishu. Every few blocks is controlled by different gang leaders; the number of gangs is said to exceed 32. Stuck in the middle of the slum are United Nations forces, Jordanians who would rather be in places like Ethiopia. When two Jordanian soldiers were killed last week, their mothers in Jordan began to ask: Why are our sons in Haiti?

The answer is simple. Haiti is in desperate need of help -- help from an international community that has deserted the country's citizens time and time again.

As you walk through a section of Cite Soleil under the watchful eye of local gang leader Tin Blanc (Little White Man), he attempts to show how he and his colleagues are forced to fight in order to improve their living conditions.

Stepping over garbage -- through a type of mud that perhaps began as clean water but now seems to be a type of sewage cement -- it's obvious that the infrastructure here has seen better days.

One of the more amazing sights is the children in their school uniforms. In a place where there is more dirt than pavement, the school uniforms remain immaculate. Pressed and cleaned, the children make their way through daily obstacles to school.

It's said that the slum's population has begun to leave due to the violence. And it seems true that streets once packed from side to side and top to bottom now have more breathing room. But as you look down an alley and pass through grated metal, your shoulders scraping the wall, you find yourself in someone's courtyard with very little room to breathe, let alone live.

As hundreds danced in the streets singing songs for Préval and waving flags, there was one person missing -- the candidate. He was represented on flags and T-shirts, but had no intention of coming into the city. In fact, he has not campaigned here at all. People speculate that either he knows he has all their votes, or that it is simply too dangerous to venture there, even to meet his supporters.

Award-winning photojournalist Ron Haviv is on the ground in Port-au-Prince documenting the run-up to Haiti's presidential and legislative elections. >>About This Blog

Haviv, a co-founder of the independent photo agency VII, has photographed conflict and humanitarian crisis in Latin America, Africa, the Middle East, Russia and the Balkans. His work has appeared in various publications, including Vanity Fair, Time, Newsweek, The New York Times Magazine, Fortune, Stern and Paris Match. He has also published two collections of his photography, Blood and Honey: A Balkan War Journal and Afghanistan: On the Road to Kabul.

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