When the sky turned black and the rain started to fall last Friday afternoon, I took refuge in a shelter enclosed by glass on two sides. I watched as the first tree that fell bounced off the roof of the shelter, and then crashed onto the parking spot next to my car. Seconds later another tree fell, and the wind continued to sing like a tortured soul as branches hurled around me.

All I could think about was the camps. The camps. At least I had a secure roof over my head, one that had survived the quake. I wasn’t worried about my safety, but the relentless howl of the wind and the continual clunk of debris did, I must admit, give me pause.

When the storm let up enough for me to run to my car, the normal five-minute drive home took 45. Already choked with rubble from the quake, the streets were now further clogged with trees, tin roofing, boulders and stalled cars. Electric wires dangled like cob webs.

My street was blocked on either side so I parked behind a fallen trunk, took off my shoes, and walked the rest of the way, unprepared for the disaster that awaited me behind my apartment door. I’d left open a bank of windows, which were in the path of the storm.  The force of the 100 mph winds had blown my bedroom door through the jam to the other side, ripped my closet door from its hinge and smattered pieces of wood over the debris-littered tiles.  My couch and mattress were soaked, my desk, table and counter tops drenched. All this through open windows.  Still, all I could think about was the camps. The camps.

In the end, I only lost my computer. But six people died and more than 2,000 were left homeless, people who already lost their homes in the quake, homeless again. The government promised that the displaced would not sleep in the rain again, but their promises mean little, especially to the 1.3 million still living in one of the 1,300 camps scattered throughout the earthquake-affected areas.

The international aid community has earmarked millions for early warning disaster preparedness, which, if it works, could save lives. But how to prepare for the unexpected, which seems to be Haiti’s calling card? For disaster preparedness, some international aid agencies have launched an SMS blitz. These messages tell people to trim branches, shut their windows and batten down the hatches on their tents if a storm is coming. Pamphlets have been distributed to tell people to get on solid ground if they’re in low-lying areas. They are advised to put their personal possessions in plastic bags while they wait out the storm. But it doesn’t tell them where to go to follow the evacuation plan, because there isn’t one. And with several months more of hurricane season, that’s hardly a comforting thought.