Charles Henri Baker, a wealthy, light-skinned industrialist who has pledged to lift Haiti from poverty if elected president, currently ranks an uninspiring fifth in popular polls.
But in the hellish slum of Cité Soleil, in a neighbourhood known as "Palestine," he is No. 1.
Proof of Mr. Baker's benevolence came to the people of Palestine last week, when one of his associates gave Dejour Mario, a slight, 24-year-old "crew boss," the equivalent of $4,300 (U.S.) to distribute to his 50 followers allegedly in exchange for their support on election day.
After the earthquake, the hurricane and disease, the potential for vote-rigging has become especially potent in the run-up to the Nov. 28 ballot, where there is no clear front-runner in a colourful field of 18 candidates - including a popular singer who used to perform in drag and a former first lady whose husband was overthrown in a military coup.
All are vying for votes from a population plunged ever deeper into poverty by nature's devastation and an outbreak of cholera, which has so far killed more than 1,250 people.
Haiti's electoral authority insists the vote will go ahead, despite calls by four candidates to postpone the vote until the cholera can be contained.
The anguish is most apparent amongst the 1.3 million people who still live in makeshift camps and in Cité Soleil, the worst slum in the western hemisphere, with an illiterate population of more than 200,000 people.
The International Crisis Group said in a recent report that the earthquake and epidemic have exacerbated problems such as voter apathy and campaign violence which threaten to undermine what are "perhaps the most important elections in Haiti's history."
The campaign has so far focused on personalities rather than issues, prompting the ICG to warn: "Candidates should begin to articulate substantive platforms that address national problems."
Instead, candidates seem to have resorted to the graft to secure votes from Haiti's most vulnerable.
The Baker campaign's gift worked out to about $85 per vote in Palestine, a fortune where life is a daily scramble for survival.
"If he becomes president, the people of Cité Soleil will work in his factories. We've had bad presidents who were raised poor. Now it's time to give it to someone who is not poor," reasoned Mr. Mario, dressed in a brand new T-shirt bearing the likeness of Mr. Baker above his party: "Respect."
"He gave me money to pay the rest of the crew. They believe because he has given money before, when he becomes president he will give them more," Mr. Mario explained with a thin smile, squatting on a cinderblock beneath a tattered tarp.
Last month, Mr. Baker stood in the very same place to deliver a boisterous speech where he promised the unemployed people of Palestine streetlights and jobs. He took direct aim at the front-running candidates, Jude Celestin - who runs the state construction agency and is the protégé of current president René Préval - and Mirlande Manigat, whose husband, Leslie, was president for four months in 1998.
Residents of Palestine said their crew boss doled out money and Baker T-shirts several days later. Some said they were scared to refuse.
"You know people are watching," said one man, while tending his modest garden of plantains and collard greens.
Mr. Baker warned during his rally in October that support for his rival candidates would simply prolong Cité Soleil's status quo of misery.
Yesterday, in an interview with The Globe and Mail in the manicured courtyard of a downtown hotel in Port-au-Prince, the silver-haired politician denied orchestrating the buying votes, and accused his rivals of trying to "steal the elections."
"We don't have the money to pay for votes, ma'am," he said. "You probably met with some of Celestin's people telling you that I'm paying because they are paying for votes," he charged.
Michel Martelly, the charismatic singer who is polling in fourth place, warned of fraud on election day after a press conference last week.
"All of the stealing happens from noon to six, when the vote slows down. If their candidate has a thousand votes, they can put a one in front of it. It becomes 11,000," he said.
Cité Soleil is divided into neighbourhoods, such as Brooklyn, Boston and Palestine, which correspond to rival gangs and crew bosses. During election season, tensions rise between gangs with different political affiliations.
Some of the campaigns have semi-official satellite offices in some of the roughest corners of the slum, orchestrating parades, posters and graffiti campaigns.
Luckner Desire, an unemployed father of four, said a representative from Mr. Celestin's camp approached him offering the equivalent of $800 if he could deliver two dozen votes.
Mr. Desire, whose seven-year-old son, Stanley, began showing symptoms of cholera this morning - vomiting on the concrete floor that is his bed - said he refused the money.
"I am not going to vote because I have no belief in anything," he said, throwing a worried glance toward his son.
"With the cholera, we don't think about voting," he said, echoing a widespread sentiment that has led analysts to believe there may be an especially low turnout on election day due to voter apathy.
In recent weeks, rivals have scuffled in Cité Soleil, throwing stones and bottles at each other, though there are fears that the violence could turn serious on voting day.
Complicating matters, MINUSTAH, the United Nations mission in Haiti responsible for providing security and logistical help during the election, has come under direct attack over the cholera outbreak.
Many Haitians believe a contingent of Nepalese peacekeepers introduced the epidemic to Haiti. The rumours have fuelled violent protests last week at which two people were killed.
The people of Palestine, who drink water from an open spigot and live alongside a narrow canal that doubles as their lavatory, believe MINUSTAH poisoned their water source.
"Two weeks ago, hundreds of fish washed up dead in the water. MINUSTAH dumped the disease," said Reggie Jean-François, a toy-maker who constructs model trucks from salvaged tin cans in his workshop on a dead-end road he's dubbed Mount Zion.
Mr. Jean-François doesn't involve himself in politics, but is angry at the United Nations. "If they mess with us, there's going to be a war," he said.