Going Home Again: Day Three in Haiti

Motion Sickness, headaches, and politics. That was the story yesterday. The lack of roads here could make every outing a very exciting adventure for some and a nightmare from hell for others. I fall in the latter category. The theory is that roads aren't built in the certain neighborhoods in order to keep the masses out. What do I know?

Going Home Again: Day Two in Haiti

I went into the heart of Port-au-Prince today. My mom had to go find out about my grandfather's life insurance policy, which by the way is a whole other mess. Nothing is ever simple or easy in Haiti. Nothing. Anyway, the further I got into Port-au-Prince, the sadder, more depressed, and angry I got. Port-au-Prince seemed dirty, overcrowded, and ugly and all the roads and I mean all of them, are badly, badly damaged. The beautiful, soulful, vibrant, historic city I remember is gone. Port-au-Prince was never the Paris of anything, but it had pizzazz, a certain je-ne-sais-quoi or life to it. Now, even that is gone. It saddens me what the country's own people did to it. I know the earthquake took its toll, but some damages were man-made. Certain things should have been preserved. Certain places, like Champs de Mars deserved to be protected but people were too busy being wrapped in their own personal tragedies to take pride in anything worth their pride.There are so many people in Port-au-Prince. Way more people than I remember seeing in the city. I have been told that while some of these people really did lose their homes to the earthquake, many of them left their homes in the countryside or even in the capital, with the promise of free housing. So now they live in tents all over the damn city; tents placed anywhere and everywhere! The whole damn city looks like a refugee camp. The ridiculous amount of people plus the fact that many of the designated market places were destroyed during the earthquake, has resulted in people selling all kinds of things all over the place. This, combined with all the damn UN trucks and SUVs running wild, makes the city feel like a freaking nightmare.

Putain de Temps: On Missing Home (Haiti)

Dear God, this is a miss poem.

I miss childhood. I miss my imagination. The worlds I created with well... I don't quite remember and that's what is so damn heartbreaking. I miss my imaginary friend, Jelhane, who I don't remember either but of whom my mom was so fond. I miss the hot Caribbean sun. The hustle and bustle of downtown Port-au-Prince, its saleswomen and dirty, half-naked boys selling everything under the sun. I miss waiting for a ride to school every morning. The conversations I had with the saleswomen. The smell of coffee in the morning, the men who bought the coffee but always spilled some for the departed. The saleswomen selling bananas, hard-boiled eggs, with pikliz. I miss "pate ze" with hot dogs and pikliz or "pate aranso."  I miss Christmastime. Running around in the dark with firecrackers. Wishing random strangers "jwaye nwel e bon ane." I miss childhood.

I miss the hot summer days spent at the spring. Eating mangoes and tamarind til tummies hurt. I miss climbing trees, running, falling. I miss dominoes and cards. Skipping ropes and dolls. Fritay and dancing. Oh how I miss dancing. I used to dance. All the time, I used to dance. I miss dancing. I don't dance anymore. I miss hot afternoon suns, singing in the back of a pick-up truck, tennis lessons after school. Art classes and piano lessons. Saturdays of leisure, Sunday morning masses and afternoons with Grand'Nana. I miss my great grandmother and her loving smile. Her coffee and the many ways she spoiled me. I miss the way her yellow skin wrinkled, her long and beautiful black hair, which she always insisted on dyeing, and the many people she fed. I miss her comforting presence, the way her eyes lit up when she saw me. I miss her love. Her unconditional love. I miss my Grand'Nana.

I childhood innocence. Without a care in the world. The many friends I played with. The boy who declared himself my boyfriend, followed me around like a lost puppy and gave me my first kiss. How beautiful he was. God I hope he is still alive. I miss dark starry nights. Moonlight stories and my mom yelling at me to come home. I miss the potential everyone saw in me. The pride they took in me. The many people who always wanted to please me. I miss la Riviere de l'Estere and Fete St Jerome in late Septembers. Mardi Gras and three days of Carnaval. I miss being on stage, being one of the smartest students in my classes. And living in the moment, never really caring if there was a tomorrow. I miss coloring and painting, writing songs, and making up dances. I miss Steve and the many fights we fought. I miss Nadege and how she loved me. How patient she was with me. I miss Chachou. My Oncle Ilitch and his paintings. I miss never really fitting in. Oncle Yves and his stories. Oncle Jean and his books. Tante Tete and her secrets. Visiting my grandfather and the many books he gave me.

I miss my childhood. I miss my home. I miss Haiti. Mwen Sonje Lakay.

I miss the part of me that will never again be. I miss not knowing better. Putain the temps. I miss me.