Lil Haitian Impact
Matilda Wells and Desir Tiresias
Copyright 2010 by Matilda Wells and Desir Tiresias
Published at Smashwords
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LIL’ HAITIAN – “IMPACT!”
CHAPTER ONE
I’ve been writing poetry for years. I write my thoughts on paper in rhymes and in words that no one has ever seen. Maybe no one will ever see my words, but writing is healing for me. My poems are my crutches and a long-time healing in the making. I want the world to know that even though my country, Haiti, became poor we were once a thriving place; then they came. They came to our land as they went across the world to many nations and forever changed history from what it might have been.
With guns in hands and by force, they conquered and destroyed the black continent of Africa. They enslaved our ancestors making them to work hard labor for hundreds of years. They conquered and destroyed the Indians. They said the Indians were not the first people to settle in America and that it was Columbus who discovered America and they put that in text books. The Indians were indeed the first people to settle in America.
They conquered and destroyed the black race of people in the U.S. who were once known as Africans. They chained the Africans on ships and brought them to the United States to work their labor jobs. Now these African Americans do not know their rich history of once being black kings and queens, but know only a history of being slaves. They exchanged the white-hooded uniforms of the Ku Klux Klan with the Judges' robes in the courtroom. They even conquered and destroyed my country of Haiti just as they did our African ancestors. We are Haitians who migrated from Africa to the land which is now known as Haiti. Now as a result of them raping our country, we are left poor and struggling. Maybe it is because they do not think some races of people count in this world.
American Judges in the courtrooms give black men much longer prison sentences than they sentence the white males. They exchanged the hoods of the Ku Klux Klan with business suits in Corporate America offices on Wall Street. They control the hiring process in Fortune Five Hundred Companies so blacks cannot acquire good-paying jobs to support their families. They exchanged the hoods of the Ku Klux Klan with suits of police officers who administer routine and illegal traffic stops on any successful-looking black men driving luxury cars; which explain why you see so many black men riding bicycles through the streets of the United States. Black men have been harassed and ticketed so much that they have been reduced to not being able to legally drive vehicles. They can't afford to pay the traffic fines so that they can drive to work or make efforts to find a decent job. If a person cannot drive a vehicle like a car, opportunities are reduced.
It's mostly dark-skinned people-populated regions of the world who are portrayed to the world media as the minority and mostly the black males who are portrayed as criminals and worthless people. Why? It is because racism exists. The color of a man's skin is the poorest existing excuse to harbor hatred toward some people. Their hatred is so deeply rooted that it manifests and persists and attaches so years of oppression exist. Hatred results in apartheid-type consequences on certain races of people.
There is also their hate and fear; fear you ask? The type of fear that they now have that America has her first black president. Blacks obtaining power and control of the United States have always been their ultimate fear. The above-mentioned statements are also relevant to what has happened to my country. The same people in America are some of the same people who have caused Haiti to be a poor country and remain a poor country.
Our natural resources were confiscated by these people and taken over by force. Some of our natural resources were just handed over to them by our own Haitians, just like what happened in Africa and other countries, who were so trusting of those people. Our own gullible native people were their victims conned to hand over control of money-making opportunities which may have helped our country to remain strong, black and proud, but in turn made it a poor, enslaved and an ostracized region. You had better believe there were some great things of value offered in exchange for our people to allow such a smooth transition of them going from freedom to slavery.
Our history shows enslaved Haitian people who worked to reap our own natural resources for their benefit. But over time, our proud Haitian people fought the slave masters and took back our independence and our land. We were the only slaves in the world who managed to do this successfully. They did not like this fact, which is part of the reasons why our country remains poor to this date. We could get a portion of the world's import and export business. We could take part in the world's trade and economic opportunities, but because they cannot take over and have a say in how we run our country in these modern days, we are not as economically strong as we could be or should be.
Region after region was stripped of our natural resources given to man by God. These things may have made a difference in how my people who are now are poor and suffering versus how they could have had those things today which would put food in their kids’ mouths. Although they altered history, Haiti’s history will always contain the knowledge and we will be known as the First Black Republic in the world. Our country was the first black independent country in the world. No one can change that history as our people of Haiti know it is. The textbooks may say something different, but we know the truth. Changing history shows the magnitude of power they possess to conquer and destroy then make the world believe otherwise by way of their text books. We can take the so-called war in Iraq as a huge example. Where are the weapons of mass destructions? Therefore, where are the handed-down indictments for a fake reason for war? This should be a war crime against the former president and his cabinet.
The media is in their back pockets. The media is designed to make people think that our country of Haiti is filled with only bad people who kidnap, deal drugs and have many diseases such as AIDS and horrible sexually transmitted diseases like we are some type sexual predators. They want the world to believe that we destroy our own existence, just like the media did to Iraq. They get paid to report untruthful news to the world. For reasons of hatred and disrespect, they want our black people and some other countries to look bad to others in the world, so their country can be superior.
But did you know that Haiti has beautiful beach-front properties which attract tourists and where they visit those tourist spots by transport of ships? Luxury cruises dock in our tourist regions bringing in people from other countries to lavish in paradise-like settings. They even took a cruise ship trip to Haiti's paradise islands like Labadie while on the other side of our country people were suffering from after affects of devastating earthquakes.
Did you know our country also has educational institutions? People go to Haiti from other countries to attend Universities alongside actual native Haitian students. Did you know that they marry Haitian men just like they marry black men in America? Did you know that our Haitian people are entrepreneurs and are wealthy just like they are? Not all of our people are illiterate, poor, hungry, dying on the streets and ignorant. Not all of our people are bad and have detrimental diseases. It’s not as bad as the media portrays when you make flight arrangements online and the bad warning signs pop up with travel alerts against visiting there. There are such type people all over the world and where they are from, yet some are blatantly highlighted as bad versus others who are just as bad or worse.
Don’t be fooled over and over again about the stereotypical reports that all black people are hazardous and dangerous. Most dark skin people are not the real terrorists, but racism is. We are discriminated against all over the world just because of our skin color. They broadcast their stereotypical views of us by way of the world media. Now, since the Nine-Eleven disaster involving The Twin Towers, the Muslims are hated just a level above us blacks.
The only reason they keep winning is because they possess control over the laws, they have the money, they have power and they have guns as their weapons. They have a legal system designed to which only they can decipher the spoken and written codes they designed to destroy us. The power they possess did not come about totally in legal form; remember the Ku Klux Klan? Illegal means of torture like lynchings and betrayals has been their practice in history for hundreds of years. There are good people amongst their race of people in every region of the world, although metaphorically speaking; a very, very, very small portion of the good people of them can be filtered from the bad of them like bloated wet flour through a sifter. Even though a lot of blacks are educated and intelligent, they will never accept us as equal.
To date, guns are their top priority and are one of the main reasons they fight to keep a right to bear arms. Now they are afraid because President Obama is Chief Executive Officer and if they lose the right to bear arms, their fear is that blacks and other races will have the power to control the States. In the United States, the disrespect for the President is so awful and contagious among them that they don’t even address him as President of the United States or President Barack Obama. They refer to their own President as Mr. Obama; most often times they just say Obama. They drink the tea at the party, but if God's words are true, the tea party cup will soon tip over and spill; making the outcome of their evil doing to end in the worst way.
Their fear is that they will suffer what we have suffered as blacks in the past hundreds of years of slavery and what we, as blacks, suffer now. They do not want slavery to come back around and they have to be on the receiving end of it. They do not want what the outcome is of the saying that addresses karma and ‘what goes around comes back around.’ But, please know that the saying about karma is true and those who do wrong will suffer in the end, even if it passes down through the generations to their own kids.
Let me end this topic of discussion by saying that God sees all and He hears all, so we can look for better days ahead in the struggle.
Allow me to also share some of my poetry and to inform that I am, like my father, mother and ancestors, a true Haitian from St. Michel de l’Attalaye. My heart is with my people in Haiti who suffer remnants from flood damages; remnants of which were left by three detrimental storms. Three hurricanes hit our country three-fold and pushed back a great ecomonical recovery effort we had going. The most crippling storms hit in Gonaives, Haiti as described in my poem Floods on my Streets. I wrote Floods on my Streets when my tears would not stop flowing, when I felt helpless to aid my people, when the world did some, yet so little for my country and did so much more for other regions of the world who suffered weather-affected chaos like the Tsunami. Although millions of dollars were collected the results of it are unseen.
Before the floods and the earthquake came and, with the help of the former President Bill Clinton, we were on our way to recovery. Our country was on the way to economically flourishing. These catastrophic events took us back to square one. As Bill Clinton said, 'Hatians are not bad people, they just need a chance.' But when will our chance come?
Floods on my Streets is a reminder that Haitians, too, are human beings who feel pain, who cry, which have needs, who have loss of life as a result of poverty and natural disaster. We, too, want the media to tell the real truth about Haiti dating back in history to date. I would love the true history to reflect what is really going on in my country. It will be a story that will definitely be an eye-opener to the world for sure. The word flood in my poem is a metaphor of how much repair my country needs right now. You can almost use any word of disaster to replace the word flood and that is the devastation you will see in my country of Haiti. For example, you can definitely replace the word 'flood' with 'poor' within my poem and have the same outcome of what my people have experienced in my country.
Floods on my Streets
I’m sitting here again
I'm just a Haitian man
Spitting some history ‘bout my native land
My people flooded out, stressed the hell out
Walking around with no food in their mouths
Ladies and babies walked around
Nowhere to rest
Flood water on the ground
The floods kept coming triple fold
Recession got us impoverished, locked down, on hold
The United of the States has ways to help their needy
But floods on my streets got Haitian hearts to bleeding
Where my people turn when there’s nothing to eat
Hunger on our minds, mud stuck to our feet?
Floods on my streets
Like blood on my hands
How will my people feel safe in their own land?
Still loving my country though the waters always high
I’m gonna be true Haitian till I die
‘N gotta help my people get by
The waters come and go
Still gotta get by
Got to help my country
Tears flooding our eyes
Floods on my streets
Like blood on my hands
How will my people feel safe in their own land?
Still loving my country though the waters always high
Gonna be true Haitian till I die
'N gotta help my people get by
The waters come and go
Still gotta get by as Haitians cry
Got to help my country
Tears flooding the eyes
No food, shelter, clothes, no electricity
No adequate shoes for our kids’ feet
Schools collapse from needed repair
Do you see the need?
Do you see the despair?
Not trying to be a poet
Just took a pen in my hand
Began to write some words ‘bout my native land
I try to help my people
Trying to make some plans
Words over beats
Floods on my streets
Want to help my people
Haitians gotta eat
Want to give back to my family
I pray daily for Haitian bread to eat
I pray daily for shoes to put on their feet
Got to close the floods gates from these streets
Tears flood this paper as rhymes flow with beats
God guides my pen as the words take flight
A whole lot of hunger makes the words come right
A love for my people makes me want to write more
Hoping aid to my people knock on their doors
Always wondered will the world ever see
My words on paper to help make my people free
From Haitians’ mouths to God’s ears they stand to their feet
God please take the floods from the streets
My Life: Past, Present and Future
My brother and I are running, running, running through the forest trying to escape this sudden giant rush of water. We are playing in trenches of what was a cut-out from the ocean and where our mom had warned us about. This is a dried up to a deep gulley and almost taller than the both of us. But it is raining furiously now and the water approaches us by surprise strong, fast and frightening.
Why is this happening to us again? I question this as I have hundreds of times before. The storms come, the rains come and the floods come. This happens so often and is so dreadful that we always have to run to the mountains. Although I am very young, I am also very fast at running. I am not too sure my older brother can run as fast as I can because I trained myself to the point where I can run marathons. Maybe some of my great running ability is due to my African ancestory. I know how to breathe and how to hold my arms. Not sharing the information with my older brother before, now I wish I had. He could have run faster and swam correctly.
I scream to him as I climb the mountain cliffs just missing the water as it bullets by. I slip a few times trying to see my brother again, but he is no longer visible. The water rushes past like charging rages of bulls. It is at a rapid speed and like millions of the angry animals to plow down our hard-worked gardens of fruit trees, sugar cane and vegetables. It rises to the top of the gulley and spills over the top to take away all that we posses in the blink of an eye. I see the flooding of our land as I climb higher, but I slip again on the rocks. I slip because of the painful thoughts in my head. My people will again be without food. Never thinking my brother would be harmed, my thoughts are always on my people. My brother is my most pressing concern at the next moment. A pang of hunger is nothing compared to the loss of my brother. He is my best friend and to whom I look up to for his wisdom and knowledge.
Royal is my brother. He is my world, my play mate and my only sibling. Loyal is our father’s generational name. Wilford Loyal is also as loyal as his name implies and who is our father. He cares about the well-being of our people, just as my brother and I do. If I lose my brother, I would be absolutely lost. Gone will be our days of running the beautiful green plains of our country. Though we lack the necessities that people of the modern-world possess and enjoy in other blessed parts of the world, we have a pride here in Haiti. It has always been a dream of my brother and me that we can make the conditions of Haiti known to the world. We want to change our country of Haiti and make it into a world-renowned place of freedom, comfort, tourist-welcomed and accommodating republic as it once was before strangers came and corrupted our people.
So, that was months ago when the floods took my brother. I searched for him everywhere. The currents from the ocean took him away. I dreamed that while I was asleep and about my beautiful country stricken by the aftermaths of tormenting storms. I also saw my brother in my dreams of happy times with him and then the turbulent floods that took him away.
As I dreamed dreams, my parents, my dog Poopi and I were on a journey of freedom. We were free as people in our country of Haiti, but were seeking a different kind of life and freedom in the United of the States of America. Haitians are hard workers and this was not to cease once we reached our destiny. I looked forward to a new life with my parents in a new country. As a result of our past experience of hard work, sailing toward America in our house boat was finally becoming a reality. A white man from the United States befriended us and gave his house boat to our family. We lost contact of him and his wife, but my parents planned to look him up once in the States.
My dreams pursued to while we visited in the Dominican Republic on holiday. That day, the police harassed my small family as they did most Haitians who tarried there. This strange white man and his wife came to our assistance to make the police leave us be. We had all of our passport papers in order, but those were not even asked for by the officers. So, even though the angry policemen wanted to send us home to Haiti or arrest my father, there was nothing they could do. But, if only he had asked for the papers in the beginning, the incident could have been avoided.
The nice man who came to our assistance turned out to be an attorney from the United States. He owned a vacation home on the beach in Dominican Republic. I saw it all in my dreams like it was yesterday.
“Halt, what are you doing with so many bags there? I need to check them for possibility of theft,” the officer ordered with a mean look on his face.
My dad verbally responded in our native language of French Creole. The officer did not understand. I felt sad for him and sad for my mom. She had a frightened look on her face and started to tremble. I held onto her dress tail and looked up at her. She wrapped her arm around me and smiled. I knew she was very afraid. I looked from her face to the officers’ faces and back to my dad’s. My dad was shaking his head and gesturing with his hands telling the officers that he did not speak their Spanish language. The officers took my dad’s act of throwing of his hands as a threat and apprehended him by forcing his hands to his back. My mom screamed and I began to cry as they forced my dad to drop to his knees.
I screamed out in the little Spanish that I learned from the school.
“Please, my dad speaks no Spanish! He is not trying to hurt you!”
I prayed that they understood me through my tears and the sniffling. Seeing that they continued with subduing my dad, I tried to run up and attack them, but my mom held me back. The anger in their faces did not subside until they were taken by surprise. A strange white man approached the scene. He spoke Spanish as he walked toward the officers. He approached us from behind.
“Officer, what seems to be the problem here?” the man asked. “How can you subdue this gentleman in front of his child? What has he done that is so wrong?”
The officer stuttered as he spoke.
“We – we – he is being stopped on suspicion of a recent robbery,” the officer responded. His response was not convincing to the helpful gentleman.
“My dear man, I should think the man would not commit a crime with his wife and son on his side. Neither of them looks like accomplices. And they don’t even speak Spanish to explain themselves. Seems the little man here is trying to defend his father as best as he can. He sure looks like a smart and educated young boy,” he said as he smiled at me and patted my head. “Why make him cry? I must advise that I was once a police officer, so why don’t you start by checking his credentials like a passport and store receipts perhaps? Then if he volunteers to show you what is in his bags, then so be it. I don’t think he deserves to be treated like a criminal. He certainly does not look like one to me.”
“Honey, what’s going on here?” the white man’s wife asked as she approached us.
The man put his arm around his wife to calm her worried concern. He whispered to her.
“It’s okay Adeline. I think it’s just a small misunderstanding. Once the officers check the good man’s identification and store receipts, I am thinking everything will be fine.”
Mr. Frank and Adeline Demerra came to our rescue. They bought us lunch that same day. Through my translation, I was able to relay my father and mother’s verbal and heart felt pain of our country to them as my dad relayed it to me. The Demerras were already very much updated about the history of Haiti, but Mrs. Demerra still cried from my father’s personal rendition of it.
They took us to their beach house. I was able to swim and eat. I was able to watch television for the first time in my life. It was a glorious day. Once the couple left from vacationing and traveled back to the United States, they kept in touch with us. They sent us very nice gifts from the States and promised to invite us back to their beach house again. Over the years, the nice treatment from the whites brought envy from a few other people in our town, but we remained focused on our goals.
One letter invited us to visit their beach home again. This time we took my grandparents from both my father and mother’s side of the family. The Demerras enjoyed hearing stories of old from my grandparents and so did I. Although I heard the stories multiple times before and witnessed some, I was always delighted to hear history over and over again.
We found out that the guy was financially wealthy and wanted us all to go and live in the States. Although his health was poor, he promised to find a way for us to pass officially to the States. He took my dad for a walk on the beach and had a long conversation with him. Good thing that as I grew older and wiser I taught my dad to speak English pretty well. By that time, my dad knew English well enough so that he could understand Mr. Demerra while I played on the beach.
So, when Mr. Frank told my dad he was giving him a houseboat to take with us back to Haiti, I could see my dad’s joy when he jumped up and down on the beach. He used that boat to take us home that day. Mr. Demerra took care of all of the legal paperwork. My dad also used the boat to fish in the waters of Haiti and Dominican Republic. He sold the fish. Because the people of our community were poor, he always gave away more fish than he sold. He did the same for the poor by giving them vegetables from his garden.
Soon jealousy from a few of our own people became too much for my dad to bear. It hurt him to see his people react to him in such a way when he always shared everything he had. On top of losing a son, he had to endure such vile hatred. The generosity of the Demerra family adopting us was great, but for some unknown and evil reason the act was threatening to some from our community. Even though we shared what the Demerras shared with us with the people of our village, it was never enough. We were called everything from trying to be whites to slaves.
The jealousy caused my mother to become ill and soon after caused my dad to be jailed. I could see the events taking place vividly in my mind.
“Wilford, I see you acquire lots of nice things since you got the boat from the whites. I hear that you’ve been fishing and selling it. You have nice property and the kids and your wife always look nice. Most people would say you are dealing drugs.”
My dog Poopi growled furiously at the enemy who spoke those hateful words. When Poopi showed his teeth, it scared me. I quickly grabbed the leash and pulled him back. Surely the evil man would have injured my pet with his sharp knife if I hadn’t restrained him.
Snake was just as his name described. He was envious, jealous and never amounted to anything positive. He always wanted to see other people fail just because his life was miserable. Rumors or truth told, he wanted to see my dad fail, but my dad was too strong for failure. Snake flicked off the skin of the sugar cane with his sharp knife blade. He boldly took the sugary stalk of cane from my dad’s farm. My dad knew Snake took the stalk of sugar cane for spite, but he never said anything in retaliation. Between words, Snake cut a juicy piece of cane and threw it into his mouth. Being a kid, I wanted to taste the treat he offered me, but hearing his cruel words made me refuse his offer.
“No little one? You don’t want to taste the harvest of your father? Hmm Wilford, maybe even your son does not like to see show offs in the community either. You’ve acquired much in a short period of time. We hear you get things from generous white folks from the states, but none of us has seen these whites come around here. So maybe your trade is in the drug trafficking arena when you cross the Dominican border.”
I could see my father’s face tense with anger as Snake's boys laughed. When my father got upset, the veins popped out in his neck and were totally visible to everyone. He was angry at Snake’s words. His words cut him as if Snake had physically stabbed my dad with the knife he was holding could have. My father has always tried to help the poor of the community; everyone knew this, even Snake.
Sitting with friends at the corner store was a daily occurrence for my dad and his old friends since childhood. This was the first day he returned to talk to his friends after many missed days. Due to my mother’s illness, he had not visited his friends in a while. So, on top of all that was happening in his life, he had to endure ridicule for things he thought he was doing right for his family and people of the community. The most hurtful part was that the ridicule came from members of the community in which he grew up.
He calmed himself greatly before he responded to Snake’s harsh words.
“Now Snake, I have known you when you didn’t know yourself. You were in your mom’s womb and your parents were poor and hungry like many of our Haitian people. I farmed the land as I do now. I would give your parents fresh vegetables, fresh fruit and meat from our farm animals to nourish your mom’s pregnant body. That nourishment went from your mom to you as a fetus and as you grew up to the man you are now. Sometimes they could pay me for the product and sometimes they could not. I never gave them harsh words for their inability to pay. Now here you are a grown man and of Haitian descent knowing how our people struggle from day to day. We should pride ourselves in the success of our people no matter how it’s accomplished. Yes, I think it’s wrong for the young men to sell the drugs and for the media to talk bad about our country. And now here you have me pegged as a dealer, an honest man, trying to change the perception of how the world sees us. And you know for a fact that I don’t deal drugs, yet you accuse me of the same vile act of it same as the outsiders in other countries perceive our people. You know the ones who bring drugs in to our people to dispense and cause problems are those light complexion people who own planes and boats. They have so many other ways to get drugs into our country. You know those who sell it on the streets and cause ruin to families. You must not be of our people of this community by the way you talk. No son of my deceased friend would talk that way. Your father is turning over in his grave at the accusations you give of me, his beloved friend. He, in his grave, knows who has helped him to raise you."
Seeing the look on Snake’s face after my father lectured him, I knew he could have melted through the floor. The look of shame was more apparent especially when my dad’s friends lectured him the same. After arguing with the elderly men for a while, he threw the sugar cane to the ground, stomped it and spit. I could not understand why he looked as though he got the point, but acted differently. The importance of what my father and the other elderly men had just shared with him was priceless. Perhaps evil was just rooted in him through and through, I guessed, as he walked away. How could he accuse my father of dealing drugs when my dad had never done such a thing? If there was anyone in the community who dealt drugs, it was Snake and his people. But, they never profited from the bad business because they made personal use of the drugs themselves. They were drug addicts as well as pushers. So, how could he have the nerve to attack my dad unless he really thought my dad did drugs and would be his competition?
Later it was proven just how evil Snake and his followers were, indeed, when they made sure my father was arrested on charges of kidnapping a child. A child, from another city belonged to friends of the family and was temporarily living with renters while her parents were away. My father owned the house and the kid was left there alone, briefly, one day. My fathers worked in the fields, yet close enough to the house to keep watch on the child. The kid was asleep. Snake and his people called law enforcement and said that my father had taken the child to sell on the child market as a slave. My father was arrested and held for two days. My mom was already ill, but became even more ill at the news.
Despite her illness, my mom was carried from her sick bed to plead with the court of law enforcement of my dad’s innocence. With paperwork from my mom proving his innocence, my dad was found not guilty. But, when we returned home from retrieving my dad from the capital of Port au Prince, where my dad was jailed, we found all of our property had been set to fire. There were not much of our assets left. All of my dad’s rental homes were set to fire, even our living residence. Most of our crops were damaged and was not fit for resale.
Moving to another province to live with my dad’s parents, he discussed with my grandparents of his plans to leave the country by way of the house boat. My grandparents were saddened by the news. It was explained to them that we would return to retrieve them. But, me knowing my grandparents, they would not take kindly to leaving their native land. They said yes to the invitation, but I knew better.
So, I found us drifting in an expensive house boat to a new life somewhere in the United States. Sad that my brother died before this experience, I cried from thinking and dreaming about him.
Prior to my retiring to sleep on the boat that night, the rains started again. The winds began to blow. I could see worry on my dad’s face about a potential and fatal storm, so he informed my mom to tuck me into bed. Though I considered myself a man at nineteen years of age and only a few days away from becoming twenty, I knew he wanted my mom to make sure I wouldn’t worry about the storm. Yet, I was already worried.
My mom talked to me that night about things she never had before talked about. She talked about girls, where babies came from and my future. Then my dad came in and talked to me more about the same life issues. He gave me a hot cup of cocoa. It was an imported blend given to us by the Demerras. If they were trying to take my mind off of the storm, make me drift off to sleep and not worry about it, it worked. Soon, I dozed off to sleep and dreamed more about my life in Haiti.
I awoke and realized my dad had put something in my cocoa to make me sleep. I was groggy from the drug. He assumed that the storm would be bad and did not want me to experience it. I woke up to my dog Poopi licking my face. I found myself drifting along on a life raft without my parents. And where were my parents? The life raft was just big enough for one person and one dog, so there was no way the two of them could have fit in there with us. It was the type of raft that had the enclosed overhead umbrella or all-around canvas covering us from the weather. It was zipped in and protected us from the drenching rain and bad weather. We drifted out of hot into cold.
Did the storm take my parents like it took my brother? Too emotional to think about it for long, I panicked and began to shiver. It was extremely cold. I had never experienced that type of temperature in my entire lifetime. Haiti was hot and never ever that cold. I thought we headed for Florida, but the raft must have drifted into a cold climate place. I looked around the small raft for something to cover my body and to keep warm. I found several blankets which were once on top of me; I must have kicked the covering off in my sleep. I found food, bottled water, extra clothes, a jacket and some other items stuffed into a duffle bag. Too scared and cold to even think about losing my parents to drowning, I immediately put on a second jacket, extra pants and wrapped up in the blankets. I zipped down the opening of the raft. The fog was too thick to see around the outside of the raft, but I looked around for other signs of life. I wanted to see some signs of another raft which might have been floating with my parents inside.
With no such luck, tears began to flow from the thought of me losing them. I zipped the opening of the raft and grabbed my lifetime friend around his furry neck. He whimpered. I cried along with him for a long while. After some hours had passed, we both fell asleep. It was so cold; I couldn’t understand how I was able to sleep. Maybe it was the warmth of Poopi that I was able to doze.
I woke again to think about my parents being the kind-hearted people that they were. They made sure Poopi and I was accommodated with necessities before they…before they… I didn’t want to think about my parents succumbing to such a horrible death as drowning on that boat. I lay down and I cried. I must have gotten warm and slightly comfortable enough to fall asleep again. I dreamed that my dad put something in the cocoa which made me fall asleep.
When I awoke again, I rubbed my eyes with my fists to clear what felt like frozen tears. Zipping the opening of the raft to look outside again, I shook my head and tried to look through the thick fog. It had gotten thicker since I went to sleep and woke up.
I could see the shadows of something huge sitting out in the distance of the water. I wondered was I dreaming or was there actually a huge statue of a blue-greenish, grayish-looking lady holding a torch in the middle of a harbor. Somebody definitely made sure she could be seen by placing what seemed like millions of beaming lights to surround her feet. Nothing else on the island could be seen through the fog but this huge lady statue with a crown on her head, holding a torch high up in the air. It was a little frightening. Even though the enormous lady statue was impressive, fright overwhelmed me; especially with all of the weird noises in the background that accompanied the view.
It sounded like a jungle and I feared I was drifting toward some strange island of barbarians and wild animals. Maybe they built this statue that they idolized as a god. If I had put my hands into the freezing water to paddle away from all of that, like I wanted to, I would have certainly froze to death. But, I was surely headed on a collision course to hit at the feet of this gigantic lady statue, dock on cement or whatever lay beneath what I could not see. The raft would surely bust if I hit anything besides sand. I would freeze to death trying to swim away. Hurriedly packing the few belongings back into the duffle bag my parents left me, I prayed for a safe landing. I prayed for my dog and I not to get wet.
God must have heard my prayers. I received a positive answer when the sun immediately beamed through hot and heavy. The fog cleared so I had visibility. There was a sudden gust of wind that pushed the raft to drift in a different direction. Drifting to what seemed like a crosswalk over the deep water; I grabbed a hold to some wood. It turned out to be a wooden stairway leading up from the water. I pulled the raft close enough to the body of wood. I pulled myself and the bag up to the steps of a crosswalk while holding onto the raft. I could hold on long enough for Poopi to jump out. Neither of us got wet, but I lost the raft when I slipped on ice. Poopi jumped from the raft in time. I figured I would have needed the raft in case I had to make a quick escape, but it was gone. It was not worth the risk of trying to retrieve it. I did not want to dive into that freezing water.
The noise was more overbearing as I walked up the steps. Creeping along, I did not know what I would confront ahead of me. I was relieved it was not a jungle, but a huge city of people walking around. People drove along in cars honking their horns. Tall buildings seemed to touch the sky. Skyscrapers lined the streets side by side as if holding hands. Never in my life had I seen such tall buildings. I’d only seen them in books, on television or on the internet. What mostly stood out was how extremely cold it was. Tired, cold and sleepy, I walked along assuming it must have been early in the morning in such a bustling city. The sun beamed heavily and lifted even more of the fog.
When the fog dispersed, I could see even more of what seemed like hundreds, if not thousands, of people walking the streets. So many cars drove passed. It looked like I stepped into an ant bed of humans, cars and buildings. People scurried about and had sad, yet serious expressions on their faces. I wondered where they were headed. Drivers crept along in their cars in stand-still like traffic. The noise of the drivers honking car horns was really loud and irritating. I then understood the noise and that I had not floated into a jungle of wild and loud barbarians. From my remembrances in reading magazines, this place seemed to be New York City. Seeing the statue more clearly and remembering seeing her before online, made me more convinced that I was indeed in the great city of the United States.
I immediately took notice of young men around my age. They walked along the sidewalk joking, laughing and talking. One boy was riding some type of flat board with wheels attached underneath. I remembered reading that it was called a skateboard. He stood on the board with one foot as he pushed along with the other foot. I found that interesting and wished to try that myself some day. Looking around, other people walking didn’t look as jovial and friendly as the young men, so I decided I would approach friendly faces versus those who had looks of frustration. I was thinking maybe they could have helped me and maybe they had seen my parents.
Walking out in front of them seemed the only logical way of getting their attention. Somehow, I knew in my condition they would tease me, but teasing couldn't have hurt half as bad as the pain in my heart for the need of my parents. I had to see if they had seen two adults looking as distraught as I had looked at that moment. My dog Poopi stayed out of sight as I had trained him to do.
The guy who rode on the skateboard stopped first. He was riding out ahead of the other two young men. He swerved the board in front of me and screeched to a stop. One had skin color the same as mine and the other was white like Mr. and Mrs. Demerra. The guy on the board was brown and seemed Latino, Puerto Rican, Hispanic or some native race; he could have even been Dominican. The Latino-looking guy tipped the edge of the board with his foot, flipped it the air and caught it with his hands. The other two young men came up to stand beside him. They were all nice-looking guys, like me, but looked at me as if I wanted to start some trouble with them. I tried my best to look sincere and non-threatening, but that was hard under the circumstances of losing my parents.
The Latino-looking guy was the first to speak.
“Look man, if you trying to start some trouble, we gonna kick yo ass.”
The guy with skin like mine spoke next.
“Man, you look like you just washed ashore from a boat or something. You lost or something? You trembling and all like you freezing. What you doing with that big old bag? If you just robbed somebody, you need to haul ass. Man, we don’t like trouble. We used to be trouble starters, son. Now we are seniors in high school, son, and trying to graduate and go to college, son. So, if you trying to start some, you need step off, but it ain’t like we won’t start it to poppin’ out here in this cold!”
The white guy spoke next.
“Yeah, like my boys said, if you gonna start some, its go be some, but just the same, we don’t need it! We on our way to school, it’s cold and I don’t feel like kicking ass this morning.”
I cleared my throat and tried not to cry as I looked at them. Surely I thought they would laugh at me if I did. I understood. They didn’t want trouble and neither did I. But if they only knew the trouble I was carrying around of losing my whole family, then they wouldn’t laugh at all.
“I don’t want trouble either. I am lost and I did arrive here by boat. I have no stolen goods in this bag, just what my parents left me. I just need assistance.”
That’s when the laughter started.
“Man, you got some weird accent,” the dark-skinned guy said.
They laughed again.
“You mean you one of them boat people, dude?” the white guy asked.
I dropped my head and the tears flowed. I wiped my eyes clean. As I started to walk away, the black guy touched my shoulder. I dropped my bag. With fists drawn, I quickly turned around ready to fight.
“Hold up, man, don't try to beat a brother down. We are sorry 'bout teasing you. You honestly do need help, huh?”
“I do.”
“You came here by boat for real?”
“I did.”
“Hey, y’all quit laughing at dude. He’s being real with us. I believe him.”
“What? You believe him?” the Latino guy asked.
“Lonzo, you actually believe dude?” the white guy asked.
“Patrick, I already told y’all that, so when you gonna believe me and stop asking?”
“I believe what you believe man,” Patrick mumbled and not being very convincing. “So, now what do we do?”
“What’s your name?” Lorenzo asked me.
“My name is Impact Loyal and I came on the water with my parents by house boat. But, I believe our boat wrecked while I was asleep. My parents gave me a drink to make me sleep and put me on a rescue raft. I drifted ashore alone." I lied looking back at my dog Poopi knowing he made the trip with me. "I don’t know if my parents are here somewhere or…my brother died…drowning...so only me...now.”
Not wanting to, I was speaking in broken words and began to cry again. The pain was so intense that it took me to my knees.
“Hey look man, we gonna help you," Lorenzo explained. "Man, ‘cause if I lost my parents and a brother, I don’t know what the hell I would do."'
“But, how we gonna help him?” Patrick asked. “School starts in a few minutes and we’ll be late if we don’t get to moving. You know we talked about our future, us being seniors and all and we don’t want to mess up graduation.”
“Hmm, I tell you what, Pat and Gonzo, y’all haul ass on to school. I’ll play hooky and take dude to my house. We’ll figure out something later.”
Gonzo called Lonzo and Patrick over for a secret conversation among the three of them. I had great hearing so I heard the entire conversation.
“Look man, you taking on a huge responsibility here," Gonzo said.
"Gonzalez, you and your parents ran y'all Mexican asses over from south of that border from Mexico and y'all got hooked up here in the states. Now, didn’t somebody help y’all asses out? I mean come on wit' it. Did everybody believe y’all asses were legit? I’m giving dude benefit of the doubt. This grown ass man wouldn’t be standing here then drop to his knees in pain and shedding tears in front of us if he didn’t need our help! I know I wouldn’t! And if he ain’t sincere, he’s got to be a hell of an actor! I mean, he looks neat and tidy and well kept. And a real man ain't gonna cry unless he's experienced some type of real pain. He doesn't look like a bum or somebody, so he may just be legit.”
“Well, we ain’t gonna let yo ass roll out of here wit' a stranger and he bust a cap in your ass. This dude can rob your whole house! He might have some other dudes just waiting and working the same scheme. This is New York you know. So, we gonna shoot hooky with you. We ain’t shot hooky none this year, so one day ain’t gonna hurt, huh?” Patrick asked.
The boys slapped hands, did a handshake and bumped shoulders. Lonzo thanked them for believing what he believed.
“See, we boys like dat! Y’all all right wit' me,” Lonzo said.
“Yeah, well this will be our good deed coming up to Christmas,” Gonzo said. “Besides, it’s Friday and we don’t feel like that school stuff anyway.”
“Yeah, but it’s also the Friday before school lets out until after the New Year. So, don’t y’all think we should try to make it to class? We can hide him somewhere at school,” Patrick explained.
“Yeah, like in the basement at school,” Lonzo agreed. “He seems to understand English pretty well, so I’m sure he’ll stay down there and be cool. He seems smart and all, but man, he just lost his parents! And he lost his brother, too? That is some tough stuff to have to go through, homeys! He really needs somebody with him right now fo' sho'.”
“Yeah, but we know dude’s got to be tough, if he is telling the truth,” Gonzo said. “He just traveled over all that water to New York from somewhere all by himself! His parents are gone and maybe he lost them to the water! So, I know he can stand part of the day in a basement. It's better there than him walking around the streets in the cold. Man, did he beat out the damned Coast Guard? But, fo' sho', the fog helped him out too! Then dude made it up Ellis Island! Dude is a trooper! Maybe we can take him some lunch to the school basement, kick it with him and find out some things later on.”
“Okay, Gonzo, I’m proud of you for wanting to help now,” Lonzo said. “I wonder where he's from. Maybe he’s from Cuba or somewhere in the Caribbean. Anyway, so, that’s the plan. We take him on to school, but we got to get there late like when classes have started so nobody sees us. So, how ‘bout we take him to get him some chicken and waffles for breakfast? That will take us to second period.”
The boys agreed. They walked me to a restaurant. Poopi tagged far behind as I trained him. I saw no other dogs so I hoped his walking solo would not alert officials. We arrived at the restaurant and took a seat inside. I was glad for the warmth and hot cocoa as I looked around and into the faces of Americans. I'd seen Americans before on vacation in my country and as well as in Dominican Republic, but never actually where I observed them as closely as I did then.
“Man, this is just one of New York’s finest greasy restaurant joints,” Lonzo explained then asked me a question. “Hey Impact, where you from?"
“I am from Haiti," I answered, not really wanting to talk.
“Hey, I’m digging this accent and I'm curious about this Haiti place," Lonzo said. “You feel better? I mean after being in the raft and it being so cold outside, I'm concerned that you may need a medical examination."
"I'm okay," I answered.
Lonzo continued.
"I mean I have all kinds of questions to ask you, but I know you’re cold and thinking about what you've just been through. So, just drink your cocoa and warm up,” he said as he looked at me with sympathy.
He then began talking to his friends.
"Man, school is out for three weeks and we can just chill with Lil’ Haitian man here. You don’t mind if we call you Lil’ Haitian, do you Impact?” Lonzo asked.
“No, I don’t mind."
“That Impact is a powerful name for a brother! So you must be a bad dude around your parts or your parents named you that knowing you will make a big impact on the world,” Lonzo said then stared at me.
It was a great compliment, but I didn’t respond because I was so sad. I think he understood. The order of breakfast was placed before each of us by a waitress.
“Thank you,” I said showing my appreciation for the meal of bread, meat, potatoes and orange juice. She gave me a second glass of hot cocoa.
"Thanks Jill," Lonzo said.
I noticed another young female waitress staring at me from across the room. I could feel her watching me as she chatted with that Jill waitress. I looked her way and we held eye contact. I quickly looked away. She was attractive, but the food that sat before me was much more attention-getting. I sat there not knowing what to do with the eating utensils. I was being newly introduced to a type of food I didn't know how to eat. I had an ignorant look on my face as I watched what the guys did as they prepared their food to eat. I realized the bread was called waffles after one of the guys identified it. Awkwardly, I picked up the utensil and started to cut the bread on my plate as they did. The female waitress walked over to assist me.
“Nah sugar, you can’t eat waffles without butter and syrup.”
She smiled at me. She bent to sit and pushed me over with her bottom. She felt soft as he pushed against me.
“Are you an African or where are you from? Jill over there said it sounds as if you speak with an accent. And why do you hang with such bad company?”
The guys laughed and made loud noises. I wondered what they were teasing me about.
“Uh - oh, Lil’ Haitian, you’ve just been hit by the wilds of Destiny Milds!” Patrick teased.
“Yeah, man, the wilds of Miss Milds will surely make you smile!” Lonzo added.
They even made me smile from their humor.
“That’s what I want to see a smile, Lil' Haitian,” Lonzo said.
“Shoot! Any man will smile if they got Destiny sitting by him and that close!” Gonzo said. “Destiny, why is it that you never give us that much attention cutting up our waffles, buttering up our stacks and pouring syrup?”
“Cause y’all clowns already know how to and then y'all down five plates of waffles at one sitting. Anyway, he looks like he needs my help,” Destiny replied looking at me and speaking in a soft soothing voice.
“Yeah, but just make sure you gentle with Lil’ Haitian,” Lonzo said. “He just lost his family to a storm in Haiti and he just came to the states floating on a life raft. And that is our secret that he’s an illegal alien, understand?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry about that. What’s your name?” she asked.
“I am Impact Loyal.”
“As you heard by that ignorant introduction from my boys here, I’m Destiny Milds and it’s nice to meet you Impact Loyal.”