(This is dedicated to the Landrin family)
Shortly after the birth of our daughter, I made my first trip to Haiti so my husband could introduce his wife and child to his family. The absolute warmth and sincerity which enveloped us, not just by Roger’s family and friends but even strangers, was overwhelming. My first impression of a Haitian’s fundamental nature, was their smile from ear to ear.
It was emotionally painful for me to be there as I empathized with the very difficult lives many Haitians lived, and in particular, the children. But at the same time, I was amazed by their genuine openness and ability to laugh rambunctiously, finding humor in the silliest things.
We did many incredible things, like visiting pristine beaches, watching artisans create masterpieces out of literally junk material, and I was even privy to witness a ‘voodoo’ ceremony. However, the day Roger decided to take me to visit an older lady who had helped take care of him as a child, is the day I met Haiti.
We drove through absolutely gorgeous countryside reminiscent of Jamaica, precarious mountainous roads which had me gripping the sides of my car seat, to finally arrive at this small two room wooden house in the country.
Roger had barely turned off the ignition when the front door opened and an elderly white haired lady peered out. I cannot fully describe her reaction when she recognized who it was, as she visibly buckled in her overwhelming joy at seeing him. Then of course, came the inevitable – smile from ear to ear. They both erupted in nonstop Creole (which I didn’t understand), but it was quite interesting to watch their body language. She was clearly beside herself at seeing him and kept repeating, “mwen piti Boy” (my little ‘Boy’ – he’s still called Boy to this day). She led us inside her small house and beckoned us to sit. I was introduced and though I could not say what I wanted, she clasped her hands over her mouth and I could see tears in her eyes. I was moved by her genuine emotions and her unadulterated love for this man whom she helped raise.
Though I do not remember her name, the fact that I am repeating this story eighteen years later, means that she rooted her Spirit in my heart, so I shall call her, Manman (Mother).
Manman and Roger chatted and laughed, each picking up the conversation within mere seconds of where the other left off. I watched transfixed. She then got up and went to a table in the corner of the small room. She rustled around for a few minutes and returned with a plate of bread, cut into small sections and about ten pieces of Haitian griot – (fried marinated pork). In that moment, I knew she was offering us her meal for that day and momentarily, I wanted to refuse for fear of eating the only food she had, but her eyes shone with such pride and honor that we were in her house, sharing those moments with her; I dared not offend this beautiful being. I told ‘Boy’ to tell her that I would love if she would join us. She seemed a bit perplexed at my request but almost immediately, broke into her wide smile. We had communion that day and I remember thinking, or more like praying, “Please teach me to be as self-less as she is”.
I have never seen Manman again, and do not fully understand why I remember her so profoundly or why since this disaster occurred; her memory has become even more distinct. It is as if her Spirit is with me, to remind me of the lesson in selflessness I so desperately wanted to emulate.
Whatever it is, on my first trip to Haiti I clearly met the soul of the Haitian people all wrapped up into this one little old lady with the endless smile.
For whatever reason, Manman wants me to tell you who she is, I only hope I am able to capture one tenth of the quality she, along with so many other Haitians, truly are. Bon'n sware Manman…. Mwen renmen'w
Posts
0 comments:
Post a Comment