Haiti My Heart Aches For You

Haiti my heart aches for you. You put one foot in front of the other - never moving forward. You never get a break. Yet you smile with bright eyes and a vision of hope. It is hard to be Haitian. A beautiful island in the Atlantic Ocean. Sparkling like a jewel. Nature has been teasing you, cruel to you - hurricanes and earthquakes bombard you without mercy. Your people are good natured, their voices sing out, their art makes colors speak - can you ever get a break?

Do Haitians dream? Can a Haitian mother see a future for her children? Can a Haitian father envision a time of making his family feel secure? A home with a roof to hold out the rain. Food enough to feel satisfied. Hands out to the world - seeking help for basic necessities, never ending. Is it fair or is this the only life these island people will ever know?

Heavy rains from tropical storm Fred and an earthquake - timed together to a global pandemic called covid. Now another weather challenge - tropical storm Grace is heading toward the island. A fiction writer would have a tough time selling such an unimaginable story - this is real - heartbreaking. Deaths mounting. Life for a Haitian is unfair. I sit comfortably in my Miami Beach home to give to the fund to aid this latest crisis. I know that there is no monetary amount that could make a real change - just funds to help dig out the rubble, bury the dead and provide some food, drinking water, and aid for the injured - the survivors. The rescue teams are on the way. They will shore up the huts, dig for dead and aid victims and then return to their safe homes faraway.

I dream sometimes. Often about what I’m hearing in the news - what’s troubling me - what I can’t erase from my thoughts. Last night I had one of those dreams. I was sailing toward an island in the Atlantic Ocean. Smiling, happy people in colorful clothing dancing along the shore. Their bodies move rhythmically to the sound of drums and brass horns.

Waving and welcoming I lower my sail and drift into the shallow water. A rush of questions in Creole with a mix of French sounds float in the air. A young boy rushes over and speaks to me in English, for which I am grateful.

“I’m Emmanuel,” he smiles up at me, “Come, come join us. You’ll sit and enjoy our meal.” he grabs my arm, this no more than eleven year old boy, and leads the way.

“Thanks, great you speak English. My name is Joshua. You go to school?” I shout above the loud singing and music.

“I did, Sir, it was destroyed a few storms ago. Hope one day to go back. I want to be an engineer. Help my country. Build better structures to withstand nature and her anger. This is my dream.” he nods as we walk toward the fire. "These are my parents."

They wave towards me and spread out their arms, welcoming me to sit by them. "Bonjour," they smile warmly.

We eat under the stars. Sitting on the ground in the soft white sand, we surround a large heavy black steel pot sitting in the middle of the circle. We feast on the thick soup filled with bites from the sea and vegetables grown in a yard garden. “My grandmother’s recipe. Spicy sauce is good, right?” Emmanuel asks

“It’s delicious, really tasty, Emmanuel. Please tell your family how wonderful to be included with your community like this,” as I take another spoonful of the soup, I feel guilty. They have so little and yet these people are so generous.

“My Mother wishes she could invite you into our home tonight but…” he looks to the ground shamefully, “We sleep on the soccer field till we can rebuild.”

“No worries. I’ll bunk on my boat tonight,” we take a walk towards the heavy green foliage and in the clearing we see a pond. In the center of the pond is a pear tree heavy with fruit. The people stand on the edge of the pond. They look longingly at the ripening juicy harvest. The frozen pond stands guard protecting the treasured sweet edibles. “Emmanuel, how can this pond be frozen solid on a tropical island?”

“This is Haiti. Beautiful rich island. Loving people.” he says, “We can have it all. We just can’t get there from here. Protect yourself, Sir, storm is expected Thursday. Take cover, this is Haiti.”