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You came to the States without a single English word to call your own. Mere days afterwards, you found yourself in a classroom full of eyes that appraised you. You were the new kid. The alien du jour.

Your own eyes blinked back hot tears. You wanted to run home, but knew that home was now another world away.

You stood statue-like in the doorway. The well-meaning teacher’s lesson plan would never include the level of differentiation you required. Yet, she/he cried out: “Good morning, class! We have a new student among us today. Can everyone say hello to Dja-vway-leen!”

You mumbled under quivering breath: “Ki moun ki rele Dja-vwe-lin nan?” Ah, but having your name butchered would become the least of your troubles. You had learning to do. Quick, instantaneous, emergency learning. Manman didn’t give you loofah for brains; so, every lesson would stick.

School administrators greeted you with test after test and freshly sharpened #2 pencils, expecting you to perform as well as “native-speakers.” Newcomers need years to be able to do well on those test. The research god said so. Oh, but “Here you go, kid! I know you can speak English. Stop pretending already!”

Manman had done her own research. According to her findings, you would speak English in less than six months. By the time you received your first report card, you would have served as interpreter, accountant, job-applicant, and pharmacist for family members who feared their own tongues would never be  strong enough to lift clunky foreign words.

Manman’s research also said you would graduate with honors. You would go to high school, college, grad school, and earn a doctorate in about the same amount of time it would take to boil her pot of red beans.  There were months when you doubted Manman. You doubted yourself.

All that’s behind you now. 

Today you stand inside a packed auditorium with royal-blue velour curtains. You look good in your cap, gown, and cumbersome sache. Your tassel hangs on the left now. Merci Eternel, graslamizèrikòd, adjyebondye, you fout did it!

Hands clap and feet stomp in your honor today. The dining table bends from the weight of griyo and diri djondjon, but Manman is still in the kitchen with that dishrag thrown like a Hermes scarf over her shoulder. Guests file in and out, kissing her on both cheeks: “Konpliman, pitit,” someone reaches for the jar of pikliz.

Manman thanks them for their kind words, but as soon as she’s alone in that kitchen she  goes right back to serenading the stack of dirty dishes with a Kreyolized rendition of “You Ain’t Seen Nothin Yet!”

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Hey. . .

A heap of congratulations to grads worldwide! VoicesfromHaiti celebrates the creative Haitian spirit of Naima F.; she graduated from 8th grade last week.

Naima looks forward to a successful academic career in one of the best High Schools on earth. Go girl!

Naima’s poem, “Where I’m From,” is an awesome  gift to all Haitian children born in the Diaspora.

 

 

The first of May was, of course, Haiti’s Labor and Agricultural Day. VoicesfromHaiti celebrated with Azaka Mede and Michelle Obama. We say goodbye to May today with none other than psychologist and prolific author, Maryse Noël Roumain, who prescribes that we direct our attention toward cultivating the most fertile fields of all: our children’s minds.    

Just as we reflected upon the possibilities for a verdant Haiti through aggressive reforms in our agricultural system, Maryse forecasts a new Haiti populated with emotionally-healthy children who value themselves and our rich culture. Also at risk are children in the diaspora who suffer from low self-esteem because of profound identity issues.  Maryse has a plan to remedy that.

With her new children book’s series, Krab Nan Kalalou, the good doctor is forecasting a bountiful harvest, indeed. Read More

Michele Jessica Fievre is both brilliant and beloved. If you’re in DC June 2, 2012,  stop by the Blackburn University Center (Howard U), and meet one of Haiti’s most popular and hard-working authors.

If you are not familiar with Michele Jessica Fievre’s work, you soon will be. But first, get to know the woman behind the novels here on VoicesfromHaiti. Check our INNERview with this talented author.

 

When you ask 97 year-old Christiane Dumorne the secret to beating the clock, she will tell you: “Moun kout dire.” In case your Kreyòl fails to reach beyond the quotation mark, what she means is: “Short people live longer.” By the way, rarely do people refer to her as Christiane.  Family members and friends know her as “Colin.” The grandchildren call her “Grandmère”; the great-grand-children call her “Yaya.”

“There’s got to be more to living a long and healthy life than being on the diminutive side,” I tell Colin. She laughs a knowing laugh. Her eyes give their usual spark. So, I beg her to share a few of her secrets.

“I don’t eat everything I see,” Colin says matter-of-factly. She detests eggs, red meat, and sweets. She will cut and serve gigantic slices of the beautiful birthday gateau with her name on it, but she won’t taste a crumb.

“You have to laugh,” Colin says. “Laugh every chance you get. Laugh at everything. There’s comedy everywhere you look. Also, don’t worry about what other people say or think about you. Don’t panic about what will happen to you the next day and the day after that. Just do your best. Mind your own business, and laugh at the rest of the stuff.”

Yaya follows another rule religiously: She does not drink anything cold. It could be a hundred degrees outside, but she wants nothing to do with chilled water. Cold drinks, she explains, harden whatever gunk is present in your body, making the machine work that much slower and less efficiently. ”

Another food in Colin’s daily regiment is watercress. My own grandmother, Felicie M., prescribed watercress, too. Those little leaves are amazing. I graze on that stuff now like tomorrow will never come. And since I started to include watercress in my daily meal, I’ve  noticed a catalog of positive changes.

Sit with Colin for just a few moments, and she’ll fill you in on a Haiti about which you’d never even heard. The lady is a walking encyclopedia. She is sweet and lovely and fiercely loyal to her family. She can warm your heart or cut you down with the selfsame smile. She is one of the original fanm vayan,  the last of a great generation.

Check out this squiggly video with the birthday girl. Colin agreed to sit on the deck and chat with us for a few minutes for the video. At any moment, she might have excused herself and walked away, so everything had to happen fast.

Colin’s sons, 76 year-old Robert Dumorne and 72 year-old Etienne Dumorne, are with their lovely mom today. Daphne Dumorne, one of Yaya’s many grandchildren, sits with us in the video. I’m the loud mouth in the black clothes, trying to pry secrets to a long, healthy life.

Have a super Haitian Mother’s Day!

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