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On a table in my living room two statues, once carve by a nameless Haitian artisan, stand. One is a statue of a Haitian woman, with some burden balanced skillfully atop her head. The other is a Haitian man, bending over to play a drum. They are colorful, and beautiful and I love them. There is just one problem, they keep falling over because they sit atop inadequate bases.
I vaccum the floor, and sit them upright. The kids flop down on the couch, and they fall down. I walk through the semi-darkness in the morning to make a cup of tea, and stand them up again. Someone slams a backpack down a bit too hard, and down they go. Over the years, I have dug them from beneath the end table, and sofa countless times. I wish I could say they have survived their frequent tumbles unscathed but that would be untrue. Their bright Caribeean paint is chipped in places, and the woman has lost part of her arm. I guess some people would become exasperated with them and toss them away, but I can’t. I love them. After all, it is not their fault there is no stable place to plant their feet.
Much like Haiti.
My Dear Haiti,
Broken, bleeding, your streets awash with blood and salty tears, take this small comfort-
Your treasures are here with me.
They are wrapped up in mocha skin and curls, dancing in my living room. They are climbing the tree in the front yard, and turning cartwheels in the house, their pink tennis shoes just missing the t.v. They are racing their brother to the fence, and laughing out loud when they get there first.
Sometimes, they burst through the front door at the end of the day, when there is something good cooking on the stove, and declare with delight that it smells like home.
They are strong and healthy, funny and compassionate, beautiful and generous.
Your treasures, my dear one, are safe. They are here with me.
But they love you still. Sometimes, they weep for you, but your relentless courage courses through their veins, and they always find a way to smile again, hope again. Just like you.
There are moments when they long to see you, feel you, taste you just one more time; and when you suffer, they grieve.
I think that this day when all is dark for you, I will hold them more closely. I won’t scold them for leaving their backpacks on the floor, or for eating too many sweets. And tonight, when they are tucked safely in their beds, while you suffer in the streets, I know I will slip into their room quietly and just watch them sleep.
There in the dark, I will shed tears for you, Haiti, and when my tears are spent I will gently kiss their faces, still and peaceful with sleep, and I will pray for you. I will pause there in the quiet, overwhelmed with the wonder that you, who are so desperate, entrusted me with such a priceless gift- your daughters.
Take comfort, beautiful island. I will guard them closely and love them well. Your treasures are safe; they are here with me.
