I have a mix memory of the reality of my youth and what I might have told myself to believe over the years to justify my being. Living in a modernized country changes you, changes your soul.
I somehow build a shield that would protect me from knowing the truth that my mother did not abandoned me and that I had a family who went through pain not knowing where their daughters or sisters went. probably imagining the worse like when in western countries we see an amber alert on TV.
Life seemed simple back then. For a toy I had a doll, made with a hairy dried mango pit for the head, not sure what was used for the arms and legs, but she was pretty and special. We might have been poor but I remember being happy not neglected. We were quite poor but I do not remember being hungry (Believe me, I know the feeling of hunger) or thirst or needing things. to be frank, you do not need what you don’t know.
With limited resources, I have to rely on Geraldine (recently reconnected older sister who still lives in Haiti), speaks a broken French and does not speak English, I learned that our parents went to Port au Prince to find good fortune, meanwhile the kids were left in our grandfather's care.
We were four girls and one boy born from Mr. Roland Dominique et Mme Claudette Etienne. Rolande, Geraldine, Roseline, Rigault and myself. My parents came back to Trous Du Nord from Port au Prince with no luck of possible good fortune. As per Geraldine we the kids still stayed with our grandfather while our mom was building a house (with limited materials) while our father went back to Port au Prince.
Geraldine remembers that one beautiful morning, our grandfather did not want us to live with him anymore so threw us out! All five kids, no were to go but to our mom’s little house that she had somehow finally made it livable for us. From what I remember, my mom, siblings lived in this very small 650 square feet, greyed brick house and metal roof while my dad was still in Port au Prince. I remember the sound of the rain against the roof during a tropical storm.
Voodoo is a part of Haitian culture and I feel that is part of me. Early 80’s Haiti was under this captivating the story of Clairvius Narcisse. In 1962 A normal man sick with a fever that nobody could explain was declared dead by two priests. His two younger sister identified his body. Eighteen years later, it was told that one of the sisters was approached by a man claiming to be Clairvius Narcisse and that he was resurrected by a priest who is holding him prisoner. Haiti voodooism went through the roof.
Ultimately, voodoo is “Le mal” and “Le bien”! I believe that I came across someone or something unnatural when I was younger. I could not speak for a while after my experience. I am not sure where we were staying but I remember being awakened by the sound of foot steps on a metal roof. I came outside, the moon was shining like a silver coin. The house was surrounded by a field with what might be sugar cane or corn, here she was with a feather crown, bone necklaces and a wooden cane. Attached to this cane were skulls and bones of small creatures. She danced and chanted on the roof, changed into a wolf. A white Wolfe with a grey patch under it’s muzzle. She looked at me, turned around and disappear into the fields. Sounds crazy, but this is more like an experienced than a memory that a four or five year old would make up.
As an adult I feel that there is this unsettling feeling of being constantly watched.
