Haiti
by Maggie
My eyes watered as the bright sun smiled down on my neighborhood. My back burned as the fingers of the god of sun reached down, as if to join us on this beautiful day. The scent of a fresh mango, split open, drifted through the market, and into the open window of our airy home, built when times were not so bad. I wondered if our few coins could suffice for a meal. Roasted mango, coconut, and banana would be a feast! Maybe mother would let me buy some.
“Maman,” I asked, cautiously, “May I achter (buy) some fruitier (fruit) at the bourg (market)?”
“Oui!” She agreed quite readily, “Trouver (find) some that’s cocotte (cheap).”
“Merci!” I was jubilant, mango for supper!
“Je te vois demain achter noix et mangue et banana(I will buy coconut, mango, and banana)!” I was thrilled about my plans.
“Suprem!” Mother laughed at my antics, then was cut short by the way our refrigerator seemed to be tipping, then I heard the waves from the nearby ocean crashing, and slurping at the fishermen, who’s hooks were behind their feet. Then absolute silence drifted over our boulevard, the very trees seeming to whisper the dire circumstances. I laughed.
“Maman,” I was smiling at the shocked faces of the nearby shoppers, “Apres la fin des le tremblant (the tremor is over).”
I stopped, cut off, for the world had begun to tremble as if it was being bombarded by an unknown enemy, fighting for us, keeping us alive, but barely. The smell of smashed drainpipes and gasoline hit my nostrils with an evil touch. The tremor continued to bounce us like bowling balls; mother and I were wrenched to our knees. It was an interminable time before the yells started. Actually maybe 20 seconds. The windows smashed and rattled. The roof tiles slid off the house, which was dancing as I had never seen before. Mother yelled something and dragged me into the doorframe. We watched as the only world we’d ever known fell to pieces. We wailed as we watched friends disappear into the remnants of the flimsy buildings, market scenes becoming the scene of a murder, the gods were angry. Ayizin was using her mighty hands to crumble the marketplace. Baron Semedi was aching for humans to come to his world of death. When was Loco going to help us with his healing touch? Marinette’s power was rising to kill us, and that meant we must pray to her. Papa Legba was protecting us, luckily, but it meant we must see the horrendous sight of death, and loss, and wails and screams of neighbors as they passed to the next world. We looked toward the sea to make sure Pie was not sending us a flood, but we were luck; he was not.
The violent shaking ceased, and we stumbled to our feet, wading through the rubble, looking for signs of life, which there were few of. We rescued a few, and found some others, like us, unscathed. Together we plodded along to a valley, where we joined others, and wept together, praying for safety, for shelter, and for a joyful reunion with our relations. We prayed for the deceased, and we prayed that they may have a calm and comfortable afterlife. When we ran out of things to pray for, many hours later, the mothers and fathers made a circle. Us children, we slept in the middle, with tearstained cheeks, and heavy hearts. I prayed for Papa, and then dreamed horrible dreams about the angry gods, hurting us for some unknown sin. The bright sun still looked down on us, but now it didn’t seem to smile. It seemed to smirk. And the water in my eyes was pained tears, and the fingers of sun stung, and stabbed.