I was born in a small town just miles away from Port-au-Prince, Haiti. When I was younger, I dreamed of being a ballerina, an astronaut, firefighter, teacher, and even a seamstress but my first love was writing. This was partly because one of my older female cousins, whom I admired dearly, owned a typewriter and I used to love watching her type in the courtyard of our place. I dreamt of owning my own typewriter someday and becoming a journalist for a local newspaper in our town. When I was six years old me and my older siblings moved to Florida to live with my father and step-mother. My mother raised me as a Jehovah's witness in Haiti but my stepmother is Catholic. Before my step-mother decided on a church, she and I visited various different churches of all denominations. My dad tried to honor my mother's wishes and raise me and my siblings in the Jehovah's Witness church. He took us to bible studies and introduced me to some people at the Kingdom Hall in our neighborhood. He stopped going to church himself and because I had some level of freedom back then and could choose for myself whether I wanted to go to church or not I stopped going to church too. Things would not have gone down the same with my mother. My step-father was a preacher and we attended bible studies and went to Salle du Royaume at least three times a week back in Haïti. As a child, I envied the members of the Baptist church that my step-mother and I attended, they celebrated holidays and birthdays. I had never celebrated a birthday at that point in my life. Although my mom made an exception on my sixth birthday, she bought me a bottle of 7 Up. I was so happy and I thought about bragging to my siblings about being the first to try an American beverage. My mom asked me to keep it just between us. Later I found out she had done something equally special for my siblings on their birthdays and had them keep it to themselves too. She'll deny it was to celebrate our birthday though. When I was 11 years old, just before starting junior high, I got my first computer. It wasn't my computer but I helped my dad put it together and used it the most out of my siblings. I didn't have access to the internet yet and I would listen to my favorite R&B songs over and over to transcribe the lyrics. Finally, I realized all I wanted to do was write the oral tales that I grew up hearing as a child. I loved listening to my momma, Aunt Mamoon, and my grann tell stories by candlelight. Every night before I went to sleep, my mom recited riddles, recounted old fairy-tales, and made-up silly jokes to make me laugh. In middle school, I asked my dad to take me to watch Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's stone. This occasion was very special to me, not only because it was on my birthday but because I remember we went just the two of us to the theater at the mall. We had a family tradition: every few weekends my father used to take all seven of us to watch the latest blockbuster film at a drive-in theater in town. We stopped at KFC and got a couple of family meals and drinks, a change I welcomed from eating my step-mother's diri ak Sòs Pwa Nwa all week long.
I am Black and proud.
My sense of pride doesn't come from a place of arrogance but from my love for my family and my faith in God. My mother raised me and my siblings as Jehovah's Witnesses and as I grew older, I relied heavily on the lessons that I learned from my childhood. I can recall the day I got my first bible. It was the standard yellow children's bible, the kind that one is given as a child in the Temwen Jewova church. That following Saturday, I raised my hand to be picked to answer questions from the Watchtower. I was beaming with joy all over when one of the ushers passed me the microphone. I don't remember the scripture I read but my mom's expression told me she approved of my answer. We had only practiced it every night that week. Back in those days all my mom had to do was give me a look and I would know if I was in trouble or not and then she'd follow it up with the occasional pinch in my seat if I made my sisters laugh in the middle of the prayer.
Even now, when things get tough, I find comfort in reading a familiar passage or scripture. A few days ago, I went for my morning walk and came to the realization that I was being followed. It took me a while to realize what was happening because I was preoccupied with something equally as strange that was happening at the park. As I walked around the baseball field, I passed an older man and a teenage boy. Every time I passed them; they covered their mouths with a white terrycloth towel that had been around their necks. They seemed to do this only when approaching me. I had on my mask and saw no need to stop power walking through the park so I kept on walking. This was a bit odd but everyone has been behaving rather oddly since the pandemic started. The second couple, an old man and woman, were friendly enough. They wore no masks and walked directly beside me. I didn't think anything of it until I realized the woman had been shadowing my every move. Every time we approached each other, if I fiddled with my cellphone, she touched her glasses. When I scratched my head, she flipped her hair. Her companion was doing the complete opposite of what I was doing. I thought this was just mildly irritating at first but they were persistent and seemed to be enjoying themselves mocking me. Finally, I decided I had enough and the next time we looped around the path I would have to do something bold and unexpected. I pulled my shirt down and there she was again mirroring my movement. As the two approached me, I felt a raindrop fall on my arm and started to raise my hand up and the old man pointed towards the ground. I lifted my hand higher and waved it to the sky to praise God and this stunned them. The woman lowered her head and he stopped smiling almost immediately but I was approaching and staring straight at them now. I said hello and the man said hi back, barely meeting my gaze as they made their way around the trail. I felt victorious at that moment but walked off the path and went for a short jog on the sidewalk along the road. I didn't jog very long and decided to head back towards my car and there they were again. I could tell it was the same two people from the park. Not knowing what to expect, I slowed down my pace and I prayed for guidance. I played with my hair, wondering if her ruse was over but the woman flipped her hair once more. I placed my cell phone in my back pocket. She muttered something to her friend and he began walking on the grass. As we got closer to each other I asked how they were doing loudly through my mask. I wanted to say something snarky like "Good to see you, AGAIN ″ but kept this to myself. "Good," the couple responded, in unison. I'm not sure how well the woman was doing because she had a sour expression on her face now. She was having a great time when we were at the park but something must have changed her mood. I went back to the parking lot and drove away before things got even weirder.
I am black and proud
I wonder if my work has value
I hear an ominous and maniacal laugh
I see flashing rays from the sky
I want to scream and shout
I'm black and proud
I pretend like I know what I'm doing
I feel lumpy balls of Greene cheese between my fingers
I touch the fluffy pink clouds
I worry there are things far beyond my reach
I cry out soft and bitter sobs
I am black and proud
I understand change begins with the mind
I say positive affirmations daily
I dream of creating a beautiful life
I try to put my best foot forward
I hope to find my true calling
I am black and proud
