velvet paradise (ftm x fem)

Track 3

ALAIA

Haiti identified my granpè as "Papa Claude." At twenty, he introduced his soulful singing and piano skills to Haitian bars. As Papa Doc held Haiti in a vice grip of terror and corruption, Haitians flocked to clubs in Port-au-Prince to hear Papa Claude's silky smooth voice.

Granpè didn't mince his words about Papa Doc's leadership or personality. He infused his lyrics with rebellion, using them to protest against the president's oppressive regime. Executions and disappearances of thousands of Haitians occurred during Papa Doc's reign. The wisest citizens disguised their opposing viewpoints.

Granpè wasn't wise. He was fearless. Granpè permanently moved his lanky frame with confidence and held his head high with a fedora hat tilted low. Death was a relentless, merciless force, but Granpè paid it no mind. Death wouldn't touch him until he was ready. He repelled countless attempts on his life and miraculously escaped unscathed.

Papa Doc compared himself to Jesus and believed he was a loa, a spirit of Haitian Vodou. He was a fraud, a coward. He wished he could have the essence of my granpè. Granpè had an air of mystery that differentiated him from the average person.

Vodou ritual ceremonies became familiar to me as a child because of my inquisitive and cunning nature. While my parents slept, I committed the biggest no-no. In Haiti, only the strong, usually Vodou practitioners, can survive the supernatural occurrences that happen at night. Papa and Mama always warned me of lougawous (werewolves), cursed humans who transformed into beasts at night. They caused mischief and survived off the blood of children. Hardheaded children like myself often vanished after venturing off at night, but my curiosity got the best of me.

I used to follow the roar of the drums and sneak into the temples. No one noticed me or asked, "Who's child is this?" In fact, neighbors I knew looked right past me. It was as if I had worn an invisible cloak that allowed me to observe the festivities. Each ceremony was an unforgettable evening, from the rhythmic dances to the sanctified altars. Even during the animal sacrifices, my eyes remained wide open with wonder.

I've seen a woman lose control of her body and become the most graceful dancer in the room after getting possessed by Erzulie, the spirit of love, beauty, and luxury. Vodou practitioners welcomed the spirit with offerings as they kissed the ground she walked on. The energy coursing through the temple electrified my bones. Erzulie beckoned me to dance. Everyone assumed she was dancing solo, but I was swaying with her, reveling in her radiance.

The supernatural aura that surrounded Erzulie emanated around my Granpè at all moments. He didn't have to bring attention to it. Everyone noticed. Granpè claimed that our family had extraordinary abilities that were not common in others. Most of my family are Vodou practitioners. Some intermingled Catholicism or Christianity within their faith. My parents left Vodou in Haiti. They became devout Christians and adopted the views of most naïve Americans.

Vodou is diverse, and its uses are primarily for connecting with the ancestors and the divine. Most Vodouists use the practice to heal and grow, not to turn their enemies into dolls and implement curses on people. (Though, sometimes, justice deserves to be served.) Vodou is the only thing some people have to survive. It was Vodou who saved my granpè's life.

Papa Doc attempted to assassinate my granpè any chance he got. Each attempt was so fruitless that it became hilarious to my granpè. He laughed as he skipped and avoided bullets. He began collecting them as trophies for all the failed attempts on his life. At three years old, he gave me a brass rifle casing. I treasure the trinket to this day.

-

Granpè held me on his lap under his mango tree in Port-au-Prince. The sweet, tropical scent of mangoes hung in the air, wafting into our nostrils. The summer day's heat suffocated us, but a refreshing breeze from Port-au-Prince's coastline tingled my spine. My parents waited as my granpè squeezed my hand in his, his eyes closed with a peaceful expression. Despite Granpè's composed visage, his grip was tight, as my parents observed in anticipation.

Kreyòl is my first language, but Granpè shouted incomprehensible words. His raspy voice echoed through the backyard and traveled through the wind. The inflection of his words crashed like thunder, powerful and natural. Celestial energy enveloped Granpè and me, bringing forth bewilderment instead of fear. What is he doing? Why do my parents look like my life depends on his actions? Granpè's voice came to an abrupt end. The warmth of his hand slipped away from mine.

I wiped the sweat from my hand as my parents shouted in Kreyòl. They asked, "What did you see?!"

The words spilled from his mouth as he delivered the gospel. "Li pral fè sa pèsonn nan fanmi sa a pa fè." ("She will do what no one in this family has done.") "Ti fi a pral chante pou mond lan." ("The girl will sing for the world.")

Papa's face glowed when he heard the prophecy. He asked Granpè with what riches I would bless the family. Granpè said, "Many." Mama tried to hide her emotions behind a hard swallow and an unreadable expression. Granpè requested they both step away so we could have a moment of privacy. His long arm extended and grasped a ripe mango from the tree, the balance of it shifting in his hand. He offered the medium-sized mango to me. Its soft skin warmed my palms.

Granpè showcased his child-like gap-toothed grin. "You may not know, but Granpè knows, child. You will be famous. People will love you. You will bring honor to Haiti and our family. Granpè will not be with you. But has Granpè ever been wrong?"

My head moved left to right. Folks adored Granpè for his musical talent and how well he prophesied. People visited him to learn about their future and destiny. I watched people leave our home, skipping to the tune of their fortune. Others had to be dragged out as they cried for "another reading." No matter how fortunate or unfortunate, Granpè's forecasts manifested.

Granpè dug in his shirt's pocket. The object he revealed piqued my fascination as it shone in my wide eyes. The mango's weight dropped from my hands. Granpè caught the mango with ease before handing me the rifle shell. The shell's casing gleamed like a valuable golden jewel with its brass plating. "Imbeciles tried to kill your Granpè. They don't understand they can't kill what's meant to live. What will be will always be, Alaia."

When he called me Alaia, my little brain short-circuited. What is Alaia? Who is Alaia? I had never heard that word. I was born as Jesula, which meant "Jesus is here." Though Jesus had some help from the loa with my miraculous birth. Following my eighteenth birthday, my name change to Alaia materialized. My parents hated it. After years of deeming me the child of Satan, I thought they'd rejoice in my new identification since Jesus wasn't inside me—according to them.

"There will be major obstacles. You will suffer. Most will not believe in you and your gifts. The ones you love will hurt you the most. Your path will be a hard but fruitful one, child. It will pay off in the end." Granpè closed my fist around the shell. "This is a shell casing of a bullet that was shot at your granpè. President Duvalier and his troops attempted to kill me hundreds of times. While he lies underground, I'm with you, listening to birds sing about your bright future. Keep this casing with you at all times. If it's in your company, you will remember my words. You will receive Granpè's guidance once I'm long gone. You will remember your destiny and achieve it. You will outlive your enemies and conquer their disaffirmations. You will be Alaia Mondesir, my granddaughter, who will possess better skills than my own. The loa and ancestors will protect you."

My eyes searched Granpè's. His pupils shimmered as if he comprehended my confusion. He chuckled and comforted me with a hug. "For now, you are still our Jesula. Be a child, but do not lose your shell. You will need it. No matter what happens," His final words stuck with me. In my darkest moments, they ring in my ears. "Kenbe fèm, pa lage." ("Hold on tight, do not give up.") 

***

Fun Fact: Alaia's granpè was a little twist on history. François Duvalier, "Papa Doc," was the president of Haiti from 1957-1971. He promoted himself as a reflection of a loa (or lwa), God, and Jesus. 😭 He believed his political enemy, Clément Barbot, could transform into a black dog. So, he had his troops go around and kill every black dog in the capital. A very cruel and unserious man. Barbot was eventually killed and captured in 1963. So, that's where the inspiration came from behind Granpè and Papa Doc's feud. Except Granpè won in this narrative.

Anyway! Jaire's POV is next!  I'ma hold out for a few more votes and comments before I upload it so do your thing. 😁