The Haitian Prophecy

Chapter 1

Saniyah

I stared out the small airplane window, watching the clouds drift by like cotton candy in the sky. It felt surreal, being on this flight to Haiti, knowing that in just a few hours, I'd be landing in a place I hadn't seen in years. My stomach fluttered with a mix of excitement and nerves, but a heavy weight still sat in my chest.

It's been hard for Dad and me since Mom passed away. Two years ago, breast cancer took her from us, and life hasn't been the same. Dad's been struggling to find a job, and with the way rent keeps climbing in New York, I know it's been stressing him out. He tries to hide it, but I can see it in the way his shoulders slump and in the tiredness that lingers in his eyes. That's why I decided to spend the summer with Gran and Granpapa in Haiti, to give him some space to figure things out. But I can't help worrying about him, all alone in that small apartment without me.

The soft ding of the intercom broke through my thoughts, and the flight attendant's voice filled the cabin. "Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be landing in Port-au-Prince in about ten minutes. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened, and tray tables are in their upright positions."

I tightened my seatbelt, my heart beating a little faster. I hadn't been to Haiti since I was a little girl, and now I was coming back, older, but not necessarily wiser. I felt like I was about to step into a different world, one that was a part of me, yet unfamiliar at the same time.

As the plane descended, I caught my first glimpse of the island through the window. The lush green mountains and the sparkling blue of the Caribbean Sea stretched out below. A mix of emotions swirled inside me—nostalgia, anticipation, and a touch of sadness that Mom wasn't here to share this with me.

When the plane finally touched down, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. After we taxied to the gate and the seatbelt sign turned off, I grabbed my backpack from under the seat and made my way off the plane. The heat hit me as soon as I stepped onto the jet bridge, a stark contrast to the air-conditioned plane. It was warm and humid, the air thick with the smell of salt and something sweet I couldn't quite place.

Inside the airport, I was greeted by a crowd of people, all bustling around, some reuniting with loved ones, others hurrying to catch their next flight. I weaved my way through the throng, searching for a familiar face, and then I saw them—Gran and Granpapa, holding a sign that read "Byenveni, Saniyah!" in big, bold letters.

Gran's face lit up when she saw me, and she rushed forward, enveloping me in a hug that smelled like vanilla and old books. "Mon chéri, ou vin tèlman bèl!" she exclaimed, pulling back to look at me. "Look how pretty you've gotten! Let me see you, oh, you look just like your mother when she was your age."

Granpapa gave me a more reserved hug, but there was warmth in his eyes. "It's good to see you, Saniyah," he said in his deep, gravelly voice.

As we walked through the airport toward the exit, Gran kept chatting away in Haitian Creole and English, telling me how much they'd missed me and how they couldn't wait to show me all the things that had changed since my last visit. I tried to keep up with her rapid speech, nodding and smiling, even though my thoughts were still on Dad back in New York.

Once we were outside, Granpapa loaded my bags into the back of their old, beat-up car. The drive through Port-au-Prince was a whirlwind of color and noise. I pressed my face against the window, taking it all in—the brightly painted houses, the street vendors selling fruits and crafts, and the kids playing soccer in every open space they could find. There was a vibrancy here that felt different from the busy, gray streets of New York.

Gran glanced at me from the front seat, her eyes softening. "Is everything okay at home, chéri?" she asked, switching back to English for me.

"It's been okay," I said, but the words felt heavy. I didn't want to worry them, didn't want them to know how tough things really were.