Chapter 1 of a story of a little Haitian girl's journey through the hardships of life.
When I look back on my childhood, I am amazed at the things I went through to get where I am today. My life went in directions I never would have expected. I have a favorite Haitian proverb that epitomizes my childhood perfectly. It is “Chak pen gen founo li e fwomaj li.” (Translation:) “Every bread has its oven as well as its cheese.” The meaning of this proverb is: Everyone has trials and joys, and every trial has its joy. Even my tears, heartache and hardships had purpose, though I don’t think I could have understood that at that time.
My mother died when I was too young to remember her. I know her name from my birth certificate but other than that I don’t really have any memories of her. My father was my role model in life. He struggled to care for me despite other men telling him to sell me as a slave so he would be rich enough to afford food for him to eat three meals a day, or afford a better home. He always declined and sternly stated that I was his life since my mother died, and nothing could tear us apart. We didn’t have the luxury of running water, electricity, or even a decent home. We lived in Haiti, the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.
We lived in a one room shack made of cinder blocks and a rusty tin roof. What my father earned was barely enough for one or two scanty meals a day, but we were together. When I was too little to go out by myself, my father paid an old lady down the street to take care of me while he worked making shoes at a tiny store in the market. When I turned six or seven, I started going with my father to work and taking a basket of shoes a few miles away to sell. I gaged the time by when the rich children entered the school across the street from my favorite selling spot. I wanted to read more than anything, but to go to school cost more money than I think we ever had and the tiny amount I earned during the day was needed to be able to have the food we needed to survive. When the children left the school I would walk back to the market to return the money and unsold shoes to my father. Then we would go home together to eat our supper of rice and beans before going to bed. We weren’t very full, and our clothes were tattered and old, but we were alive and together and that was all that mattered.
One day when I went to meet my dad at the market, he didn’t have the usual grin on his face. I could sense something was different. I asked if he was happy and he smiled at me, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He told me that he had lost his job because rioters had come and burned his shop. I said he shouldn’t worry or be sad because he could find another job. He smiled gently and got a sad look in his eyes. That night he told me that he was going to make me a special dinner because the next day was going to be a big day. I should’ve seen it as a bad omen but I was so hungry I didn’t analyze his words for possible hidden meanings. We had bread with rice and beans and even a small potato. That meal represented the beginning of many new things and because of the things that came with it, I have never let myself forget any detail about it. That night, for the first time in months, I went to bed with a full stomach.
What happened the next day is engraved in my mind and soul as if it happened only a few moments ago, though it’s been many years. The next morning we didn’t go to the market like usual, we took a ride on the tap-tap, which was a rare and unusual treat for me. I remember being excited and pointing out everything I saw to my father. I can remember that I was so happy that I just grinned at the world around me. I caught my father sniffling a few times but when I mentioned it to him, he said it was the little girl sitting next to him. After seemed like hours, my father tapped on the side of the bus, signaling the driver that we were ready to get off.
The tap-tap stopped at a huge house with a stone wall around it. It had a wrought iron gate with a huge chain and lock holding the gates secure. I clung tightly to my daddy’s hand, intimidated by the large house in front of us, but I was also excited to see such a rich home for the first time. He called for someone to come, and a woman came out to the gate. My father spoke in subdued tones through the gate, too quiet for me to hear. At first the woman shook her head, but after more conversation she gave a reluctant sigh and opened the gates to let us in. While my eyes explored my new surroundings, my father and the woman continued their conversation in hushed tones. My father knelt down and scooped me up into his loving arms, encircling me in a warm hug, and kissed my forehead. As he held me in his arms, I felt his tears running down my cheeks. I wondered why he would be crying when we’d just come to such a wonderful, big mansion. I asked him why he was crying and why we were here, but he didn’t seem to hear me. I told him to be happy and that there was nothing to cry about, but it seemed to make his struggle even worse. He cupped my face in his hands, with tears still falling down his face, looked deep into my eyes and said “I Love You, Little Angel! Be good for me,” and gave me one last embrace before gently lowering me back to the ground. He was no longer trying to hold in the tears, and he was sobbing freely. He straightened, slid his hand into mine and slowly guided it into the waiting woman’s outstretched hand and said to take good care of me. Before I could figure out was going on, he had turned around and was almost out of the gate when it hit me that I wasn’t going back with him, he was leaving me there alone. I started screaming “Papa, papa”, and tried desperately to escape the woman’s grasp and run into the comforting arms I knew and longed for. However, it was to no avail. I wept and screamed his name over and over. He stopped outside the fence for just a moment, but didn’t turn around. His shoulders were shaking and I watched him turn his head back to look at me just one last time. I could see in his eyes that his heart was tearing to shreds right before me. He had tears cascading down his chocolate brown skin and his sobs of grief and pain made me feel like my heart would break in two. Finally, he tore his gaze away and ran down the street before he reconsidered the decision that ultimately probably saved my life. That was the last time I saw my father, but my last glimpse of him will remain embossed in my mind and heart forever.
Ahna, this is a great beginning-- 1)a bit of forshadowing 2)character building 3)we're learning about a culture 4)we see the relationship w/her father, and like them both-- our sympathies are definitely caught 5)Good imagery-- we see the tap-tap, the "rich house", the shoe selling... it's all good.
Next, you keep building your character. We need to see her and recognize her out of the other faces we'll see. We need to know her name. We'll need to very gradually see a change in her taking place-- witness all her emotions. Remember: no over-night change will work--it needs to be gradual. Have patience with her, and she'll write your story for you.
Really good start, Ahna. I'm looking forward to reading more about her.
Truly a soul-reaching and most compelling account, Ahna. In my humble estimation, this is a fine start to your story. Thank you for sharing it. Love and peace,
These timeless quotations culled from the celebrated corpus of writings by W.E.B. Du Bois are presented with illuminating introductory essays by Aberjhani. Narration of the Audible book performed by Catherine Byers.
When two men hit the reset button and decide to go out looking for the good in the world, they not only find it but also a lot more.
P.S. The title is listed on Amazon under Look for Something Good by Robert Drews (not by Robert H. Drews)
