Leaving Haiti was like dying. We could not take our possessions with us.
On the eve of our departure, we gave away our kitchen table, the tablecloth, the wooden spoons, the dishes (even the good ones), and the clay jugs that kept our drinking water cool. Manman parceled out our clothes, our shoes, every last grain of rice, sugar, and salt we possessed.
She gave away our ironing board, the iron, our pillows, the sheets on the bed, the bed itself. Manman said we wouldn't need those old things. She said we would have new lives and new possessions to go with them.
When the plane landed in JFK finally, and the cruel man at customs did the unthinkable, Manman's joy curdled like milk under the noonday sun. Her secret had been exposed. Something within her started to run backwards,
running and howling like a child lost in dense woods. She'd made a mistake. Now that she was at the finish line, she wanted out of the race.
She wanted to give the Consul his visas back and return to the island. But it was already too late.
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.43(d)|