Ayiti Cheri

Ayiti Cheri is a poem I wrote in February of 2010 after the devastating 7.0 earthquake struck Haiti on January 12, 2010. Still in shock and hurting for all the lives lost and damage wrought, I wrote this poem to try and express how I felt. Hope you all enjoy.

The Morning Drive

I briefly mentioned it in a previous post but I am a Co-Host on a morning talk radio show called The Morning Drive. The show airs Monday thru Friday from 8am-10am on WSRF 1580AM, a Haitian owned and operated radio station located in North Miami Beach, Fl (that was a mouthful). The show is hosted by young Haitian Americans with the purpose of acting as liaisons between the gran moun (older) Haitians and the younger more Americanized generation. It's a great concept if I do say so myself. 

Here comes the bride...

So my older sister is getting married this weekend. I am super happy for her and very proud. She found a man who puts her first and prioritizes her happiness...Although I don't think I have ever seen her this stressed. My sister usually has it all together but if you bring up anything regarding her wedding party, flowers or guests...well to put it nicely you just  may get your head bitten off.

Is there a word for Bridezilla in Kreyol (Creole)? I'm just kidding. For a bride to be, she is pretty reasonable...at times, but its the other 23 hours of the day that has us all going nuts. In typical Haitian woman fashion everything is over the top and spells the end of the world. "UMWAY!!! Guys the caterer didn't call me back today. He must've packed up and escaped with all the money!!!" "WHOOSH!!! My hairdresser rescheduled my appointment. If I have to go to someone else they will mess up my hair. And if my hair looks bad for the wedding he's going to leave me and the wedding will be off!!!!" Her exact words, no, but definitely not an exaggeration. The one fun part of the wedding preparations is trying to see if my sister's innate Haitian-ness will creep up out of her.

Now if you've ever been to any REAL Ayitien (Haitian) weddings you know four elements are always present.

M pa kab dòmi/I can't sleep

12:09 AM Tuesday morning and m pa kab domi (I can't sleep). I don't know what it is. I'd love to say something profound like, "the troubles of this world are forever on my mind and manifest in my restless nights". Lies. Or maybe, "y'all home in bed sleeping while I'm out here in these streets gettin it..."  Naw, eh eh. Some of you are probably thinking, "well a few minutes past midnight isn't that late anyway so buck up fella", (I don't actually know anyone who'd say buck up fella but it felt right lol). 

Well midnight on a weeknight is pretty late especially when I wake up at 5am for a little cardio session then get ready for my morning show. Wait did I forget to mention I'm a co-host on a morning talk radio show? (The Morning Drive on WSRF 1580am Monday-Friday 9am-10am ANN ALE!!!!) Yes that was a shameless plug and there's more info on that subject coming soon. But the point is I'm already looking at less than five hours of sleep. Now it is true that my rugged good looks come naturally and take little to no effort. In fact one could say I woke up like this...(yes I just did) but for overall good health one must get sufficient rest.

Diaspora...

...a word that I have heard many times since I was very young, but not once did I ever stop to find out its meaning. To be honest I never considered the fact that the word would be relevant to me in the slightest. Diaspora was always used in conjunction with the "just comes", Haitians who literally just came over to the U.S. So naturally a young AMERICAN born Haitian like myself wanted no connection with the term.

Growing up Haitian in Miami in the early '90s meant one of two things, you were either a "boat" (Haitian immigrant who came over on a raft/boat) or you were a "Zoe" (a member of the Haitian gang Zoe Pound). Honestly, I never once hid my Haitian heritage, but I did disassociate myself with the "boats". My thoughts were, if I couldn’t be regarded, as a regular kid I'd much rather be feared for having gang affiliations. The wrench in that plan was my father. He didn't seem to be too concerned with my day-to-day identity crises. He sent me to school in my Sabbath Best (comparable to others' Sunday Best) and of course strictly enforced the Three L's of Haitian upbringing: L'eglise, Lekol, Lakay (church, school, home). It’s hard to be thugging in your shiny black church shoes while sprinting home full speed after school to avoid baton. I had no strong Haitian accent or any trouble speaking English whatsoever; but I also didn’t have the newest gear, cable TV, the latest toys and games, or even a respectable shape-up (dad claimed only thugs had shape-ups, smh). All that coupled with a French name and a distinct difference in behavior from my peers, I was clearly different.