All of the kids arrived on time at the school. They were ready and waiting for MINUSTAH. A few minutes later, we heard the sound of a tank approaching. Haitians don’t like that sound. We thought that maybe they were using the tank to bring the instruments, since in our minds they would have been considerable. Instead, only two soldiers descended from the tank with automatic rifles drawn and ready for action. The third man to descend was the officer who had explained the upcoming ceremony to us. Instead of a rifle, he carried a guitar. A fourth soldier, the female soldier-teacher we knew, followed him with a laptop.
We continued to stare at the tank door, expecting to see the rest of the orchestra descend. A final robust soldier appeared with a rifle, closed the door, and took up his position as humourless guard, rifle drawn and menacing.
The officer with the guitar called us to attention. He said, “We will not be singing the Michael Jackson version of the song, but the one that a number of stars recorded after the earthquake. I will need several people to sing the main part. The youngest children will then sing the chorus. How many of you already know this song?”
A few people already knew the song, including one of the kokorats. Others knew it, but were uncertain of many of the words. Even those who could sing it did not understand the meaning of the English lyrics. But the officer had only one copy of the lyrics on a sheet of paper that he held in his hand.
He asked for the attention of the children as he began to strum his guitar and sing “We Are the World.”
He told the children, through the translator, to repeat each line after him. However, he sang with a thick Portuguese accent. His version sounded like nothing that any of us had ever heard. It was not clear that he was singing English. To repeat after him meant to reproduce meaningless garble.
Happily, as the officer strummed the guitar, the kids who knew some of the words sang them while the others made sounds approximating English, but in keeping with the melody. Since the officer’s linguistic skills were undeveloped, he couldn’t distinguish the real English from the fake. After the kids had got to the end of a stanza, he congratulated them on their mastery of English. However, it was only English to those who couldn’t speak the language.
A few of us could see the farce that was playing out before us. The officer had already threatened us with extinction if we were uncooperative. At the same time, the officer apparently believed that he could speak and understand English. All of the evidence before us belied those claims. If the officer said that the children were singing in English, then the children were singing in English. Some of us began to exchange glances of recognition. The officer was digging his own grave with arrogance. Visions of the international ceremony in Tabarre flashed through my mind. I saw an audience of dignitaries from the United Nations and “the great countries” listening to a Haitian choir sing “We Are the World” in no language. The officer would then turn with pride to the officials, expecting to be congratulated.
I stood quietly while the choir sang incomprehensible sounds. The only part of the song that I knew was a part of the chorus. The officer soon took note of my silence and shot a threatening look in my direction. I was already marked as a rebel. So, when the chorus arrived, I was able to sing a few words. Then, I continued, filling the melody with the Portuguese sounds that were passing for English. The officer brightened up and shot me a thumbs-up.
I fought against the urge to laugh. The fact that this was no laughing matter only made it funnier. I was a supervisor and was supposed to set an example for the children. So if I fell to the ground in hysterical laughter, I wondered if they would shoot me on the spot. The soldiers already had their guns drawn. That, too, made we want to laugh.
For the children, the whole episode was just a game. They didn’t know what was going on. They just closed their eyes and repeated the sounds that the officer was making. Since that seemed to satisfy him, they carried on.
Finally, the officer stopped playing and spoke. Unfortunately, he did not tell everyone that we would now break for lunch. Instead, he said, “Okay, you have got a good sense of the melody. Now, you are going to work with the computer. The music for this song is recorded on the computer. Not only the guitar, but all kinds of instruments are recorded.”
He opened up a laptop. He started to play the music.
The officer wanted the children to listen to the computer; however the sound was very weak. Only those who could put their ears directly against the speakers could hear.
The song on the computer was not the same version as the officer had been singing. As the students listened to the computer, the officer told them that he was changing some of the words. At the end of the song, he had decided that the kids would sing, “Ayiti, Ayiti.” However, he pronounced Ayiti, the name of our country, Ayichi. The children followed his instructions and repeated after him, “Ayichi, Ayichi.” That is how they would pronounce the name of their own country before the dignitaries of the United Nations at the famous ceremony: Ayichi. That was what they were told to sing. That’s what they sang.
He told everybody that, the following week, the rehearsal would take place at the big MINUSTAH base in Tabarre. Later, when I took the kids home, I told them about the change in location the next week. MINUSTAH would provide two buses that would take the kids to Tabarre. For the rest of week, we thought about the trip to Tabarre. We were getting closer to our medals. But, the kokorats told us that the base in Tabarre was much better supplied with food. They used to wait outside that base to get the best handouts. Maybe our dream would come true and we would eat like the soldiers.
chapter thirty-seven
A COUPLE OF WEEKS AFTER MY WEDDING, my father called me to tell me that he was feeling worse. He was going to try to go to Gheskio, a large medical clinic downtown. The hospital treats tuberculosis, malaria, typhus, and AIDS.
At Gheskio, the staff gave him a number of exams. They told him to return in three days for the results.
The diagnosis was not good. They said that his body was fighting typhus and malaria and they were winning. He was lucky to be alive. They gave him some pills — very powerful medicine — and sent him home in the afternoon.
James called to tell me what was happening. He said that the doctor told him to eat well before taking the medicine. It’s easier to tell a Haitian to take medicine on a full stomach than to actually fill the stomach. Anyway, after eating what he could, Dad took two pills. He began to sweat immediately. His face started to alter, as if he was a different person. You could hardly recognize him. He called James a devil! He spoke loudly and incessantly. He spoke to everyone with contempt, even his closest friends who came to use his sewing machine.
Early the next morning, I went down to Simon. He spoke calmly with me, as usual. He was reading his Bible. I prayed with him. We spoke about my website. “Excellent, my son. Keep at it,” he encouraged me. I spoke to him about a project that Paul and I were developing for transforming pèpè into new garments for sale. I wanted his advice as a tailor. He said that it was possible. “Good, good thinking,” he said, fully lucid.
Since I saw that he was okay, I left him. I was starting to doubt my brother James.
That afternoon, when he took his medicine, Deland reverted to the maniac who frightened the neighbours. James called me again. Same story.
I decided to go back the following day. But since Annie was in our room in Delmas 33, I didn’t want to leave her alone all day long. I was obliged to leave Simon and Dad — who seemed fine — at noon to return to Annie. No sooner had I walked in the room than James was on the phone. My father was acting crazy again.
We started to wonder if my presence had something to do with my father’s state of mind. There were two factors that were in constant conjunction: the medicine and my presence or absence. Which was the cause of my father’s outbursts?
“Okay, tomorrow, I will come in the morning and stay until he has taken his medicine. Then we’ll know better what’s happening,” I said.
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The next day, I stopped to buy some fruit and sugar from the street merchants to make Deland some juices. I bought oranges, chadeks, sour cherries, and his favourite, lemons.
I arrived and, as usual, my father was sitting calmly on a bench. He was happy as ever to see me. He asked me where I had found the money to buy fruit. I answered that that wasn’t important. If I could buy his health, I would. What was important was that he get better. Some nice juices couldn’t hurt. As I prepared the juices, he spoke about whatever came into his mind.
“We have arrived in a world where money is more important than the work that people do. I have seen this sickness overtake our neighbours. They value money so much that they steal it from those who work. Work is no longer of any interest to them. It is like the owners of the factories who hated work and the workers, but took all the money that we made for them. Bourik travay pou chwal galonnen.” This means, “the donkey works so that the horse can prance.”
He was quiet, lost in his past again. “The greatest mistake of my life was thinking that the lwa could bring happiness. In my youth, I accepted their authority and their promises. As an adult, I thought that having money would make me a man. But if I had stayed in Saut d’Eau, the land would have nourished me and the thieves and bosses would never have targeted me.”
After this lament, he said, “It’s time to take my medicine.” He explained to me that he was uneasy about taking it. The doctors had explained it was strong medicine. He had to follow their instructions. But he didn’t want to.
“Try anyway, Dad,” I said. “If things don’t go well, then we’ll go back to the doctors and see if there is a better treatment.”
He went through the process of taking the pills. He put each one separately on his tongue and then washed it down with a gulp of water.
After thirty minutes, he said that he wasn’t feeling well. I asked him to lie down for awhile. Maybe he would feel better. While he was lying down, he started to look from side to side suspiciously. Then he addressed no one in particular, “Why have you come here?! Didn’t I tell you that I’m not your friend? In the name of Jesus, leave! Leave!”
I didn’t know what Deland was seeing or whom he was talking to. He had told me that when he takes the pills, even little children appear huge and menacing. Everyone becomes his enemy. So I kept the children away. He could react in a way that was outside of his normal nature.
He jumped up from the carpet that he was lying on as if he suddenly had strength. I went to him to see if he would accept my presence. I offered him a glass of the juice that I had prepared.
“No,” he said sternly. “I haven’t yet received the order.”
Then he started to repeat a phrase over and over again: “If Jesus is alive, the soul of Deland is alive.”
I tried to force him to take the juice. He resisted, saying, “Yes, I see you. This conspiracy is not going to work.”
For three hours he spoke without stopping. Given the weakness of his body, it was amazing. From time to time, his voice diminished in strength. He rasped as his vocal cords gave way. But then he would start up again. Throughout this harangue, he connected with no one around him. He continued to speak to people and things only he could see.
It was hard to accept that my father was treating me like an enemy. Sometimes, some spectators came by to watch. They did nothing to help. They stood as if they were enjoying a free show, almost enjoying the fall of their neighbour.
I thought about the time that he lost his sanity in Saut d’Eau. I thought he was reliving it. As I couldn’t approach him, and to make the spectators go away, I simply prayed that he might fall asleep and recover his wits and some strength.
Finally, he was overtaken by sleep. He slept for about an hour. I imagined he would be hungry. He was so visibly weak; his outburst must have sapped all his remaining strength.
He opened his eyes, “Oh, are you still here, Joegodson?” He spoke calmly, taking our conversation up from before he had taken the pills.
He ate and drank the fruit juices. I was so relieved to see him in control of himself again.
While we were speaking, my cousin Lorès called me from Bon Repos. Deland was his godfather. Lorès suggested that we move Deland to live with him while he recovered. We would need to bring him back to Gheskio medical clinic from time to time. But otherwise, we thought that Bon Repos might be a good idea. Simon was a loud and aggressive district. My father was responding to every noise. It was logical that Bon Repos might offer a good rest.
Since he was not far away at that moment, Lorès came to Simon to speak with Deland.
“What ill wind has blown you here?” he said to Lorès. My father would never speak to people in disrespect, even as a joke, so we knew that the medicine was still affecting him.
“What would you think about coming up to Bon Repos, godfather? It might be quieter and calmer for you.”
“No, I have not yet received the order. When the order comes through, I’ll let you know.”
“Okay,” said Lorès. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
When Lorès had left, my father started to talk again at the top of his lungs. Everyone who passed saw. Those who were surprised asked how long he had been this sick. We couldn’t say. Deland kept his problems to himself so that we didn’t know when he had first started to be this ill.
One of Deland’s church sisters who had been particularly friendly with him approached to say that we couldn’t leave him in this condition. She suggested that we take him to Ste Catherine Hospital. We agreed and she went to negotiate with a taptap driver to take him there.
When she returned with the rented taptap, my father said that he had not received the order to move from where he was. She asked some of the local boys to help get Deland into the taptap. Deland resisted. The local young men had to wrestle with him to finally get him into the taptap. Although he put up a good fight, they succeeded in the end. They entered the back of the taptap with him and held him firmly. Throughout the entire trip, he continued to yell with all his diminished strength. Everyone along the route was drawn to the sight.
When we arrived at Ste Catherine’s, someone jumped down from the taptap to get the security guard to open the gate. A doctor came to the gate and, upon hearing Deland’s voice on the other side, said, “No, we don’t take this kind of case. He’ll have to go elsewhere.”
By “this kind of case,” the doctor meant to tell us that we should take him to an houngan. Deland’s church sister said that it was just a fever that Deland had come down with that day. The doctor relented. We went inside, with my father talking incessantly.
It was already late. In that part of Site Solèy, it is a bad idea to be out at night. Moreover, I had left Annie alone. Deland’s friend and her fiancé volunteered to sleep in the hospital with him. I felt I should get home quickly to avoid the insecurity everywhere. I was relieved, because the friend was a nurse and would be more effective than me in caring for him.
chapter thirty-eight
WE WERE LOOKING FORWARD TO Tuesday and our expedition. When the day came, we united as usual at the school in Simon. A Haitian was there to make a list of the names of all the students and supervisors. Then, he told us to go over to the MINUSTAH base close by. There, we saw waiting for us two white buses with UN markings, their windshields tinted black. The officer was also waiting. He told us that we were now entering a new stage in our preparations. We would now be rehearsing in the very place where the ceremony would take place in December. The children should not make any noise. Everyone would be under surveillance to earn the right to participate.
We got into the buses. Another MINUSTAH vehicle filled with the armed soldiers we were used to seeing around us took the lead. Inside our buses, armed soldiers took the front seats. Prisoners of war are probably transported like that.
For the first time, I entered the main military base in Tabarre, next to the new American embassy. It was as though we were crossing the Haitian border with Brazil.
There were rows and rows of buildings. The buildings of each member nation of MINUSTAH were separated by fencing: Brazil, Nepal, Ecuador, Chile, and so on. Maybe they were all telling themselves that they were here in Haiti protecting their national interests. What kind of arguments were they each using to convince their citizens that they should come to Haiti? To do what exactly?
The bus had to drive for several minutes inside the base before we arrived at our place inside the Brazilian section, far larger than the other member nations of MINUSTAH. On the buses, we started to understand that we were in enemy territory. Some of the Haitians wondered if we were part of a plot to inject us with cholera and then send us out into Port-au-Prince again. Some suggested that we would, after all, be offered something to eat, but that the food would be tainted with cholera.
We dismounted the buses two by two. They took us to the enormous square where the ceremony would take place. Hundreds of houses could have occupied that space: not the houses that NGOs were offering, but concrete houses according to Haitian tastes.
Several acres were asphalted for the soldiers’ exercises. There was a podium and a long area with metal chairs for spectators. Thousands of soldiers would be able to stand at attention in front of the podium. In the centre of the asphalted area was a huge metal pole with a big screen for projecting images.
The officer, accompanied by some soldiers, explained to us how the ceremony would take place. The boys and girls each separated into two groups to make four lines: two lines of boys and two of girls. Each line was organized from the shortest to the tallest. Then we learned how to organize ourselves into a half circle, again with the shortest people in the front and the tallest in the back. Then they taught us how we would undo the semicircle and leave the place in an orderly manner once our part in the ceremony was over. When we had rehearsed these actions, they took us to the actual spot in the square where we would sing our song.
Rocks in the Water, Rocks in the Sun: A Memoir from the Heart of Haiti Page 28