In the taptap on the way back, Deland decided not to get off in Simon, but to keep going to Bon Repos. He decided to take up the offer of his godson, Lorès, to live there until he recovered. He asked that James bring some clothes for him to Bon Repos later.
We arrived at the rooms of my cousin Lorès. He gave my father a carpet to sleep in the dining room.
The wife of Lorès welcomed him and smiled. But she was not happy. She was pregnant. She thought it was a bad idea to welcome a person into the family while she was expecting. She took Deland for a mental case and feared that he would be violent.
James arrived with a bag of clothes and effects for Deland’s stay.
Deland said to us, “Okay. Just don’t abandon me. I know it’s far, but from time to time come to see me.”
So my brother and I organized a way to keep him from feeling abandoned. Every day, one of us would visit him and bring him something to eat. Monday, I went; Tuesday, James; Wednesday, me again, and so on.
He found a way to manage his drugs. After taking a pill, if he began to feel unwell, he would focus all of his attention on his Creole Bible. Sometimes, he concentrated so hard that he pushed his finger into the verse that he was reading, leaving imprints on the pages.
For the first two weeks, it worked well. He was calm. Lorès took care of his eating schedule. It was important that Deland eat well before he took the pills. However, Lorès and his wife began to lose patience. One day, my father took his pills without eating. Predictably, he lost control of his mind, as he had in Simon. Lorès’ wife told people that she was frightened. She said that whenever she heard a sound at night, she jumped in fright for her safety. Le ou vle debarase di yon vye chenn, ou di li gen raj — when you want to get rid of an old dog, you say it has rabies. She turned my father into a problem to get rid of him.
James and I went to Bon Repos and I talked to Dad. He told me he was suffering from lack of food. Often, Deland’s niece who was Lorès’ sister, Christina, would prepare meals for her uncle and bring them to him. I went to see her since she lived nearby. She offered her own house if it was necessary. It was good to know.
At six o’clock one morning, my cellphone rang. It was Lorès.
He was so excited that he forgot to say hello. “Hurry, hurry! Come and get your father. I can’t keep him here anymore,” he said in a breathless voice.
“Calm down,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“I made my house! I’m not about to let anybody put me out on the street. Hurry! Hurry!” Then, click. He hung up without explaining.
I prepared myself quickly. I had only enough to take a taptap. Not even enough to leave something for Annie.
James had received the same phone call as me. We left at the same time. James got to Bon Repos first.
When I arrived, Lorès was speaking to James and Deland’s little brother, Rico, in the yard. I greeted them and then went to see my father in the gallery.
“What’s going on?” I asked Dad.
He told me that the previous evening, he had eaten late. Then he took his medicine. When it was almost morning, he had stomach cramps as though he had not digested his food. He had to go out to the toilet in the yard. But he had a difficult time opening the cast iron door to get out of the house. When he finally succeeded, it was too late. He had already soiled himself.
He had just left the gallery. There was no use in proceeding further. He just took off his soiled pants.
Lorès and his wife came out of their room. Lorès began to holler at Deland. “What kind of idiocy is this?! If I had known that you were going to be this much trouble, I never would have let you stay here! That’s it! This is the last straw! Your sons are going to have to come to get you!”
He made such a big deal of my father’s humiliation, that the neighbours came out to watch the show. Fortunately, Christina also came to help care for Deland. She gathered some orange leaves to perfume water that she used to bathe Deland and clean his pants.
My father told me that he was surprised to see Lorès, his godson, speak to him with such venom. I asked him what he would like to do. Would he like to go back to Simon or to stay in Bon Repos?
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “If Lorès came to get me, he has to assume his responsibility. To go back to Simon now would be humiliating.”
Lorès overheard him. He said, “I’m not putting up with you here. Your sons are going to have to take you.”
Christina arrived as Lorès was speaking. She announced before everyone that she was ready to take the responsibility for caring for Deland.
Lorès jumped at the idea, “If Christina wants to take responsibility for Deland, then let her! This is my house. I’m the boss here. And I’ve made up my mind.”
My father said, “Okay. Since Lorès will no longer accept me here, I will leave. Maybe Lorès will be sorry someday …”
Deland hadn’t yet finished. I interrupted, “Dad, I don’t like this. Lorès is a member of our family. You are speaking as though you wish something bad should happen to Lorès. Don’t forget that if Lorès has a problem, then the family has a problem. We are all branches on the same tree. If one branch is sick or disturbed, so is the tree. Lorès has reached the end of his patience. But only God is infinitely patient. We are only human; we all have our limits. Let’s just thank Lorès for helping you for several weeks. He has done his best.”
Christina took my father’s things and we all walked to her place nearby. She was happy. She didn’t see taking care of Deland as a burden. She took over his care without complaining. James and I continued to alternate visits to Bon Repos to bring provisions when we could. Sometimes we were both without any means and couldn’t help out.
When we needed to take him to Gheskio, I would leave before sunrise to pick Deland up in Bon Repos and take him in a taptap to the city. James would go directly from Simon to Gheskio to assure our place in line so that we could see a doctor.
Deland could not go more than two paces at a time without exhausting himself. He leaned against me. I was constantly prepared to stop so as not to push him beyond his ability. When we would finally arrive, James would hand us the number that assured his place in line and he would be ready when called for his consultation. They were always the same. The doctors just prescribed more of the same medicine. Then I would take him back to Bon Repos.
After a few weeks, Christina had to go to Jacmel to meet the parents of her fiancé. She didn’t want to leave Deland alone. She asked James to come to take my father for two days. When she returned, Deland could come back. My father was now looking forward to visiting Simon and to seeing how everyone was doing.
chapter forty-one
FÉDRIK WENT WITH FRANCHESCA to SONAPI and joined the crowd of unemployed in front of the buildings. Eventually, he was chosen to work in Kay Morisette. As in the other sweatshops, work started at 6:30 a.m. He worked in a small module making pockets for men’s trousers. A module is a group of people, normally four or five, who work together to produce a product. They work toward a quota, a certain number of the final product. If they achieve the quota, then everyone in the module makes a given amount; if they fail, then everyone makes approximately two-thirds of the quota salary. The quota is normally fixed at a rate just out of reach. Consequently, a module rarely succeeds. On the other hand, since it is within view, everyone is motivated to push the others so that all can reach the higher salary. The system is conceived to make workers police each other. If they try for the quota, they get angry at the weak link in the chain, whoever is unable to keep up. In SONAPI, a worker who is judged to be a drag on the module is called a kokoye: a coconut. It’s a bitter epithet to swallow.
In Fédrik’s case, the quota was required. Instead of rewarding the module for achieving its quota, it was punished when it didn’t. The daily quota was 2,000 pockets. The module had to produce 1,000 pockets by eleven o’clock. If not, everyone risked being sent home. The members of the module worked hard to make sure they surp
assed the quota. However, they got paid nothing extra when they did. They got paid nothing if they didn’t make the quota. At Kay Morisette, Fédrik earned 3,200 gourdes ($80 US) every two weeks.
After three months in Kay Morisette, Fédrik got sick. He began to suffer from abdominal pains and couldn’t keep up. He told the supervisor he needed time off. The supervisor brought him a pill. Fédrik said he was serious, that he needed a real diagnosis for his stomach cramps. The supervisor told him to get to work. Fédrik asked the bosses why he was having ONA deducted from his miserable salary if there was no healthcare. He asked whose pockets that deduction was lining. The bosses didn’t like his questions any more than Fédrik liked their answers. They mocked him. They aimed at his masculinity, calling him a wimp, a crybaby, and finally, a kokoye. That was the last straw. He walked out on the job and went to recuperate in his tent in Delmas 31. Franchesca was angry. She had thought that maybe he would be able to keep his job this time. She pushed him to try again.
This time, he stood outside Building 43 to work for The Well Best. There, the manager was a harsh Korean woman named Jessica. Fédrik was hired as part of a module of thirty workers to begin production of a new product the company was launching: women’s slacks. Jessica told them that the quota was 1,200 units per day. Pay was 3,200 gourdes ($80 US) every two weeks. The workers responded that the quota was unreasonable. They said that their module could manufacture a maximum of 600.
Jessica made two modules of fifteen workers each. Each was responsible for 500 pieces. She offered a bonus of 160 gourdes ($4 US) if they achieved the quota. The workers had seen this before; Jessica was testing them to see how much they could achieve if they worked hard. Once that was established, the bonus would be eliminated and the module would be responsible for the maximum.
The personnel officer has much power inside the SONAPI factories. He harasses, humiliates, and fires workers from time to time to control the group. The personnel officer needs to be seen to be ruthless. Fédrik’s module was finding the quota impossible to attain. They were working at breakneck speed. If they had to use the toilets, they rushed in, took care of business, and then rushed back so fast that they left the paper towels on the floor. They knew that there was a janitor whose job was to clean the washroom. However, the personnel officer — a Haitian — came by to humiliate the workers very publicly. He called them kabrit, or goats, for the way they left the washroom.
Those kinds of words are meant to humiliate the workers. The personnel officer needed to be as loud and insulting as possible in order that his bosses register that he gave no quarter to the workers. Fédrik was supposed to recoil in the face of the insult. However, Fédrik responded in the tone that the personnel officer had chosen. He said that if they were indeed animals and coconuts, then there could be no question of them operating the machines, since everyone knows that goats can’t sew. He said that all thirty workers were going to work like actual goats until the personnel officer and Jessica admitted they were human beings. Spontaneously, every one of the workers stood with Fédrik.
The apology was not forthcoming and they all walked out of the factory and loudly made known their insurrection. Other workers from the other sweatshops of SONAPI began to join them. They all threw stones at the factory, breaking the windows and frightening Jessica and the personnel officer who called the SONAPI guards. However, the guards were not strong enough to confront the growing crowd, so she called the police. They arrived and asked the workers why they were striking. The workers responded that they were underpaid and treated like animals. The police told the supervisor that it wasn’t their business. They left.
The insurgents remained well past closing time, holding Jessica and the personnel officer hostage since they were afraid to present themselves to the crowd that the security guards and the police had decided were outside of their jurisdiction.
Jessica then called out to the workers using a loudspeaker. She said that they should choose three people to negotiate their grievances. The crowd began to calm down. They chose three people to speak for the whole module. The crowd then disbanded, deciding that they would withhold their decision until the following day. As soon as the crowd dispersed, Jessica left the building to go home, without exchanging so much as a word with the representatives. It had been a tactic to disperse the crowd. She had no interest in negotiations.
The next day, when Fédrik and the others arrived for work, they first learned of Jessica’s treachery. Fédrik said that he had had enough. He handed in his badge and turned around for Delmas 31.
Franchesca called Fédrik later in the day, worried. She had stopped by The Well Best after work as usual to ride home with him, but he wasn’t there. She said that there was a big crowd out front. She was afraid for what might have become of him. He explained that he had given up on the place.
chapter forty-two
IT WAS DECEMBER 2010. I had no money at all. I couldn’t buy the fruits and other things that I had been getting for my father. I was ashamed and didn’t want to go to Simon, where he was temporarily staying, without something to offer. That was a great error: imagining that I needed to have money to go to see my father. He was in the greatest need. I was only thinking of money.
On 30 December, I was leaving the church at eight o’clock in the evening. Something told me to call him. I struggled with shame for having nothing to offer him. Moreover, by now, weeks had gone by during which I had been unable to offer him anything. The shame built upon itself. Finally, I won the struggle and called him at nine o’clock.
I didn’t know how to start the conversation. Finally I just said, “Hello, Dad.”
He answered in a sad and discouraged voice, “Bonswa, my son.”
“Dad, I feel really ashamed to call you. Things aren’t going well for your son. I am hesitant to call you without being able to help you at all. I can’t even offer you any lemons. But how is your health?”
“Ah, as you know, I’m not doing so well.”
He didn’t have anything else to say. I asked him if he had eaten. He mumbled that he had made an effort to eat something, but that he had no appetite.
“How is Annie?” he asked.
I told him that she was fine. I told him that we would come down to see him the next day.
“Okay, I’ll see you then. Sleep well.” I could tell that he was digging into his reserves for each breath.
I couldn’t sleep that night. My body was in Delmas 33 and my soul in Simon with my father. The more I wanted the night to pass quickly, the longer it seemed to stretch out. I was thinking of Deland when James called me in the middle of the night to tell me that he had passed away. He was forty-eight.
chapter forty-three
I WENT TO SIMON before sunrise the next morning. I passed by Delmas 19 to tell Jelo the bad news. He came with me to Simon.
The neighbours were already gathered in front of my father’s home, those who had been there when Deland arrived decades earlier, and those who had grown up with my father as a pillar of the community. Everyone was exchanging memories or thoughts about him. Those who didn’t know he was dead found out as they passed by.
Jelo and I entered. We saw my father lying on a pile of fabrics inside his room. His face was calm and fresh as though death had wiped away his illnesses. He looked relieved and regretful at the same time: relieved to have been released from this world and regretful that he was leaving it to us. I guess that’s what I projected onto him.
When Jelo and I were inside, some neighbours who had already seen the body entered again to show us that they were considerate — but really to see what I would do. I knew them. They had been unable to appreciate my father. Many of the neighbours had debts owed to my father. No one mentioned them. His death wiped the ledger clean.
Jelo and I went to see James, who explained to us the details of his death. I called my aunt, Deland’s little sister, who lived in Delmas 33. She gave the news to her husband, who was at her house rather than with his mistr
ess in Delmas 30. My uncle took the telephone. He told me that he had a friend who worked at the morgue at the General Hospital. He could plan the funeral. My aunt said she would come quickly to Simon to see Deland before the ambulance arrived.
The spectators were still walking in and out of the house. They decided that because I lived in Delmas, I must have money. That I lived in a little room without even a door was not of interest to them. They were hanging around to see the plans that I would make for the funeral.
When my aunt arrived in the neighbourhood, she started to cry. People took her to where he was lying. She caressed his face. She started to cry loudly. “Look where he is lying. He came here before me, to Port-au-Prince. I never had the chance to do anything to help him. Now, he is gone forever. It’s too late for me. How did I manage to lose a good brother like Deland?”
When she entered and started crying so loudly, the spectators ran back into the house. This was the show that they wanted to see. I had been a disappointment. I don’t cry in public. As they were counting the tears streaming down my aunt’s face, I took her hand and led her outside. The spectators followed. I wanted to get rid of them.
My uncle had given my telephone number to the ambulance driver. He called for directions. There are no street numbers in the poor areas. But it wasn’t hard to find the place, I said, because there was a big crowd in front of the address. They found us and took Deland away.
Up until now, I didn’t know what plans my uncle had made with the ambulance. He had told me not to worry; he would take care of everything. He said that he knew that we didn’t have money and that he would be able to negotiate to keep the costs reasonable.
I talked to James. We had to plan. We had never faced such a responsibility. We had to make sure that we assumed it honourably for Deland.
Rocks in the Water, Rocks in the Sun: A Memoir from the Heart of Haiti Page 31