I had only turned nine when I came here with my mum; American schools would have me for 12 more years. By the end of it how Caribbean would I be? By Caribbean, I mean, how much would I adhere to our way of children being eternally obligated to fulfill their parents’ definition of success. Hint: it’s not public service, fame or good name.
Today I called, spoke to, left messages for and emailed about 40 Haitian hometown associations between Florida and Massachusetts. It was more fun than it sounds.
“And what are you going to do for my country?” one Brooklynite asked. I imagined him a Frederick Douglass look-alike, peering down at me through spectacles. Another woman is traveling to Haiti for relief work in a couple of weeks. The date’s set; could I come, she wanted to know.