Little Haiti
// April 14th, 2010 // Story
The day I received my mission call our family was loading a U-Haul. We were moving. My native Southern Californian parents decided that the economy was too weak, the smog was too thick and the freeways were too crowded. They set their sites on the land of Bountiful, Utah. Opening up a mission call in front of 20 people was almost too much as I do not like to be in the spotlight. When I opened my call I had to act happy, but honestly, I was disappointed reading that I would be serving stateside in the Florida Ft. Lauderdale mission. After 2 years of high school Spanish and having to speak basic Spanish at my water park job for 3 years, I assumed that South America was the place for me. I was wrong. I was relieved, however, when I saw the words Haitian Creole, even though I pronounced it as Ha Tee In. Only one person out of 20 at our house that day had any idea of what Haitian was-gutter French. That was the best he could do to explain the language. I was excited to learn a new language and eventually got over the disappointment of going stateside.
I remember my first real encounter with a Haitian. It was in Ft. Lauderdale on a typical hot and humid day in February 1992. I remember street contacting this older man. He was carrying a rose and I had no clue what he was saying. I wondered if I would ever understand. In the MTC we learned French for 5 weeks and then the final 3 weeks we learned Haitian. When I later taught in the MTC in 1996, I got permission from the MTC gods to reverse the time spent on each language. That seemed to make the most sense. Within 5 months of my mission I felt confident in the language. It still is odd to think that I learned Haitian in Florida and not Haiti.
One of the greatest things that has ever happened to the Creole missionaries in Ft. Laud was when the Haiti ‘blan” missionaries and the mission were relocated to Ft.Lauderdale around December 1991. Having 2 missions (Haiti and Ft. Lauderdale) in the same area was unique. The Haiti mission shortly merged into the Ft. Lauderdale mission. Most of the Haiti missionaries I encountered spoke better Creole, knew more Krik Krak jokes, and had a special bond with the Haitians. I was envious of this and wished I had also served in Haiti. I learned a lot from the my Haiti companions and tried to learn as much as I could from them about the culture and different areas of Haiti (ex. Leogane-peyi lougawou). The legacy of these Haiti missionaries, who survived the Aristide coup and months of curfew and house confinement, lived on when their mission finished because they taught us how to better interact with Florida Haitians.
LITTLE HAITI-you could not be a Creole missionary without biking Sekankat (NE 54th street). This street was “owned” by Haitians. It was as close to Haiti as you could get. There were Haitian murals on the walls of small shops. My favorite is the picture of a Haitian guy holding up papers to the Statue of Liberty and being rejected. Shop keepers would put out speakers on the sidewalk and blast Kompas music-Zin, Sweet Mickey, Phantoms, Tabou Combo. Any type of protest would happen on this street. The smell of rice and beans made you want to stop and eat but knew you had a great chance of getting your bike stolen.
In Florida I associated Haitians with old beat-up Toyotas. If a car was an 80s Toyota I would bet my bike a Haitian would be behind the wheel. Red curtains hanging in the living room window were a dead giveaway when tracking for Haitians. I never would get used to teaching discussions on furniture covered in plastic and leaving behind a puddle of sweat. Most Haitian homes didn’t have or use air-conditioning. It cost too much. Being called CIA or Immigration officers was a constant. George H. Bush fans they were not. Bush was blamed for everything. I appreciated their bluntness and honesty when it came to their political views and ideas on how to make Haiti better.
I never will forget the Haitian man, driving a Toyota hatchback, coming to our rescue and racing down a Miami street because he noticed 2 white guys running about a bike being stolen. He nearly hit the kid with the car but managed to quickly stop the car, run to his trunk, grab a golf club and go after the boy with the club ready to swing. The boy wisely ditched the bike and the bike was quickly returned to us.
Every Florida Haitian has a story to tell whether it be coming over on a boat and being granted political asylum or living with extended family to avoid a voodoo curse. I met many Haitian men who came over from Haiti to work in the Florida sugar cane fields or whatever work they could find while leaving their entire family behind in Haiti so they could provide for their wife and children. It was a very difficult situation with months even years of separation.
Doing service hours at English language schools was enjoyable. Many times the Haitian students preferred us as teachers because we spoke Creole. We were often treated as rock stars. Ironically it was us, the Elders, who would go to these people’s homes and take pictures of them because they didn’t own a camera. Haitians love to dress up and take serious looking pictures. It was a simple treasure that could send to family in Haiti.
Haitians taught me faith, to include God in all that you do and to share anything you have with those around you. Haitians are generous with the little that most have. If they could they would give you everything they owned. They are extremely friendly, accept you for who you are, and above all know how to enjoy life in its simplest form. For me, serving among the Florida Haitians was where I was supposed to be.
Brett Freeman (neglib)
