While Julie Marie and I
gather water,
I tell her my plan.
Julie Marie smiles
her big white smile.
And don’t forget to mention
how you took care of Banza’s paw.
And how you already know
how to use a stethoscope
and how to count to five in French
like Nadia taught us.
Don’t tell Nadia yet, I say.
She’ll find a way
to spoil my plan.
Julie Marie laughs.
No she won’t — but I promise.
We carefully lift our buckets
onto our heads.
I can’t wait to hear
what your papa thinks,
Julie Marie says.
Remember everything!
Hope and happiness
bubble in my heart.
Wi! I will!
Julie Marie smiles.
Uncle Bouki, Uncle Bouki,
she sings.
Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping?
My heart is close to bursting.
Get up to play the drum.
Get up to play the drum.
Flag Day is almost here.
There’s so much to celebrate!
On Sunday night,
the tingling
in my stomach
makes it hard to sleep.
I wiggle and squirm
and beg Gogo
to tell me about Flag Day
when she was a little girl,
or about Granpè
and his books.
Shhhhh … Gogo says.
A child who doesn’t sleep at night
is a crocodile in the morning!
It’s still dark
when Gogo pulls my toes.
Leve, Serafina!
she whispers. Wake up!
Tiny butterflies quiver
inside me—
no more waiting—
today is Flag Day!
I leap to do my chores.
Even in the blackness,
my feet easily follow
the curves and dips
that lead to the ravine.
I brush away the flies
and mosquitoes
and quickly fill my bucket
with black, still water.
When I get back,
Manman gives me
a small piece of bread.
I’m not hungry
but she’ll make me eat,
so I push away the quivers
in three big bites.
Slow down, Manman says.
The city will wait.
I’ll empty the chamber pots
and sweep the floors,
Gogo says.
Today is a day to celebrate.
Blue for hope.
Red for blood, I say,
hoping that Granpè
has been listening
to my prayers.
Papa washes his face
while Manman ties
red and blue ribbons
in my hair.
Her hands work quickly.
It hurts when she tugs
my scalp,
but I don’t complain.
Listen to your papa,
she says, and remember,
he has work to do before the parade.
Be patient and let him do his job.
Wi, Manman! I assure her.
I’ll be patient!
Even on Flag Day
Papa must stack cans,
open boxes,
and pour bags of rice
into wooden barrels.
Gogo frowns.
The donkey sweats
so the horse
can be dressed in lace.
She gives me a pair of ragged shoes
patched with bark and straw.
The shoes are big for my feet
and the patches pinch and scratch.
Gogo! Papa says,
I am happy to have steady work!
André struggles every day.
I’m happy I can provide
food and clothes for my family.
He smiles at me.
I’m happy I could afford
ribbons for Serafina’s hair.
André is Julie Marie’s papa.
Even though there are days
when I hear
Julie Marie’s stomach grumble,
even though Julie Marie
always wears a dress
too small for her long, skinny body,
even though I have never seen her
with ribbons in her hair,
Julie Marie is always smiling.
She never complains about anything.
When I think of Julie Marie,
I feel lucky to go to Papa’s supermarket
Papa kisses Gogo and Manman
on both cheeks.
I do the same,
then take Papa’s hand.
My heart beats faster
than a hummingbird’s wing
as we step into the early
morning dark.
Together we follow the long,
winding road
that leads to the city.
Soon a shimmery pink light
appears in the distance.
Papa twirls me and smiles.
My little starlight dancer,
he whispers,
and all the words
I planned to say
flutter away.
We walk through
my favorite field
of dry grass and pink flowers.
The scent of mango,
oranges, and wild thyme
wraps me in sweetness.
Manman calls this part
of our walk to the city
Haiti’s piece of heaven.
Before long,
we pass the path
that leads to
Nadia’s mission school.
My wishes and words
drift back.
I take a breath.
Papa, may I ask you something?
Papa looks at me and nods.
Wi, you may ask me anything.
But then, the smells change
to garbage, sweat,
and burning wood.
The fragrant field is gone.
Along the road,
huts made of straw
and rusted tin shacks
pile on one another.
They push away
my whiffling thoughts
and steal my courage.
Do you like parades
as much as I do?
I ask.
Papa shakes his head
and laughs his hearty laugh
as the sun peeks over the mountain
and meets us in the city.
Even in the early morning,
Port-au-Prince is crowded
with people.
Stay close, Papa says,
squeezing my hand.
Papa! I’m not a baby!
I remind him.
All around us,
the city teems with sights,
smells, and sounds.
Baskets are piled high
with brightly colored fruit—
green and yellow bananas,
grapefruit and mangoes,
lemons and limes.
In an open pot, hot oil sizzles.
Fried plantains and sweet potatoes
crackle and sputter.
Chicken wings hiss and frizzle
in wide silver frying pans.
Tap-taps rumble and honk.
Old cars rattle and cough.
Welcome to the city, Serafina!
they seem to say.
I love it here! I shout back.
We pass the clean white palace
where the president lives.
A long iron fence surrounds
thick green grass
and winding stone paths.
I wonder how lush grass
and smooth stones
feel under bare feet.
How pleasant it would be
if the path to the ravine
were as soft and lovely
as the path around
the President’s Palace.
I curl my toes
and try to ignore
the scratching bark
and prickly straw.
Outside the fence,
people sing and wave
small blue-and-red flags.
Inside the fence,
above rows of windows
and mighty chalk columns,
a large flag floats proudly.
Blue for hope.
Red for blood.
Not just slave blood,
my blood,
the blood of my granpè.
Watch over me, Granpè,
I pray.
Please bring back my courage
so I can talk to Papa.
Help him to understand
the way you would.
The parade isn’t until
late afternoon,
but already drums beat,
maracas rattle and swish.
Men in straw hats
and brightly colored shirts
blow and tap their
painted bamboo trumpets.
I squeeze Papa’s hand.
I like to be alone with him,
but still,
I wish Manman and Gogo
didn’t have clothes to wash.
I wish they didn’t have
mint and thyme to bundle.
I close my eyes and gather
the music and colors
in my arms,
a holiday bouquet
to bring back
to Manman and Gogo.
Sometimes happiness
eases hunger
better than rice and beans.
When I open my eyes again,
a woman holds out
a stalk of sugarcane.
Papa shakes his head
and frowns.
I know we have no money
for treats,
but I don’t care.
We’re in the city!
Papa twirls me past
the big white church
where we pray on Sunday.
Past small shops
with green awnings,
and pink apartments
with clothes hanging
from the railings.
When we pass the blue cafe
with the rainbow umbrellas,
I know we are almost at
Papa’s supermarket.
Papa’s supermarket is the biggest,
busiest market in Port-au-Prince.
Remember, Serafina, he says,
as we step inside,
you must be quiet and let me work.
I know, Papa! I say. I know!
I sit on a wooden crate
and watch Papa pour
sacks and sacks of Miami rice
into brown barrels.
Gogo says that Haiti rice tastes better
than Miami rice.
Gogo says that Haiti rice is healthier
than Miami rice.
Papa says that nobody buys
Haiti rice anymore.
Why should they?
Miami rice costs less money.
Cheap is not better,
Gogo always says,
shrugging her shoulders.
But an empty sack cannot stand.
In the barrels, the rice sparkles
like tiny white stars.
I say the best rice
is the rice that fills our bellies.
When Papa goes
to find his boss,
Mr. Pétion,
I watch a caterpillar
in a heavy yellow coat
climb up the rice barrel.
I pick it up.
It slithers and slumps
across my fingers
and up my arm.
Do you know what you’ll be
when you grow up? I ask.
Before I can tell her,
Papa comes back.
Swiv mwen, he says, follow me.
Mr. Pétion is having
a Flag Day celebration
at his house.
He asked me to deliver
a crate of black mushrooms
and a tank of lobsters.
The wagon is already packed.
I follow Papa outside
to the front of the store
and place my caterpillar
on a scraggly weed
poking through the cement.
Good luck! I whisper.
Papa grabs the handle
of a large red wagon
and we begin walking.
Inside the tank,
a huddle of lobsters
with rubber-banded claws
peer at me.
I wave to them.
The lobsters are alive! I say.
Papa laughs.
For a little while …
but don’t get too attached!
Mr. Pétion’s house sits high on the hill.
A tall girl, skinnier than a spider’s leg,
opens the door for us.
I smile, but she just nods
and motions for us
to follow her inside.
Mr. Pétion’s house is cold
like the refrigerator
in the back of Papa’s store.
It has an inside stove
and a long table
with wooden chairs.
On the roof,
there’s a pool of water
to swim in
and even a house
for Mr. Pétion’s car!
When I’m a doctor,
I’ll have a car too.
I’ll visit old people
who live far from the city.
I’ll take sick babies
to the hospital to get better.
But I’ll never build
a house for my car.
People need houses
more than cars do.
Papa empties the wagon
and parks it outside the car house.
Trumpets and drums
bellow in the distance.
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
We’re going to miss the parade!
I say.
Papa laughs. No we won’t!
He grabs my hand
and swings my arm.
Walking downhill is like flying!
At last we’re back
in the heat of the city.
The closer and louder
the trumpets and drums,
the more crowded
the busy streets become.
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
Soon the drums
beat inside of me
like my own heart.
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
A group of grown-up dancers
dressed in white
carry flags of blue and red.
They step and bounce,
step and clap.
They shake their shoulders
and sway their hips.
The drums beat
without stopping,
steady like a heart.
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
I’d like to step and sway
in a flowing dress
and shake my shoulders free.
I’d like to clap my hands
and stamp my feet,
moving to nothing
but the beat of a drum.
Next, children my age
dressed i
n yellow uniforms
with socks inside their shiny shoes
march to the center of the street.
Look! Papa says, There’s Nadia!
Nadia waves, but
without even thinking,
I pretend I don’t see.
The drums beat
without stopping.
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
Nadia and her school friends
hold hands and form a circle.
They sing a song of freedom.
Let there be no traitors in our ranks.
Let us be masters of our soil.
I think about the Tonton Macoutes.
The Tonton Macoutes were traitors.
I’m glad they are gone.
I wish Granpè were still here,
but now I’m beginning
to understand.
Granpè only wanted to be
master of his soil.
My heart beats
in steady rhythm
with the drums.
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
Bom-bom
For the rest of the parade,
I feel Granpè’s heart
beat inside of mine.
Colors, sounds, and smells
float through my mind
as Papa and I walk home
in happy silence.
When I see a heart-shaped rock
lying in the road,
I let go of Papa’s hand,
pick it up, and squeeze it
in my fist.
I say a silent prayer to Granpè
for courage,
then take a deep breath.
Papa, I say,
I know Manman needs me.
I know it’s important
to do my chores.
Papa listens quietly.
He doesn’t interrupt
like Manman would.
I want to be a doctor, Papa.
And to be a doctor,
I must go to school.
Gogo told me that Granpè
could read.
He wanted to teach Manman
to read too.
Did you know that Granpè said
education is the road to freedom?
Papa doesn’t say anything
so I keep talking.
I think it would make Granpè happy
for me to go to school and become a doctor.
You said yourself that I have a gift.
Papa is still quiet
so I go on.
If I become a doctor,
I can help Manman even more.
One day, I’ll earn enough money
to buy chicken and pork.
Manman and Gogo
won’t have to work so hard.
And, Papa, when I’m a doctor,
I’ll have my own car.
You won’t have to walk so far to work
or pull a wagon up the hill to your boss’s house.
Please, Papa, please think about it.
I want to go to school
more than anything in the world.
I stop talking, hold my breath,