As soon as I get my new uniform,
Auntie will bring me to school.
Oh, Serafina, I’m so excited!
What aunt? I ask.
Do you know her?
I’ve never met her,
but Papa says she is lovely.
Papa says she always wanted
a little girl of her own.
Julie Marie’s eyes sparkle,
but a shadow
creeps into my heart.
I thought you said your papa
had too many mouths to feed?
Who will help your manman?
Who’ll gather firewood,
wash the clothes,
and help care for your brothers?
Who’ll help me tend the garden?
Manman said she’ll manage.
She wants me to study
and have pretty clothes
and enough food to eat.
And you have your manman
and Gogo to help you in the garden.
Besides, you charmed the peppermint
all by yourself.
You make garden magic—
you don’t need me!
Yes I do, I think to myself,
but out loud,
I try to sound happy.
That’s wonderful, Julie Marie, I say.
Then I remember my own news.
I’m going to school too,
as soon as the jar is full.
Manman said it herself last night.
Oh, Serafina, I’m so happy!
Julie Marie takes my hand.
I wish Nadia were here.
I wish we could all go
to the same school
and study together!
Her eyes fill with tears.
I’ll miss you, Serafina, but now,
we can both be doctors
like we always dreamed.
I push away my sadness
and manage a smile.
Wi! We’ll both be doctors
like we always dreamed.
Early the next morning,
Julie Marie stands in my garden
wearing a clean white dress
that I have never seen before.
Manman says I am prettier
than all the wildflowers
that grow along the hillside.
You are, I say.
She touches her hair.
Manman tucked a kiss
into every twist.
I can see them! I say,
but the laugh
gets caught in my throat
and tears spring into my eyes.
Don’t cry, Julie Marie says.
We’ll see each other again.
She kisses her hand
and tucks the kiss into my braid.
To help you remember me.
I’ll remember you always!
Me too.
I’m only going
to Port-au-Prince.
I’ll come home to visit,
and maybe you’ll see me
when you come to the city!
Julie Marie smiles.
I promise to think of you
whenever I sing “Uncle Bouki”!
When I sing “Uncle Bouki,”
I promise to think of you too!
We squeeze each other tight.
Prese! Julie Marie’s papa
calls from the road.
Julie Marie wipes her eyes
and kisses me on both cheeks.
Look for me when you come
into the city,
she whispers.
Babay, I call, squeezing
the kiss in my braid
and blinking back tears.
Mwen renmen ou.
I love you, my friend.
Later that night,
Julie Marie’s papa
stops by our house.
I’ve come to say good-bye, he says.
We’re leaving tomorrow before sunrise,
to find work in Saint-Marc.
Saint-Marc! Papa says.
That’s quite a distance.
And you’ve just built a new house.
What about Julie Marie? I ask.
Her papa blinks back tears,
his face stiff and serious.
Serafina, go inside.
Papa’s voice is soft,
but his eyes are sharp.
I look down and do as he says.
Manman and Gogo
are counting bunches of basil.
Julie Marie’s family is moving
to Saint-Marc! I say.
How can they leave without her?
Gogo touches my face.
To understand the stream, she says,
you must understand the ocean.
When my basket is full
of kindling
the next afternoon,
I peek inside
Julie Marie’s house.
Nothing is left,
not a pot or a rag,
or a piece of charcoal.
In the open doorway,
a thin-legged spider
drops down and wraps
a sticky web
around a trembling butterfly.
Gogo says, Never interfere
in nature’s dance.
But I put down my basket,
grab a stick,
and knock away the spider.
The butterfly falls.
Carefully I peel away
the sticky strands
that bind her wings.
The butterfly is so still
I think she’s dead.
Gently I brush my fingers
across her body.
Wake up! I whisper.
The butterfly
twitches her wings
and flies away.
Some days, I wish
I could fly away too.
The next day, and the next,
and the next,
Gogo and I pull weeds
and pinch white flowers
from the basil.
Now more will grow,
Gogo says.
This morning Papa took
more of my peppermint
and our biggest green peppers
to Mr. Pétion.
If he thinks they are
good enough
and buys them,
our jar will be full.
I am holding
my breath because
there are only two more days
until school starts!
I snip a few basil leaves
and notice a circle of
small, silvery dots
on the underside of the leaf.
What’s this? I ask Gogo.
Gogo frowns
and shakes the plant.
A cloud of tiny
white-winged moths
flies into the air.
We have work to do, Gogo says.
We make a soapy concoction
and wash each leaf.
Whiteflies suck the juices
from healthy plants
and spread disease.
If you let them,
they’ll destroy
everything good
and beautiful.
We spend the rest of the afternoon
searching and scrubbing.
I’m worried, but Gogo says,
We just need to keep watch.
We just need to recognize
troublemakers in the garden.
Papa comes home
singing and smiling.
Mr. Pétion bought our peppers
and my peppermint!
Papa adds a handful
of glittering coins to the jar.
At last it is full!
He puts the coin jar
on the floor.
Gogo, Manman,
Papa, and I join hands.
We dance in a circle
around the jar,
&n
bsp; and I forget all about
troublemaking whiteflies.
In two days, I will be
going to school!
The next night, Papa brings home
a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with blue ribbon.
My heart leaps. I tear it open.
Inside is a bright blue uniform,
a white shirt, white socks,
and shiny black shoes.
I hug the crisp, clean clothes
and new shoes to my chest.
Mèsi, Papa! I cry.
Mèsi, Manman! Mèsi, Gogo!
Tears fall down Manman’s cheeks.
Don’t cry, Manman.
I’ll be a good student and make you proud!
Papa beams.
Of course you will, Serafina.
Later, while Manman cooks supper,
Gogo puts coal in an old black iron.
When the iron is hotter than a cooking fire,
she presses away every wrinkle from my uniform.
I carry Gregory outside and look into
his large brown eyes.
Mèsi, baby brother, I whisper.
I promise to make you proud too!
I close my eyes.
Thank you, Baby Pierre!
Thank you, Granpè, for watching over me
and helping Manman to understand.
Gogo is still snoring
when I wake up
and slip out the door
to start my chores.
A thick, long-tailed shadow
brushes across my bare feet.
A gray-masked owl clicks
and flies into the brush.
Crickets chirp, tree frogs chitter.
In the distance, dogs bark,
goats cry, roosters crow.
Everyone is awake to celebrate.
I’m finally going to school!
When I get back,
Papa is leaving for work.
Ou dwe bon! he says.
Be good! Listen to the teacher.
I hug him tight.
I will! I assure him.
Prese! Manman says.
You don’t want to be late
on your first day!
She helps me step out
of my green dress
and into my uniform.
Don’t put your socks on yet,
Gogo says.
Wait until you get closer
to school so they don’t get dirty.
Manman ties bright blue ribbons
in my hair.
I strap Gregory to her back
and help Gogo lift a heavy tin
filled with our best vegetables.
Carefully we put the tin
on Manman’s head.
My heart-shaped rock
is in my pocket.
I squeeze it and say a small prayer.
Finally we leave for school!
Together we walk
down our hill of dirt and roots,
across a field of rock and grass.
Down one mountain, up another.
Dèyè mòn gen mòn, Gogo says.
Behind the mountains, there are mountains.
We walk and walk.
I can’t wait to put on my white socks and
my black shoes made of buckles and shine.
When we finally reach the giant mango tree,
Manman nods.
Time to put on your socks and shoes.
Clouds in the sky
are not softer than the socks on my feet.
Stars in the heaven
are not shinier than my new shoes!
Manman kisses me.
There are tears in her eyes.
Pa pèdi tan! she reminds me.
Don’t dawdle!
I promise I won’t, I say.
Manman and Gogo wait
as I walk by myself
to the small, square cement building
at the bottom of the hill.
My heart flutters like a butterfly.
A tall girl with a round face
and a big smile walks toward me.
Alo! Mwen rele Terèz.
What’s your name?
Serafina, I say quietly.
Terèz brings me
to a group of girls
jumping rope.
Li rele Serafina, she says
and signals me to jump
into the turning rope.
Now a million butterflies
flutter inside me.
Krick krack, click clack,
the girls chant.
How many coconuts in my sack?
Youn … de … twe … kat …
With every count,
a butterfly flutters away.
A skinny bald man
with a gold tooth
shakes a bell
and everyone lines up.
Before we go inside,
the man raises the flag
and the children sing
the same song I heard
on Flag Day.
For our country, for our forefathers,
united let us march.
Let there be no traitors in our ranks.
Let us be masters of our soil.
Today and on special holidays,
we sing in Creole, the teacher says.
But tomorrow we sing in French.
Every day in school, we’ll speak French.
Gogo said speaking French
doesn’t make you smart,
but Nadia said it does.
Now I’ll find out for myself
because I’m going to learn it!
We stay in line
as we walk
into the classroom.
My heart beats
like a bomba drum,
but I look straight ahead
and calmly follow Terèz.
Ahead of me is a big
green board
with yellow writing on it.
The small, blue-painted
cement room
is crowded with rows
of narrow tables
and worn-out benches.
Green notebooks
are piled at the end
of each table.
I think of Nadia
and her yellow notebook.
She was so happy
and proud.
goes to school now.
Sit with me, Terèz says,
and I squeeze
into the tiny space
between her and a girl
with a fat bun on her head.
The room smells a little
like dirty laundry,
and the bench is hard as rock.
Already, my shiny shoes
pinch my feet.
But I promised God
if Manman let me go
to school,
I would never complain
about anything again.
Who cares if my shoes
pinch a little?
I’m in school!
The teacher points
to the scribbles on the board.
Monsieur Leblanc, he says.
He signals us
to repeat what he says.
Monsieur Leblanc, we say in unison.
My voice catches in my throat.
What would Gogo say
if she heard me talking French?
The teacher points to himself.
Monsieur Leblanc, he says again.
Je m’appelle Monsieur Leblanc.
Some of the students start
to repeat his words,
but he shakes his head
and waves his hand over the class.
Classe, he says.
Classe, he writes on the board.
He points to himself and repeats,
Monsieur Leblanc.
Again he waves his hand over us.
Classe, he repeats.
Bonjour, classe, he says.
Then with his palms up,
he pulls our voices to him.
Bonjour, Monsieur Leblanc, he says.
Bonjour, Monsieur Leblanc, we repeat.
Our voices rise and fall together.
Bonjour, Monsieur Leblanc.
At lunchtime, we sit outside
on painted wood benches.
Monsieur Leblanc
gives each of us
a scoopful of rice
on a banana-leaf plate.
I eat half and roll the rest
to bring home for Manman.
Boys break into teams
and kick a rag-stuffed sock.
The girls talk
and take turns jumping rope.
When it’s our turn,
Terèz and a girl called Romare
let me jump first.
I am so excited to be here
that my heart leaps
higher than my feet.
In the afternoon,
Monsieur Leblanc hands out
the green notebooks
and yellow pencils.
Nadia showed me
how to hold a pencil,
but some of the other students
grab it in their hand
like a maraca.
Monsieur Leblanc walks
around the room
shaking his head
and twisting fingers.
He signals us to
open the notebooks
and copy the lines and circles
that he’s written on the board.
Then he walks around the room again,
talking quietly to each student
and writing in their notebooks.
What if he talks to me in French?
I won’t know what he’s saying.
My heart pounds so hard
I’m afraid it will jump out
of my chest and run away.
When his back is toward us,
Terèz whispers in my ear.
He’s just asking your name
so he can write it
on your notebook.
Serafina, I say,
when Monsieur Leblanc
stands over me.
I watch him draw
a neat group
of loops and lines.
When he moves on,
I trace the loops and lines
with my fingers.
Serafina.
My name.
My beautiful,
beautiful name.
After school, my new friends
walk one way, and I walk another.
Jean-Pierre,
a boy with a scar over his eye
and a space between his teeth,
follows me up the hill.
Want to see something? he asks.
Manman’s voice rolls in my head.
Pa pèdi tan! Don’t dawdle!
I keep walking.
Jean-Pierre laughs. Aren’t you curious?
He offers me a wooden box