A NEPHEW OF MY UNCLE who lived in the countryside wanted to become a furniture maker. And so, in 2002, Willy came to join us. Now we were three apprentices: Josué, Willy, and I.
Willy and I both stayed in Delmas 33 and went down together every morning to the shop. From time to time, Willy returned to the countryside to see his family. He would come back with some provisions, thanks to the peasants. Once, he returned with a gallon of sugar cane syrup. When we added it to water, we found that it was enough to keep us going throughout the day. This became the staple of our diet and we budgeted together to make sure that Willy could buy a gallon from the peasants regularly to keep us supplied. With that, we didn’t have to starve while we waited for my uncle to arrive to eat the lunch that my aunt prepared in the mornings. He still would put some in the lid for the employees. The problem was that it had never been enough for me alone and now I had to share it with two co-workers. Our work was physically demanding and the few grains of rice he threw our way — if and when he showed up — were far from sufficient.
After a few weeks, Josué was still learning the terms of our trade. One day, our uncle told him to bring him the madriye, thick planks of wood. Although it was right in front of him, Josué couldn’t identify it. He said he couldn’t see it. My uncle came to get it himself. He picked up the madriye on the floor behind Josué and threw it violently at his head. Josué reacted quickly, grabbing a piece of wood to protect himself. With an extraordinarily athletic move, he managed to deflect the madriye from its trajectory and save his head from serious harm.
Willy watched the violent act and understood the danger that our uncle represented.
Willy was not used to city life. He became sick with a fever. While he was still sick, my aunt decided to visit our family in Saut d’Eau for a week. She had not seen her mother, Suzanne, for several years. She left with her three children early one morning.
The day after her departure, my uncle left as well, but without telling Willy and me that he was going somewhere. So, Willy and I were responsible for the workshop, although our uncle had never made any mention of this. In the shop, we all assumed that our uncle was driving his Volvo as a taxi and that he would show up anytime. At sunset, we decided to call his other apartment in Delmas 30 to see if he was with his mistress and children. She said that she didn’t know where he was. So we started to worry. We didn’t know what to do.
Since it was already night, we decided to sleep in the workshop and return home to Delmas 33 at sunrise. There, we got a call from his children in Delmas 30 to say that they had heard that he went to Saut d’Eau to spend the week with my aunt and cousins. Since we had nothing to eat and Willy was too sick to move from his bed, I went out of the house to search for some food for him.
I explained the situation to some friends. One was able to give me enough money so that I could buy some sugar. I contacted the guard Jelo and he contributed some rice and money to buy some herbs. I returned to put our ingredients together for Willy.
Willy was suffering from malnutrition. We drank the sugar water together along with the rice. We didn’t have enough money to eat properly, let alone enough to visit a hospital.
Willy’s condition made our situation clear to us all. We worked hard and invested our imaginations and our skills to make our workshop stand out among the furniture shops. We worked physically hard for long hours. But our uncle showed only contempt for us. Even the French colonists fed their slaves.
I suggested to Willy and Josué that we should teach our uncle a lesson. We should go on strike. When our uncle understood that we were serious, we could then insist he address our grievances. Willy and Josué welcomed my strategy. They said that when he returned, he would see that we hadn’t progressed in our work since his unannounced departure. He would be forced to treat us like human beings.
We spent three days playing dominoes in the courtyard next to the workshop. During that time, our friends in the neighbourhood supported us by offering us food and drink.
When the family returned, my uncle came to Delmas 19 to see how much money we had made for him in his absence. The first thing he saw was the door of the workshop closed. He opened it to discover that nothing whatsoever had been done since his departure. He then saw us outside playing dominoes. He didn’t speak to us, but went back inside and sat down. We assumed that he wanted us to come to him. He waited about thirty minutes, but we didn’t come. So he appeared at the door.
“Messieurs!” he called out brusquely.
Josué and Willy went to him. I remained seated.
He apologized to them for his absence. Josué and Willy explained the reasons for our rebellion. We had been left with nothing to eat. Willy had fallen sick. Our uncle acknowledged that he had been wrong and said that he would not do that again. Then he bought some coffee and bread and shared it with them, leaving a portion for me inside the workshop. So far, I had not been involved in the discussions.
As I watched Willy and Josué go to speak to my uncle without me, I felt abandoned and powerless. In the planning stages of our strike, they had led me to believe that they were highly motivated. They had pushed me along. I thought that I had an army behind me. Instead I was a general with an army of deserters. When the time came to act, I was left alone with my shadow. Alone, and with the traitors working with the enemy, I was doubly defeated.
I was still sitting where Josué and Willy had abandoned me. My uncle called to me harshly from inside the workshop, “Come Joegodson! I have something to explain to you.”
I didn’t enter the workshop. I stayed at the door. As I stood there, I saw Josué and Willy drinking coffee and eating bread inside. I felt betrayed.
“How is it that you didn’t come when the other two did? What are you still doing outside?”
“Everyone has the right to do what he decides. Like them, I am free to make my choice.”
“What do you have against me?” he demanded to know.
“I have nothing against you,” I said. “But I have a problem with your attitude.”
“What ‘attitude’ are you talking about?” he questioned. “I decided at the last minute to go with my family to Saut d’Eau. That’s all. But that’s a little thing. Besides that, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I understand that you were left a few days without enough to eat, but that’s all settled now.” He gestured to Willy and Josué, slurping their coffee and gorging on bread.
I answered, “If you have bought off Willy and Josué with a couple of cups of coffee, it’s only because they have no respect for themselves. Put yourself in our place. How would you respond? Even your nephew, Willy, you don’t respect. He was sick from malnutrition for three days. His sickness is really a symptom of the lack of respect that you have for us. That is the disease that we have to heal. You are sick and we suffer from the symptoms.”
“But why don’t the others think the same way? Maybe you have another problem with me. If you do, you only have to say so. What is it?”
“Maybe they don’t value their own dignity. Imagine that we had decided to leave for the countryside for a few days without telling you and then return when we felt like it. Is that what you expect of us?”
He simply said that he couldn’t understand what I was talking about. Ignorance is a good tactic. He simply couldn’t understand me. In that case, how could I expect him to change?
I left the entrance to the workshop and returned to my game of dominoes. After a few minutes, I saw my uncle leave. Willy and Josué were working once again inside.
Soon, Josué and Willy came to me. They wondered what I had said to my uncle. They said they had been afraid to explain themselves. I congratulated them on their cowardice.
“What did you want us to do?” Josué asked.
“I wanted us to remain together. We had already discussed our grievances and our strategy. We did that together. But you left me alone.”
They replied, Ou jamn tande pòt an bwa goumen avèk pòt an fè? — you ever he
ar of a wooden door fighting an iron door? How did I expect them to defend themselves against someone who had much more power than they did? Wooden doors cannot fight iron doors.
“Human beings only distinguish themselves as wooden or iron by their actions. I see that you have decided to be wooden doors. Wooden doors never transform into iron. You need to be careful.”
They retorted, “Really? Just look! We managed to get some coffee and bread. And you got nothing.”
“I see that he has also left you with lots of work to complete once you have finished your coffee. I hope that was a powerful cup of coffee, because it will have to last.… Good luck. I’m on vacation.”
They went back to work. I returned to Delmas 33. My aunt started to complain to me. She said that her husband had explained to her that it wasn’t his fault. He had told her how I had spoken very harshly to him. I had shown no respect. She accepted his word even though she knew — somewhere — that it was worth nothing. It allowed her to maintain a kind of lopsided peace with him.
After a week, when he saw that I would not submit, my uncle got in his Volvo and went to Simon to speak to my father. He complained bitterly about me. I was insolent and a rebel. I had poisoned the minds of the other workers and plotted against him. My father accepted it all. He called me to come to see him. He grilled me as to my motives. Was I jealous of my uncle’s money? What was it?
When I saw that my father had condemned me before even hearing me, I was disheartened. Imagine that demanding to be fed should be seen as a claim on the “legitimate” wealth of my uncle. I was vitally responsible for whatever money his shop was taking in. My father had somehow allowed himself to be hoodwinked by my uncle’s greed. How was it that, by demanding to be treated with dignity, I should be accused of avarice?
All around were doors that might have offered me an exit. But my friends and family closed each one of them in my face, leaving me in a dark prison. The doors were labelled inertia, fear, cowardice, and greed. How could I act morally in this prison? The devil had set this trap skillfully.
Feeling powerless and without support, I returned to the workshop. There was a small change. My uncle had learned that I could not be bought with coffee and bread. He didn’t treat me like the others.
A few months later, my aunt became pregnant and she had to stop her commerce as a street merchant. Consequently, her household was deprived of the cash that she contributed. It was that money that she used to feed everyone and to make lunches for my uncle and us in the workshop. My uncle always found it easier to take than to give. Now, as the pregnancy advanced, my aunt needed support.
Believing that people could be bought, my uncle was also for sale. As long as my aunt brought sums of money into the foyer for his benefit, my uncle was pleased. Now that she was pregnant, she turned from an asset to a debt in my uncle’s ledger. He changed toward her. He stopped coming to Delmas 33. Instead, he spent his time with his mistress in his apartment in Delmas 31. He withdrew all support that he used to give to my aunt and their children, and focused on the other household.
Now, my aunt was going days without eating. She would appear at the workshop to ask my uncle for something. He showed only contempt toward her. He hated to see her arrive there.
He would snap at her, “What are you doing here?!”
“The children have nothing to eat. We haven’t seen you for weeks.”
“What’s the use in coming here? What do you want? You’ve got rice. Can’t you cope on your own to cook it?” His answers were curt and heartless. People who did not enrich him directly were of no use to him until they started producing again.
Finally, he might take a crumpled hundred-gourde note out of his pocket and toss it toward his wife in contempt. Then he would turn his back on her. Sobbing, she would have to scramble on her knees to pick it up off the ground.
My aunt’s ordeal touched me personally. This was her fourth pregnancy. She had earned his contempt each time she turned from creditor to debtor. Someday, I would leave his employ, but how could a pregnant woman with four children escape?
Scrounging on the floor of the workshop for a small gourde note while weeping reduced her to a beggar. That was how the clients and passersby might see her. I would go to her and ask her to return home and to cry there, so as to protect her dignity as much as possible.
Since my aunt was malnourished, it was clear that the baby too was suffering. I knew that emotional crises like the one my uncle was precipitating could lead to complications that could put the lives of both my aunt and the baby in danger. My uncle was doing all he could to provoke a tragedy.
Next to our workshop, there was a little kokorat who used to wash cars using the water that passed in the open sewer and then wipe them shiny with old rags. In early November 2003, he told us that he needed money for the Christmas season. He said that he had only 4,000 gourdes (about $103 US). Willy, Josué, and I listened, dumbfounded. Our three hearts sank as one. We had learned a trade and were constantly developing our skills. We were now producing superior pieces of furniture that were enriching my uncle. Here was a street kid, a kokorat, who complained that he had only 4,000 gourdes while we, altogether, did not have 115 ($3 US). We couldn’t shake the humiliation. A kokorat is, in principle, at the bottom of the Haitian social order. Where were we?
The very next day, Josué, Willy, and I took some time to plan the rest of the year. December is a busy month for the furniture makers. There was lots of work for the shops, including my uncle’s. That meant that we apprentices were in demand. If we stayed in my uncle’s shop, we would be worked into the ground and have nothing to show for it. But what if we could find a shop that paid better?
Willy said that he wanted to return to the countryside for good at the beginning of December. He could no longer stand working or living with his uncle. He hated the city — everything about it. Josué wanted to work in another atelier. I suggested that I would stay in the shop to see how things went. If I worked hard to keep the shop going, would my uncle not finally appreciate me and compensate me?
At the beginning of December, Willy left the capital for home and Josué found work in other furniture shops. I stayed behind. I worked harder than ever to keep up with all the orders.
One night in December, my aunt woke me up to tell me that she was in labour. It was two o’clock in the morning. My uncle was, of course, staying with his mistress in his other household. My aunt asked me to get her husband. Although scared of all that could happen at that time of the night, I went on foot to get my uncle. When I arrived, I knocked on the door. At that hour, they were afraid to open the door. I heard a voice yell, “Who is it?”
I replied.
“What do you want? What are you doing in the street at this time?”
I told him that his wife was giving birth. He told me to wait. He went to get dressed. When he returned, he was in his usual ugly mood.
“Don’t think I’m going to congratulate you. If you had any wits, you would never have come here, you would have looked for a taptap.”
Since all the taptap drivers were at home asleep at that time, his reproach made no sense. Its sole purpose was to deflect the shame that he must have buried in some corner of his heart. And, as usual, to underline the fact that I was useless.
His Volvo was broken down so he had to find another car. He walked with great anger, stamping his feet harshly on the Haitian soil. I kept my distance. Anyone would have thought that he was begrudgingly offering me a great service; that it was my wife in labour and that I had been too incompetent to make arrangements.
He managed to find a friend who lent him a car. We picked up my aunt. He refused to even give her a hand as she entered the car. Then we drove to the hospital. He was less careful than the taptap drivers in avoiding the potholes, fissures, and rocks strewn everywhere. You might have thought that he was trying to provoke a miscarriage.
The first hospital was so full of women in labour that they wouldn’t take us. He was ob
liged to drive to Sainte Catherine Hospital in Site Solèy. There, the nurses gently helped my aunt to pace in the corridor to help the birth along. My uncle got in his borrowed car and returned to his mistress in Delmas 31.
My aunt did not have the physical force to aid in the birth. She was malnourished and very weak. She spent hours walking up and down, holding my arm for support. Other women were also walking the halls with the same objective. It was like a competition among them to see who could arrive first at the birth of her baby.
The nurses were tired and went somewhere to sleep. But the pregnant women did not have that luxury. A couple of those women did not make it through the night. They had complications during the birth. I was afraid that my aunt would also succumb because I knew all that she had been through during her pregnancy. It was a miracle that she and the baby were still alive.
Before they left to sleep, the nurses had put my aunt in a special bed that is used for childbirth, called a ti bourik. While the nurses slept, the hospital was quiet and somber. The only action was here in the maternity ward where the women awaited the birth of their babies.
My aunt felt that her baby was finally coming for real. She sent me to get a nurse. I had to go all over to find where they were sleeping. I entered a number of rooms.
I opened the door to one room and saw a young man with a revolver who I took for a security guard. He looked at me harshly and asked me what I was doing. I told him that there was a woman about to give birth and I needed to find a nurse. He said okay and led me to another room where the nurses were resting.
As we went down the hall to get to my aunt, the nurse asked me why I had been talking with that young man. I asked if she meant the security guard. She said he wasn’t a security guard but a thief. The hospital had no guards. In that neighbourhood, where I had been raised, gang members can have little patience for people who intrude on their work. For some reason, he took time out of robbing the hospital to help me find a nurse. That was lucky for us all, because the nurse helped my aunt to give birth to a baby girl.
Rocks in the Water, Rocks in the Sun: A Memoir from the Heart of Haiti Page 7
