Please be mindful of other’s situations – A memoir

From the first day of primary school till the day of her death, my grandmother always advised me to always be satisfied with what I have.  For every day I was with her, she always counsels me, and till this very day, I still live by those pieces of advice.

“Accept what you receive today for you to not suffer tomorrow.  You see today you don’t know where you will be tomorrow. And last importantly, don’t ever forget where you came from, you are no better than anyone.”

Fortunately for me, I never suffered around that time. Coming from a third world nation I was considered “lucky” by all of my neighbours, friends, and less fortunate family members. My parents moved to the states in the search for a better life and to build a solid foundation for our family. From the ages of four through nine, my grandparents were my parents. I always seemed as the kid who had parents abroad sending money. In my neighbourhood, I was the only one who went to a private school. While everyone else wears their red checkered dresses with white-collar tops, I wore my sky blue checkered dress to school. Every day I asked my grandfather and neighbours why the other kids can’t go to my school. They all would raise their head while looking with eyes filled with sorrow and would reply “You’re too young to understand”.

When I asked my grandmother the same question she told me “Understand not everyone is lucky as us. That’s why they cannot go to the same school as you”. That quote applied everywhere; the market, shopping centre and even the streets”.

I never noticed the deprived side of life until the summer of 2007 when I accompanied my grandmother to go see an old business friend, Janice, who lived in the northern part of Haiti known as “La Plaine”. We stayed in the village for 5 days.

The village was filled with multicoloured houses that were aligned together. There were children who were playing soccer with an old soda bottle in aged rags. Most of the girls were jumping rope on the hard pavements with no shoes on. Despite their living condition, they still had a smile on their faces. There was only one house that was not a bungalow. It was the only house that didn’t have a straw roof and any sign of chipped paint and water stains. I immediately ruminated that it must be the house of my grandmother’s friend. But, I was mistaken.

The house of my grandmother’s friend was a two bedroom one story house made out of bricks with a straw roof. It recently had an upgrade from bamboo walls to brick walls for the cyclone season. The floors were was a hard cement concrete with micro rocks that were mistakenly placed in the cement before it dried. There were multiple holes in the roof which makes it easier for rats, lizards and other creatures to enter the house. The communal bathrooms were located at the back and were shared with the whole villa. There was no curtain, no sign that separated the males from females, it was just a small piece of land that was converted and labelled as “shower room”.

I met Mauli, the daughter of my grandmother’s friend. We were the same age, but Mauli did not resemble any 8-year-olds I had encountered. She was slim, about 87 cm, and had a rusty yellow hair color, which was a sign of malnutrition. Mauli was excited to have someone her age to play with. While my grandmother was getting a tour of the house, I was introduced to the chicken in the backyard. “She’s named Maria” said Mauli“We have to keep her away from the cat, they tend to fight a lot”.

With the addition of my grandmother and I, there was a complete total of four people in the house. We slept on the cold floor since there were no beds.

There was a drought for clean water, which made it hard to cook and drink anything for the first two days. The third night of the drought, we heard a dreaded sound. At first, we taught it was the chicken and the cat fighting but the sound was coming from Mauli’s room, she was coughing, her skin was burning hot, an abnormal fever of above 100 degrees, and she began to vomit late at night. When asked what she ate, she confessed to drinking some of the water from the river without boiling it first. We rushed to the free clinic that night where both my Grandmother and Janice carried her on their backs in hope to make it the following morning. It was a three-hour walk, we arrived at 4 am and had to wait for four more hours. The doctors prescribed us with antibiotics and we went back home. On the fourth day, we were blessed with rain and clean water. We collected water for bathing, cooking, and drinking. For the first time in four days, we finally ate full meals and had finally washed up. On the last day, I overheard my grandmother and Janice discussing starting a business again in hope for a better future for Mauli. We left the village before the sun rises to avoid eye contact that would make the departure more emotional. Before we left Janice announced that I will be seeing Mauli again very soon and waved.

On the bus back to Port-au-Prince, there was a woman buying from a vender, a bottle of soda and a bag of crackers.

“15 gourde” said the vender

The women looked in panic as her daughter have already opened the products. “I only have 10” she replied. Before she could explain to the vender, he had started to yell, and insulted both the women and her daughter.

“Calm down!” I said

I pulled out a 20 gourde bill out of my pocket and handed it to the vender. He looked up and down at the women, “Beggar!” he yelled and jumped off the bus.

Due to personal reasons, I have censored the names.