Yes, We're Haitian Read online

  Yes, We’re Haitian

  __________

  Alain Patron

  Yes, We’re Haitian is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or factual but used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Alain Patron

  AlainPatron.co

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Alain Patron.

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without written permission of the author, and publisher, except as provided by copyright law.

  Printed in Queens

  Book design by Peej T.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction • The Roots ................................7

  In The Trunk ................................................. ..17

  Crown of Pikliz ......... ......................................41

  Limb-by-Limb ................................................57

  Branching Out ................................................ 73

  Hop The Twig ............................................. .... 96

  Leave Your Mark ............................................. 104

  Low-Hanging Fruit ......................................... 114

  Kingdom Come ............................................... 125

  During season 2, episode 5 of Chappelle’s Show, Dave Chappelle portrayed a character named Tron. In the skit, he said, “We don’t want to embarrass somebody like me in front of my family and my community.” I immediately adopted “my community” and applied it to my little cousins. Initially, it was a joke, but it morphed into a rallying cry or connective tissue of sorts. I wanted to make sure my little cousins always knew they could count on me to be there for them, no matter what. As they’ve grown into young men, it still holds true and has become reciprocated because I listen to them as much, if not more, than I speak. The sense of pride I feel as I watch them grow while creating their own paths to navigate the world is beyond compare. My community may have expanded, but the pillars remain.

  To Chris, Sebas, Mookie, T, Cody, E.I., and Zack, leave your footprints in the sand then fly.

  To every Black Sheep around the globe:

  We speak to be felt, not to be heard.

  While everyone is pandering to get in the room, we’re fighting to get out.

  We follow our hearts; they follow each other.

  We chose to be outcasts; they can’t help but to be the same.

  You are a splash of color in a world of grey.

  The light at the end of the tunnel is your reflection.

  Your feelings matter.

  Your thoughts matter.

  Your voice matters.

  YOU MATTER!

  Introduction

  The Roots

  “I been livin' proof that the pressure make precious stones. And real Clarence Avants remain lesser known…”

  - Black Thought

  God wants to do something through all of us that our imaginations can't fathom. As I've grown older, I've learned not to ignore the signs that God sends my way, especially the positive affirmations. Because, somehow, a lot of “positive” people try to weaponize energy, but don't understand they're lowering their vibration in the process. My intention isn't to chastise or judge anyone; God uses me to teach others how to avoid things I've learned the hard way.

  Hindsight is 20/20 for a reason because it gifts us an opportunity to recognize mistakes before we repeat them. This perspective has helped me understand that instead of feeling like I’m starting from scratch--I’m continuing from a place of experience.

  My outlook started to change the night of December 3, 2014, when a Staten Island grand jury decided not to indict Eric Garner’s murderer. I was sitting in my living room at my desk when the disheartening news broke. I proceeded to turn everything off and sit in silence until I stopped being angry, and then I had to do something.

  Who? What? When? Where? How? I had no idea, but I knew why. That was enough for me to get up off my ass and join thousands of people in New York City in protesting the despicable injustice towards Eric Garner & his family. I used to think protests were pointless because I didn’t believe any change could or would come from chanting and disrupting traffic, but I’m happy I was wrong.

  For me to learn and understand anything, I need to feel it, not physically, but it needs to touch my heart & soul to the point where it opens my mind. There was an aura of frustration mixed with passion that substituted for the usual reverberation of tourist chatter and honking cabs of NYC. As I walked amongst like-minded strangers, my feet stopped because all I could hear was a Caucasian man yelling in the face of an older Black gentleman. Clenching my fist and gritting my teeth, I walked over to this Caucasian man. I demanded he yell at me with the same energy he was projecting towards the older Black gentleman. But before he could decline--my friend Claudette, grabbed me by my wrist while yelling, “Alain, no! Come on!”

  There were no plans for Claudette & I to meet. But here was this familiar face, which also happens to belong to a Haitian woman, finding me in a crowded Rockefeller Center. I believe God placed her there to help lead me away from possibly causing more chaos because I wasn't thinking. This lesson taught me how to do what was once impossible, which is abandoning my ego because everything isn't about how I feel & think.

  While my frame of mind began changing on December 3, 2014, I ignored a sign precisely a week earlier on November 26, 2014, which was Thanksgiving Eve. At a cigar lounge, an associate & I were discussing the various cases of Black people who had recently been unjustly killed by despicable police officers. However, because the music was so loud, our proximity caused us to speak over each other’s shoulders as our forearms leaned on the bar. Out of nowhere, a 50-something-year-old Black woman started shouting, “You change it!” I looked around to see who this was directed towards, and with tears running down her face, she pointed at me, shouting, “You change it!” First of all, I could barely hear myself speaking, so how did she know what I was saying? Secondly, why was she crying? Lastly, when did I become the person who needs to change shit? Instead of spacing out, as I’d usually do, I decided to be in that moment and listen to everything this woman had to say.

  The thing I took the most from this woman, other than her sincerity, is that I shouldn’t wait for things to go to shit before I act. Jumping back to my chance encounter with Claudette, there was an uncanny interdependence between her, the older Black woman, and the messages they were delivering to me.

  Remaining an anomaly is paramount to me, especially in a society that believes imitation is the only form of flattery. However, human nature, like the human body, is symmetrical, and being like-minded doesn’t strip me of my individuality. Acknowledging and accepting my role as an instrument in which God conducts unity has answered my “Who? What? When? Where? How?”

  I was under the impression that if I were to become a leader that I had to morph into something that I’m not. This led to me making plenty of mistakes. Shouldering the responsibility of being anointed by God, and the people, should never feel like a burden if you carry the weight where your strengths reside. Learning to be proactive with my abilities instead of allowing anger and/or fear to dictate my reactions has been a blessing and remains a work in progress.

  Creative writing is one of my superpowers because it allows me to create characters that culture vultures would otherwise manufacture caricatures out of. Being able to represent the many facets of who I am, along with the many people who feel, look, and think like me, is something I take immeasurable pride in.


  There isn’t anyone or anything that defines who I am and aim to represent more than Haitian people. I’m not Haitian-American; I’m Haitian. Both of my parents are Haitian and were born in Haiti. All four of my grandparents are Haitian and were born in Haiti. All my great-grandparents are Haitian and were born in Haiti. You get the idea.

  To be Haitian in America is to have an unwavering sense of pride and self-awareness that serves as a buffer between reality and ignorant stereotypes. By no means am I a hypersensitive person, especially when you consider the fact that I grew up in New York City during the 1990s--where the word “Haitian” was deemed a joke. However, the older I grow...jokes have to actually be funny, not just offensive, for me to laugh at them.

  In that respect, there are numerous things I’ve never found funny. Chief among them: People exploiting the indigence of Haiti as an aesthetic to prop up their social and professional standing as an influencer or whatever the fuck they’re pretending to be. Haiti isn’t just a piece of land; it’s an attitude & feeling. Also, I despise the portrayal of Haitian people in mainstream media because the story of Haiti is framed as poverty instead of freedom. If the story of poverty must be told, why isn’t the truth about the impoverishment of Haiti being told? Which makes me think about July 14, 2019.

  My cousins & I were standing outside of an establishment when a homeless man asked us for money to buy a cup of coffee. I walked him to the store and paid for his coffee & donuts. This left everybody in the store amazed by my $3 generosity. I’m not writing this so I can be applauded for doing the bare minimum. The reason I shared this is to ask (rhetorical) questions:

  Is America not in a perpetual state of destitution?

  Why is the story of America so great?

  Proper representation matters because whoever controls the narrative creates the legacy. The “Haitians” in Bad Boys 2 were as cringe-worthy a depiction of Haitian people as I’ve ever seen. Jamie Hector, an amazing Haitian actor, was cast as a Haitian drug-dealer on Power who speaks in an exaggerated accent while doing “voodoo.” In the movie Top Five, written and directed by Chris Rock, his character is that of a struggling comedian who is trying to be viewed as a serious actor. His character stars in the fictional biopic of Dutty Boukman, a catalyst of the Haitian Revolution, aptly titled Uprize. To use the Haitian Revolution as a comedic plot device is distasteful, which is made even worse because Wil Sylvince, a Haitian comedian, plays a slave in the fictional movie Uprize. Why does he not have more respect for who we are?

  Hollywood’s stereotypes are inaccurate & disrespectful and are only rivaled by Hip-Hop’s portrayal. I have a very spiritual relationship with God, but Hip-Hop is my religion; I love it that much. It hurts to see us painted as “savages” as if Rappers surrounding themselves with Haitian people or our flag means they’re somehow dangerous.

  My name isn’t Wyclef; I’m Alain. I don’t talk Haitian; I speak Creole. I don’t want to say, “Sak Passe?” to you because you found out that I’m Haitian. I’m more than that; we’re more than that!

  The purpose of this novel is to normalize Haitian people by writing about family, love, respect, unity, hard work, passion, intelligence, humor, and the loyalty that encompasses who we are. Every single time I talk to God, I make it a point to let it be known that I’m capable because I was born for this role. When shit gets hard, I ask God why? And I’m sent signs that I refuse to ignore. I remember where and why I started. And while I understand that life allows us to be inspired and motivated by different things as we grow, we can never forget our roots.

  The front cover of this book is an homage to the Hispaniolan Trogon, the national bird of Haiti. The Trogon is threatened by habitat loss and degradation caused by logging, charcoal production, and clearing for agriculture & settlement. The bird symbolizes Haitian people, as pillaging foreigners who have immorally, if not illegally, turned us into strangers on our homeland. For me, it represents ownership of our story. Instead of culture vultures, I’m the bird who can soar to different heights for us because my intentions have our best interests in mind.

  The original title of this book was going to be Bonjou, Bonswa, Ayiti (Good Morning, Good Evening, Haiti) because the words in this novel serve as an introduction of Haitian people and our culture to the world. Bonjou (Good Morning), Bonswa (Good Evening) are formal greetings and are signs of respect. Haitian culture is built on respect; I can hear my grandmother telling me to, “Fè respè ou! (Respect yourself or be respectful!) She said it so much that I tattooed “Respect” on my hand after she passed away, so I’d never forget. The original subtitle was A Native Bird On A Foreign Tree because it personifies what many Haitians, who grew up in America, are. We supposedly don’t look or sound Haitian, whatever that means, but being Haitian isn’t relegated to physical attributes or accents. Being Haitian is a feeling, mostly of pride, deeply rooted inside of us.

  The reason I decided to change the book title to Yes, We’re Haitian is because I felt like I was trying to appease my family instead of embracing the Black Sheep that I am. I always want to and will represent my family with dignity & integrity. Still, I need to be comfortable when I’m writing because regardless if the story is fiction--it’s rooted in my truth. If anything, that’s exactly who I was raised to be, a man who creates from the heart because I’m strong enough to be vulnerable.

  I thank God for my ability to lead by evoking emotion and provoking thought. I pray that you learn, feel, and are entertained while reading this novel because I appreciate you for allowing me to do the unfathomable through you all.

  In The Trunk

  “Never get the credit I deserve; I don’t know if you hearin’ every word…”

  - 2 Chainz

  Nostalgia can feel like life flashing before your eyes if you’re not creating any new memories. In other words, you might as well be fucking dead.

  Stationed in the corner-adjacent window of his aunt’s living room like a potted ficus is Jean-Claude Michel Jr., aka Junior. He is a 29-year-old Haitian overachiever who just completed the second year of his medical residency. In between occasional glances out the window while taking sips of his signature alcoholic beverage, D’USSÉ with one cube, Junior quietly surveys the packed room. Familiar faces toast to his latest accomplishment, which is a fellowship offer from the head of internal medicine at Queens Hospital Center, who just so happens to be his father, Dr. Jean-Claude Michel Sr.

  Junior’s face is cold and impassive, a far cry from showing off his pearly white teeth in contrast to his onyx skin. A smile that usually allows him to win a room over with his charming grin. This despondent mood could be attributed to the fact that Junior finds celebrating nepotism to be bourgeois. It could also be because nobody realizes this isn’t the life he wants for himself--he merely exists as a carbon copy of his father.

  The volume of the music softens as partygoers stampede towards the food line, with one exception, Junior’s cousin, Ricardo. He perches himself on the windowsill next to Junior. Ricardo screws his face up as he peers through the crowd to see which tray of food they’re clamoring over.

  Tapping Junior, Ricardo says, “There’s not going to be any lambi left for you at your own party.” Lambi is a stewed conch fish that is the most coveted food at any gathering of Haitian people. Junior sucks his teeth before proclaiming, “You know damn well your mother put plates on the side for us already.”

  “Who pissed you off?” asks Ricardo.

  “You, if you keep on talking to me when you see I want to sit in silence.”

  Without looking in Junior’s direction, Ricardo motions his drink for a toast, and the only noise made between them is the clink of their glasses.

  Smirking, Junior takes a sip while staring at his cousin and begins to fade into a nostalgic blur. Ricardo Jean, on occasion referred to as “Pretty Ricky,” which is awkward considering his rugged exterior and personality. He is bald with an unkempt beard, tattoos blanketing his body from neck to hands to who knows where else. Si
x years older than Junior, Ricardo is more of a brother & mentor to Junior than a cousin. Junior has always admired Ricardo’s absolute freedom, and lives vicariously through his stories, but is secretly envious of Ricardo’s well-rounded experiences. Ricardo’s tales often sound fabricated, to those who haven’t hung out with him, due to the exuberance in which he tells them. However, anyone familiar with “Pretty Ricky” knows that he’s no liar. The only child of Roseline Michel, who is the younger sister of Dr. Jean-Claude Michel Sr., and subsequently, Junior’s aunt. Ricardo works from home as a computer engineer. He is an encyclopedia of 90s pop culture, especially Hip-Hop, to which he cites LL Cool J as his biggest inspiration.

  Junior falls deeper into his haze while recollecting childhood memories of Ricardo always getting into trouble. These instances caused Junior to sometimes resent Ricardo because Junior’s upbringing was restricted & sheltered as a result. Junior would find himself getting lectured after his parents received word of Ricardo’s latest indiscretions. Junior’s smirk gradually blooms into a smile as he recants all the lessons he’s learned from Ricardo, particularly on the art of speaking to women.

  Suddenly, Junior hears a familiar accent & voice that snaps him out of his daydream.

  “What the hell are you smiling so hard about?” asks Edner Saint-Louis Jr. “You look like the one Black dude in The Dark Knight.”

  “I look nothing like Morgan Freeman,” says Junior.

  “Well actually, his name is Michael Jai White,” states a confident Ricardo.

  “Seriously, how do you know everything?” asks Edner Saint-Louis Jr.