“Welcome Baby boy”, said the midwife with joy as she cuddled him with love, tenderness and care. Suddenly she stared at him and said, “Louisena, Oh poor baby! He is ugly. He looks just like you; nothing for his father!” “Look at his nose! It will grow big and flat.” “Louisena, why did you do that to him?” She thought it was funny…

Grandma was a very beautiful black female but her skin was very dark. After more than three centuries of white men’s dominance, the damage in our brain is so big that we are confused when it comes to beauty. The closer the look is to our former masters, the more beautiful we claim it to be. The more it looks like our ancestors, the uglier we think it is.

The midwife continued, “How are you going to call him?” And With a feeling of relief and happiness, Grandma replied, “I will name my son Jean.”

“You can call your son Jean” said Louima, my grandpa, “but my son, I will name him after me. His name will be Louima, the second.”  Grandma and grandpa finally agreed to name Baby boy Jean Louima.

“Jean Louima”, shouted the voodoo priest. “I will find a better name for baby boy. Just wait for me. Let me call the good spirits.”

So, as Father came into this world, the poor little innocent was too young to imagine what kind of a world he was born into. The only thing special about Baby boy at birth is that he was the joy of his mother, the synonym of victory for the Voodoo priest, and the symbol of pride for his father. Other than that, he was a just a sample of man born to live and remain unnoticed.

Born in poverty, in a place where there was no electricity, no running water, no schools, no hospitals or medical clinics…,

Born into a family where nobody wore a pair of shoes and only a few rags were good enough to be called clothes…,

Born in a place where the most common, dependable and available means of public transportation are two God-given legs..,

Born in a country where you suffer the worst of all prejudice just because of being born in the mountains.  – In Haiti, the word “Urban” and “Peasant” are written in bold characters on a birth certificate. Everywhere a person goes, his birth certificate is there to remind him who he is. If someone was born in a rural section, he is rustic – No. Father had nothing special that could ever turn him into a hero.

So, having been born in the mountain, he could only expect mockery, scorn and humiliation. He was only doomed to failure ever since the very first day he was brave enough to enter the world of the living. He was a baby but some silent questions unconsciously echoed in and bombarded his mind.  Weren’t you born in the mountains? Stay there, or expect the consequences.  Will you for any reason decide someday to go to town?  – Well, wait and see! The moment the smell of that town is heavy in the air, other rural people who live closer to town will begin to call you names, all kinds of names: “Nèg Mòn” meaning “Mountain man”; “Nèg fèy” meaning “People of the forest”; “Kòk Montay” meaning “The roasters of the mountains”;  “Gwo djo” meaning “uneducated”; “Gwo soulye” or “Gwo Zòtèy” meaning “Big feet” and so forth… Father had everything to be a miserable failure, but never a hero.

“It is your decision to go to town”. Continued the silent voice. “Good! But the sooner you can leave, the better it is for you”.  “Y ap giyonnen w” meaning they will make fun of you. “Y ap chare w!” meaning they will copy you off. A saying goes like this: “Mountain people will only be what their ancestors had always been until the mountains are leveled up with the valleys.” This message is clear. In a country where even people in cities are deprived of the most basic needs, there is no plan at all for “mountain people”. Sorry, little boy! You cannot be a hero. You are born to be a shame. No education for you, little boy. You dared to come to the world of the living. You survived labor and birth. Now expect hunger, darkness, and lack of everything. If you survive adolescence, expect shame and humiliation. If you grow to adulthood, expect to be a nobody. The echo continued:

Baby boy! Baby boy! Baby boy!

Do you know what’s on your tray?

This hell of a world doesn’t play.

You’ll have to fight every day.

You’ll have to fight all the way

You can fight as you may

You won’t make it any way.

 

But How could Baby boy grow to become the father I knew?

How could he, against all odds, become a member of the crew?

How could he leave a legacy for everyone to follow?

Do you really want to know?  – Well, come back and you will know.