Both Oars In Vous Êtes Étranger

Aug 14, 2009

"You are a foreigner." I hear this occasionally. Sometimes, it is a simple statement of fact. Other times, the speaker means to suggest that I couldn’t possibly understand his or her reality. After 13 years of working in Haiti, I have to admit that I bristle a bit at the suggestion that my comprehension of the country is interminably congenitally limited.

When the intent is to isolate, Kreyol provides an even more menacing way to draw attention to a person’s alien status: "Ou pa nan peyi ou." This translates ominously to "You are not in your own country." Since the word "peyi" can also mean "neighborhood" or "local," Kreyol speakers primarily use this phrase to warn a fellow Haitian from another part of the country that he or she is not among friends. When it comes to disputes on Santo Five, which is home to our school in Haiti and my home, too, I have used this phrase to accentuate my own localness. Not always the outsider, I have learned exactly how and when to use that fact, having had my "foreignness" used against me.

On the other hand, there are some advantages to being readily identified as a foreigner. When hundreds of Haitians feel obligated to sit frustrated in traffic, I often step out of my blocked-in vehicle to direct traffic. The oddity of a foreigner directing traffic provides sufficient cover to allow me to get away with stopping one line of traffic and letting another go to solve the gridlock. If a policeman shows up, I always defer to his authority lest he let me know that I am not in my peyi.

When does one stop being a stranger? I dream in Kreyol. I walk the crowded streets of Port au Prince with agility, which is no mean feat. It takes mastering the art of walking quickly while navigating around holes and piles of trash on undulating sidewalks which are more than occasionally invaded by vehicles. I drive, too, which is even harder than walking. I purchase bagay [This word means "stuff" in Kreyol. Doesn’t it have better ring to it than "stuff"? I think we should adopt it.] in the market place easily at local prices and have survived a government failure. If birth is a hot, damp process of painful passage from dark to light, I have undergone it here. I have been born again in Haiti.

However, Haiti does not recognize rebirth as grounds for citizenship. It is actually quite difficult to join the country officially. Its pride unaffected by its economic situation, Haiti remains, like many countries, a bit xenophobic. There is a naturalization process, but it is long and complicated. The law also limits foreigners’ rights to land ownership and its inheritance by their children. Plenty of people come here to work for a year or two and stay, but I have yet to meet a foreigner who has gone past the status of simple working papers without marrying into the country. Generally, the emphasis is on getting out, not in.

Last June, a man offered me some land if I would help him get a visa to travel to the U.S. I told him the consulate was beyond my influence. But, if it were up to me, I would go one better. I would swap my U.S. passport for his Haitian passport. We both smiled. I think he thought I was just joking to be polite. Apparently, he was unfamiliar with the fact that that many truths are said in jest. He did not take me up on my offer.

Although the current prime minister of Haiti is an exceptionally generous and kind woman, I am not sure what her response would be if I sought asylum. Is the need to escape the craziness of our consumer driven culture reason enough to be granted permanent refuge? If the PM were to reply honestly, she would have to admit that thanks to TV and globalization, Haiti is not much of a haven from this anyway. As we have learned from the recent crash, the world has gone mad with consumerism together.

She could also easily respond that there are a lot of people in Haiti already. Haiti is about the size of Maryland with nearly twice the population. Unless land that has been lost to erosion is brought back into service, Haiti is too crowded already. There is no room for refugees.

I may always be a foreigner in Haiti, but I stopped being a stranger long ago. The fact is that I am most at home when others would say that I am farthest from it. I am a missionary. The job requires a willingness to make a home in the camps of others. After all, one cannot be sent to where he already is.