M voye dlo, m pa mouye pèsonn.
Blan, Zanmi Ayiti,
Every time our paths cross you tell me how much you love me, but do
you really? If I looked through your eyes would I see me as you do?
When I'm in pain, do you feel it too? When my feet are full of
blisters from the long walks your brothers force me to take, will you
oil my sole?
My sayings are not so complicated. I do say what I mean, you just
don't understand. I'm not such a rare breed. I live, love, feel and
breathe, just like you.
Every so often, you come around with your friends and your camera and
scrutinize my life. Why must you always expose my wounds? I look at
the idiot who is driving you around. He thinks he is better than I
am. He believes you're his friend. I see the way you look at him and
the smile you conceal at the corners of your lips as you glance from
me to him, to me. And I wonder which one of us amuses you the most.
While he thinks he is an expert who is sharing with you the deepest
secrets of our land, you look at him as a superstitious fool who is
afraid of his own shadow.
I don't ridicule your belief that bread can be His Body and wine His
Blood. I don't think it strange when your people are mounted by the
Holy Ghost. When you come to my place of worship put your camera
away, shut off your tape recorder, respect my temple as I would yours.
My land is one of beauty and pain. The roads are always treacherous
but eventually, they lead to paradise. I wouldn't mind access to
light, day and night, but my lamp will have to do until. Even Eden had
its snake, I happen to have too many in my garden but my family and I
will get rid of them, slowly but surely.
When you return home, speak not only of the arid mountaintops, poverty
and beggars. Try to include the sandy beach where you laid in the sun
all day or how we welcomed you into our home and hurried to quench
your thirst and appease your hunger with all we had.
Don't look at me with pity. I am not an exotic bird whose song and
dance you should find enthralling. I am a human being trying to live
life. I am pleased and thankful for your many contributions, but
don't assume that you have the answer to my prayers or that you know
just what I need.
My doors will remain open to you and I look forward to your next
visit. But please, be courteous, don't overstay your welcome.
And if you really love me as you say you do, see me with new eyes, see
me as your equal and together we can learn and grow.
Letter to a Blan
Sabine Albert
Oct. 1998