Papi
If you know Haiti, you know. A papi is a papi.
I boarded my flight to Haiti expecting to sit next to a business traveler as I had been upgraded to seat 1E. Instead, sitting in seat 1F was a man I immediately addressed as Papi because, well, he’s a papi, and if you know Haiti, you know. A papi is a papi.
He wore a dress shirt that was worn around the collar. In his front pocket were his papers, his passport, his glasses, a mask. He wore dress pants that were a bit too big but held securely by a belt around his waist. On his feet were polished, black loafers with tassels.
Papi told me, “Mwen pa pale angle.” But that proved to not be entirely true as Papi does speak some English, enough English, but he’s not confident in it.
Papi asked me to fill out his customs and immigration forms for him, and that’s when I learned that Papi has a US passort. He then told me he’s been in Washington, DC for years, working at a hotel, doing anything and everything he’s asked to do from collecting trash to cleaning to cooking in the kitchen. He works hard all year long, so that each December he can return to Haiti, the land of his birth.
Papi and I had no idea, but we would spend the next 24 hours together - not simply the next 2 hours. Our flight had multiple problems and was delayed until the next day. A group of us passed the time together - a wealthy man with multiple businesses; a young Haitian immigrant; a philanthropist interested in development; and a man whose family name is well-known in Haiti.
And then there was me and Papi.
When we finally arrived in Haiti, we all exchanged numbers, took selfies, and said goodbye, as we embraced and wished each other the best.
As I left the airport, I saw Papi one more time. He was wearing his hat and sunglasses, and he was sitting in a wheelchair.
”Papi, ou konnen ou ka mache!” I said, laughing. (“Papi, you know you can walk!”) He laughed, too. Yes, Papi can walk just fine, but if you know Haiti, you know that rolling out in that wheelchair as a Papi is about the finest thing you can do.
And that’s what he did. Because Papi is home, gras a Dye.
It’s like Haiti came to me
It’s been over three months since I have been in Haiti - the longest break I’ve taken since COVID put a nix on travel in 2020.
I miss so many things about being in Haiti (the people, the food, the sounds, the atmosphere), but this weekend I feel like a part of Haiti came to me when Rugbi Ayiti visited Wilmington to play in the Cape Fear Rugby 7’s tournament.
Several players stayed here in our home, and I had the opportunity to go to a practice, watch several matches, and have individual conversations which I enjoyed immensely. We even all went out to dinner at Oceanic, thanks to Rick’s generosity.
A weekend of hearing Haitian Creole, having deep conversations about the current realities in Haiti, and supporting the dreams of a future national team was good for my soul.
