Haiti Tori dem: Before I Go Haiti, Everybody Ask Me the Same Question

Frantzdy Pierrot talk something after training. E no be about football — although e na forward for di Haitian national team, dey play for one club for France, and na one of di few people wey dey represent Haiti for international stage. E talk: 'Every time I go back to Haiti, di customs officers for Port-au-Prince airport sabi my mother. No be because of football — because she use to sell banana bread for di street outside di terminal.'

I build di whole journey from dat sentence. No be because e dey about football, but because e instantly open one alternative entrance into Haiti: one country wey no be travel advisories dey define am but homecoming memories and everyday resilience.

Haiti dey sit for Caribbean Sea, dey share di island of Hispaniola with di Dominican Republic. E be one of di poorest countries for di Western Hemisphere and don endure overlapping shocks of political turmoil, gang violence, and natural disasters for recent years. Most countries 2025 travel advice for Haiti boil down to di same sentence: Do not travel. But Haiti still be di world first independent republic wey slave rebellion found. Dis country declare im existence behind di stone walls of di Citadelle Laferrière for 1804 — and over two hundred years later, di fortress still dey stand.

Arrival for Port-au-Prince no fine. Kompa music explode from di worn-out PA system for di arrivals hall — dat rhythm dey twist African drums and Caribbean melodies together, dey make your shoulders move by force. Two pikin squeeze through di crowd for baggage claim to help me with my bag — no be from kindness, but dem dey hope for tip. Di humidity suffocating pass di tarmac outside. Di honest truth: Haiti first impression no romantic. But I decide sey I go neither glamorize nor distort — only record.

Heading north along di coastal highway, through scrubland and occasional roadside markets, Cap-Haïtien rise for horizon. Di Citadelle Laferrière — di largest fortress for di Western Hemisphere — dey squat at nine hundred meters above sea level like one stone beast. Di mountain path wey dey lead to am steep sotey di horses panting loud pass their bells. At di summit, I lean against di two-hundred-year-old stone wall, dey gasp, and one local guide beside me talk: 'You sabi, dis fortress neva been attacked. E so big nobody ever dare.' At di foot of di mountain, pikin dem dey play football for one patch of bare ground. Di pitch lines dem paint with di red and blue of di Haitian flag — dey compress one national monument and one everyday football match into single frame. Dis na di truest rhythm of di Haitian narrative.

Jacmel na city wey dem make from papier-mâché and pigment — im carnival masks na di most intricate artworks for di whole Caribbean, and di artisans wey dey make dem mostly dey live for houses without reliable electricity. One mask-maker crouch for im doorway. Di mask for im hands na half smile, half roar — one lion mane dey morph into human teeth, bird feathers dey melt into African patterns. 'During carnival, everybody dey wear mask,' e talk. 'But under di mask na di real Haiti. Fear dey there, and anger, and one rhythm wey dey make you dance reach sunrise. Haitians neva dey wear just one mask.' I think of Wilde-Donald Guerrier — di Haitian national team winger wey journey from di southern coast of Port-à-Piment to European football pitches. Im life trajectory be like one Jacmel mask: half hardship, half one brilliance wey dey force di world to look.

Griot — fried pork chunks wey dem serve with pikliz, one fiery pickled slaw — announce imself from three blocks away. Di woman wey dey run di stall dey around sixty, one faded apron tie around her waist, and when she see me dey take photos she grin and add two extra pieces of meat to my plate: 'Chop more. You need am.' Di heat of pikliz dey rival any Asian chili sauce — Haitians dey use spice to confront di heat, di poverty, everything wey no fit solve by complaining. For di hissing oil of di griot, for di Kompa wey dey leak from street corners, for di speed of di market women hands wey dey shell beans, I see something wey I fit only describe with di word resilience.

For my last night for Haiti, I stand for di balcony of one hotel for Port-au-Prince dey watch di scattered lights for di hills — no be streetlights, but candles and kerosene lamps, di daily markers of neighborhoods without power. I think about di cold language of travel advisories — 'high crime rate,' 'inadequate infrastructure,' 'do not travel.' Dose statements no dey factually wrong. But if you only read dose statements, you no go sabi how Haitians dey make di hottest pickled slaw for di Caribbean. You no go sabi why di stones of di Citadelle still dey stand after two hundred years. You no go sabi why Pierrot mother dey sell banana bread outside di airport terminal, and why twenty years later her son go kick Haiti name into di world line of sight from one international pitch.

Back to wetin Pierrot talk at di end of di interview: 'Haiti flag dey talk L'Union Fait La Force — unity dey make strength. As pikin I no understand. Now, every time I wear di national team jersey, I dey think of my mother dey sell bread for street. Dat no be giving up. Dat na di Haitian way — when bus no come, you set up your own stand.'