Hungry Roads of Haiti Courtney Dunn

Hungry Roads of Haiti

In a small village,

Located on the Western part of Hispaniola;

 There’s an island;

Just off the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea.

 

80% of people here

Rural and poor

Landless fishermen and landless farmers

Sink deeper into death each day

 

Zooming in from afar,

A plane snaps a video of a lady.

She is bent over scooping together

Clods of wet mud.

 

Curious.

The pilot flies in;

Lands his plane,

Approaches the woman.

 

What are you making he asks?

As he thinks inside his head

Of pottery or bricks

Or beautiful sculptures that can be dried in the sun.

 

Food she says.

Surprised, he inquires where she will get it.

She looks down motioning to her formations she has made out of dirt.

Pilot, still confused, asks again.

 

Disheartened, she stoops low,

Until her hands meet the red dirt,

As she continues to form a circular glob of wet dust

As she gains the strength to say:

 

“Labou Sa a se manje m 'yo.”

This mud is my food.

Startled, the pilot looks down again,

As her food dries in the Haitian sun.

 

Not knowing what to say,

The Pilot walks away,

As her dinner bell rings:

 Dirt split in halves down the center.