User:Empressaddi

It was the exciting weekend before I was set to enter the 9th grade at Miami Jackson Senior High School. Despite newscasts of the upcoming hurricane, my mom wanted to honor a wedding invitation set for that Sunday evening. I recall my father's protest against us going; and I was determined to accompany my mom to this rare occasion. We attended the wedding. Upon our return, we found that my diligent father had boarded up all the windows. He even went shopping and had brought home what we would NEVER purchase-canned foods. I thought I’d starve before I ever ate that...my siblings had the same snobby attitude towards the food, since my mom never purchased canned goods, and frowned upon those who did. With the excitement of the storm which was set to touch land at about 4am, we could not go to sleep. My dad urged us to go to bed. We huddled up in the room my four other siblings and I shared; we pushed our twin beds together to form one huge bed, away from the windows. We cracked jokes, and told stories. But we did not go to sleep. Soon, the wee hours of the morning crept in, and one by one, we dozed off to sleep. I was awakened by a vicious howl. Then, the crack of lightening, and the pounding of thunder brought my heart to my throat. The storm was upon us. The lights flickered, and every light in the house and outside went pitch black. I shook my sister awake. "Michaelle!" I yelled, "It's here!" The howling got louder and I began to cry. I ran to my mom's room. She had been awake-we were the two light sleepers. I saw the fear in her eyes, and knew that we were sure to die. I ran back to my room. I woke my siblings up-shaking them and yelling, "Wake-up! Wake-up! We're gonna die!" I ran back to my mom's room with them in trail... My mom stretched her arms for us to come closer, and she said, "Let us pray." As she prayed, I said my own prayer:” Oh lord, please let me at least see the 9th grade. Please let me make it to High School. Please let me lose my virginity before I die. Please let me get married and graduate from college..." The dreadful noises, the howling winds, the sound of shattering glasses and thunder continued for what seemed like forever. Then, it all stopped. I asked if it was over. We waited. At this point, my mom and dad were recounting stories of past storms experienced in Haiti. My dad even told us of the time he waited a hurricane out in a tree. A tree?! I thought...surely we'll be fine...but the storm started up again, and this time, it was my dad's turn to calm us down. He shared jokes and stories of his childhood. He told us about his time in the Haitian army and militia. He told us of the atrocities of Papa Doc Duvalier, and his son, Baby Doc. He told us of his dreams of social justice for Haitians in Miami Dade County, and how he relied upon us to do great things. I said, "Well, I'm gonna be a lawyer! And when I'm a lawyer, I'll help Haitians-our people." He patted my head, and my brother rolled his eyes. We were no longer afraid of the noises. We felt safe. We snuggled in our blankets at the feet of my mom's bed, and one by one, dozed off. In the morning, with no electricity for hot water, the use of the stove, and television, I was grateful for the bread and canned soups of Chef Boyardee.