I don’t know about you, but I tend to remember all good and bad parts that are associated with my life. There are memories that simply refuse to leave my mind no matter how much I try to forget or push them in the back of my mind. They sort of haunt me and cause much discomfort and even pain at times. Perhaps, I’m just overly sensitive and care too much. I’m still not sure if that’s even possible to care too much.
In any case, one of the most painful incidents that I know is not even personal but somehow it chews through my heart. Each time I recall that incident, if I could ever hate, that feeling blossoms.
I knew a girl named Chantal was I was a child. She lived with a family whom I knew very well. Years later, Chantal was separated from her family abruptly and it was the end of her. What pained me most, is that Chantal had called me and told me that was happening to her. I just felt so helpless that I could not help her. It’s one of those situations that make you wonder, what would I do now that I could not do then?
Chantal was one of those lucky little girls. She was born of a 17 year-old boy named Jacques. Jacques was of a well to-do Haitian family. Chantal’s mother was older and was considered “moun andeyo” or people from outside of the city who would normally have no social standing or connection. Such a girl had no chance or marrying into a decent family especially after she’d lost her virginity and got pregnant.
Luckily, when Chantal was a few weeks old, Jacques’ parents took her to live with them and they raised her as their own until Chantal was about 10 years old. By then, Jacques had gotten married and had taken Chantal to live with him and his new wife. Chantal was never treated as a “Restavek” and she was lucky. Indeed, one day I heard Chantal’s step mother referred to Chantal as “Pitit Kay” (children of the house). There’s a big distinction between Pitit kay and a Restavek and she made it point clear in her voice when she said it. Before that, I had never heard of that word before. In my home, we never had any Restavek. My mother was totally against that and told us so. When Chantal’s stepmother said the word, it was a warning that the person was not to disrespect Chantal and clearly meant that Chantal was not a child domestic/child slave better known as Restavek.
Within 3 years, Chantal’s stepmother had 2 children of her own and she continued to treat Chantal as a “Pitit kay”. The following year, Chantal’s stepmother left Haiti and her husband joined her in Boston soon thereafter. The two children that Jacques and his wife had along with Chantal went to live with Jacques’s mother. As usual, Haitian Immigrants work for a few years and send for their children. Chantal’s family was no exception. Chantal’s 2 younger siblings left Haiti to live with their parents in Boston while Chantal remained with her Jacques mother and Jacques younger brother. He was single and apparently took a big part in helping raise the children. Chantal could not come immediately due to required DNA testing that immigration Officers ordered on the children.
It was a sad that Chantal was left behind in Haiti. She had lived in two different homes and now had to return to first home until she could join her father and stepmother and siblings
Despite the few years since that incident, I can still hear Chantal’s voice begging me to “tell my mommy to call me please” she was inconsolable. I had received a call from Chantal from Haiti, which truly surprised me. Within minutes, Chantal had called me again. It was confidential and she had to speak with her stepmother whom she referred to as “mommy”. Why was she not calling her father and stepmother’s house? She knew my number as an emergency contact and she called me. “They said he’s not my father, I have to speak with my mommy, I don’t know what to do” she cried out to me. By then, I had called her stepmother and asked her to come to my house because Chantal had an emergency and needed to speak with her.
Shaking, I called her stepmother’s house again. There was no answer. It could only mean that she was on her way. Hearing the panic in Chantal’s voice and tears, I waited by the door and kept my eyes on the peephole for Chantal’s stepmother to arrive.
“What’s wrong” Chantal’s stepmother asked me as I opened the door for her. I explained that Chantal was upset and that something had happened to her.
After she had spoken with Chantal, the Stepmother looked at me and I saw the tears in her eyes. “Chantal” told me I told the Stepmother and it’s ok to talk about it.
The DNA test concluded that Chantal could not possibly be Jacques’s child and that Jacques and Chantal could not even be related. There was no match with any of the family members that immigration had tested her against. Based on the results of the DNA test, Immigration had denied her Immigrant visa that Chantal needed to join her family in Boston. Chantal was stuck in Haiti. She was 15 years and alone. Rejected by the grandmother who had cared for her for years, Chantal face life in the streets of Haiti.
Her Uncle, whom had been her brother and Uncle impregnated her because she was not a blood relative as he had thought. Chantal’s social status had changed. She was longer protected and men who lived in her household could take sexually exploit her and her Uncle did just that. The little girl who had escaped the life of a Restavek had run out of luck and finally became a Ti Sentaniz. Chantal made clear hat she would rather live in the street rather than subject herself to more of her Uncle’s sexual abuse. She stood her ground.
I pleaded with her Stepmother to contact a boarding school and have her live there. I’m not sure how much of my advice they took, but a few months later, I heard Chantal had given birth to her Uncle’s child. Unable to accept her Uncle and former brother’s sexual exploitation, Chantal had left Port-au-Prince seeking comfort in the bosom of her maternal relatives in the countryside of Haiti where she gave birth. During the birth, Chantal died. Chantal lives today in the life of her child. Jacques insisted that his brother adopt and provide for the child he had fathered with Chantal. After all, when all goes wrong, some stand up and make their voices heard. And to Chantal, today I tell your story.
April is Child abuse prevention month, let’s protect all children from every corner of the world by criminalizing the act Restaveks system and demand the emancipation of all Restaveks in Haiti. I challenge you.
For more information on the history of Restaveks in Haiti visit the Maurice Sixto Foundation
http://www.fondationmauricesixto.orgr
L’animation Ti Sentaniz An animation of a Restavek plight by Jud-Alix François)
For a Haiti without Restaveks/Slavery
( based by the original work written and sang by Maurice Sixto)
http://www.restavekfreedom.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=cms.page&id=1037
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