Homecoming

by Miriame Schundelmeier (Germany)

A leap into the unknown Haiti

When we landed, the air smelled like dust and smoke. Sirens were running and chaos began just in front of the airports automatically opening glass doorway. I wasn’t scared though. I had played this moment in my head over and over again, long before I got here. Ayiti mw. My first home. I took a deep breath and then I knew for sure: this is where I belong. I had been living in Germany for nineteen years before I made it to Ayiti for the first time. A system of oppression and white supremacy is why I was separated from my first mother when I was just a few months old. That, and her desperation. And the broken mess my father was. And the broken heart I was born with. It is hard for me to gather my own thoughts when everyone throws their expectations at me. Everyone seems to have an opinion about what it is like to meet your blood family. Especially everyone who has never gone through any similar experience. They do not understand and I probably might never be able to describe it in full, the days that have changed my life. From the airport in Porte-au-Prince it was a two hour ride to Gonaives, the city where I saw light for the first time. Everything seemed to blur in my view. I remember people walking for miles, carrying the groceries on their head. And I remember the feeling of belonging because finally I was in a place where actions like this did not define me as the outcast. Or Brand me as weird. I was just one of them. I hadn’t even unpacked yet and that’s when I was called to the front door of the orphanage where I was staying. The same orphanage where I stayed after they separated me from my proud black mother in advance to my adoption. A crime that has marked me for life. “Your brothers are here” someone said. I nodded and followed them to the meeting point. Everyone stood there, in a circle. White folk. Black folk. And I was the zoo animal they were watching react. I could see disappointment in their faces when they realized my face and body didn’t do much. As strange as it sounds, I felt like I had just seen them yesterday. When it had almost been two decades. Meeting my mum the next day and my baby sister hit different though. It took all I am to stay composed. I don’t like to cry in front of strangers. Even less when everyone is staring at me having my most intimate moment. Privacy was rare on this trip. I should realize this many more times. My time in Ayiti flew like the indie songs I played that year on my disc player. They perfectly described my mood too. Or rather mood swings. From heaven to heavy reality and back. Moving like shadows through the mountains. Hearing my native tongue after I thought I might never hear it again. Speaking it. It still feels surreal. And it has already been another eight years since it all happened. Endless white beaches. Huge palm trees. The Caribbean looks exactly like the pictures you see in magazines. Plus you’ll see naked people showering at the beach once you actually get there. And if you’re lucky, one person might just crack you a coconut and let you be part of their community for a day. Leading you through lost forests that capture the silence of tore down memories. Glimpses from a different time, when Royalty was enslaved by Colonizers. And from when the earth was stained in blood. This summer I will finally return. Return to unravel my wounds, dissect my roots and understand how this Island made me the person I am, even when I was oceans away. This time, I’ll go there for myself. And I’ll go for the music, the rhythm of kompa that talks about desire, passion and love. I’ll go for the colors of the food and the original taste. I’ll go there to find peace, not answers. I’ll go there as part of my purpose.