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“Madam banm ede w a malet ou,” exclaimed a taxi driver upon my exit from Toussaint Louverture International Airport. Before I could decline his offer, he whisked my suitcase away. His linen pants, the shade of alabaster, were crisp with creases cascading down his legs. With my right foot leading the way, I swiftly followed behind him exiting through the double doors. Enveloped by the Caribbean sun's oppressive rays, I quickly scanned the crowd. In the distance I could see hands frantically waving, gesturing for me to come over. We lamented in unison over the loss of our beloved, as sorrow engulfed us. Finding comfort in our tight embrace, our heels pressed further into the earth. The future of both our family and Haiti hung in the balance. Blanketing the soles of our feet was the very soil that protected the blood of our ancestors. Joining the ranks of our fallen heroes was a public servant who sought out to revolutionize Haiti, my uncle Senatè Dr. Emmanuel Limage. My last sojourn, merely a decade before, ill prepared me for Port-au-Prince's aesthetic transformation. Like myself, the physical space I currently occupied had gone through an evolution. The incessant honking of horns, the constant hum of Kreyol, and the sidewalks peppered with throngs of people was pure chaos. It was a sight to behold that immediately transported me back to summer of 1996. On these same streets I was serenaded by the colorful lyrics of The Fugees The Score album. The windows rolled down offered us some much needed respite from the sweltering island heat. Riding through the market I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. My senses were tantalized by the aroma of Haitian delicacies. As the car came to a gentle stop, we were greeted by marchand’s. Balancing baskets on their heads using their elongated necks for support, they shouted out the merchandise they were selling. Relishing in the bright color spectrum of fruit, I settled for coconut water. I became more refreshed as I savored each morsel of acra (malanga fritters). Surrounded by the juxtaposition of stately mountains and turquoise water beaches I was able to truly take in Haiti’s beauty and grandeur. Typically the journey to my grandmother's compound would be under three hours. As we drove we shared stories of our travel journeys which invoked much needed laughter. Dusk welcomed us as we arrived at the iron gate. With each passing day I grew accustomed to the crow of a rooster I affectionately named Pierre. Having grown up in Boston in a Haitian neighborhood, with a family with strong cultural ties, I was not unfamiliar with the Haitian ritual of grief. The days grew long which created opportunities for fellowship that my life on campus was devoid of. My heart was uplifted as we enjoyed oreos and marathons of UNO, where familial ties were betrayed all in good fun. Every morning we delighted in the simple but strenuous activity of eating sugarcane, being careful to master the art of enjoying the juice and not swallowing the fibers. The day had come where we would lay my uncle to rest. The energy of the house was somber and restless. Cloaked in a grey two piece skirt suit, I walked arm-in-arm with my mother down the gravel-ridden walkway. There would be no shelter from the rays of tropical sun. Only sadness for my dear uncle and my ruined tan lines as we trekked to the church. The congestion of people whose lives my uncle had touched consumed me. Approaching the cathedral, our view was obstructed by the imposing UN tanks. Steadily climbing the steps with the barrel of the tanks to our rear we entered the church. Assembly lines of people waited to pay their respects to Senatè Dr. Emmanuel Limage. A myriad of emotions filled the air, beyond the immense sadness was the gratitude for a life well spent serving the pep (people). As we entered the cemetery there was a second line band playing “Ayiti Cherie.” As the casket lowered with trumpets belting out kompa notes in the background we said our final goodbyes.