Now and then, Moy’s friend Bòs Dezi is hired to paint a camion in Léogâne. Moy has helped him on some, so it’s possible that Moy has painted part of the camion we are in, or at least one of the others we’ll see on our way to Port-au-Prince.

Manman arranged with the driver for three seats. I chose the window. We were bringing some yams for Tante Rose, which we fit under our seats.

As the camion became more and more crowded, I looked out the window, watching all the vendors of colas, peeled sugarcane, fried plantains, fried pork, and sausages. I wanted to have a piece of sugarcane, but I did not dare ask Manman. If I bought the sugarcane, after chewing the juice out, I would have to throw the pulp out the window sometime during the ride and Manman hated when people did that. It would dirty the road, especially since it was a recently repaved road, and it was thanks to this repaved road that the usual time of the trip to Port-au-Prince would be cut by half. That is, until we reached all the blokis within the city limits, in Carrefour. Whenever we go to the capital, the traffic starts piling up in Carrefour, all the way to the bus depot in Port-au-Prince.

Manman was sleeping by the time we reached Carrefour, where everything slowed down, just as I had expected. Moy, on the other hand, was springing to life again, watching everyone and everything.

There were more tap taps than camions in Carrefour. Tap taps are smaller than camions and are open in the back. We call them tap taps because people tap on the side twice—sometimes more—to signal that they want to get off. Many tap taps have names. I spotted one called Wyclef, for a Haitian singer who lives in America. On the front was a phrase, in English, from one of his songs—“Your love is my love.”

Some of the other tap taps had even longer phrases written on the sides, words that were designed as beautifully as the pictures. There were declarations of love—“Sophie, Je t’aime.” “Marlène, I love you”—and proverbs such as “The empty sack does not stand,” “Sweet syrup draws ants,” and “Little yams make a big pile.” I liked that last one most of all because I was beginning to feel like Manman, Moy, and I were tiny yams in a very big pile.

Carrefour was full of shops, all with their own beautiful signs: beauty shops, mechanics’ shops, schools everywhere, often next to colorful lottery sheds announcing winning lottery numbers. Carrefour was loud, too, with music blasting from some of the stores and a general noise of hundreds of people talking at the same time.

Soon after I got used to all the noise, I fell asleep. The next thing I remember is Manman shaking me to say we had arrived at the bus depot in downtown Port-au-Prince.