Chapters (43)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Ben Philippe
- Back Ad
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
“Diaspora” was the first SAT word I remember learning last year. “A scattered population whose origin lies in a different geographic locale.” For Haitians—the Haltiwanger clan, specifically—it means to split apart and put yourself together someplace else. I’m from a branch of a tree that, at some point, gave way to five siblings. All smart, all filled with potential, all hungry for a better life elsewhere.
Dad chose New York. One sister chose Switzerland because they also spoke French there. Another sister followed her husband to New Port Richey, Florida, with a son my age that I’ve never met. His other brother was apparently in St. Bart’s, working as a caterer, and did not keep in touch. Strange relatives, unknown cousins, and faces you don’t recognize in photo albums. That’s the longer, Haltiwanger-specific essay-form definition of diaspora.
The story of Jacques Haltiwanger, Haitian, forty-eight, is in many ways the story of the Wyatt building, 86th Street and West End Avenue, which, in truth, is the only home I remember. Dad has tied together the story of our family to that of the building into such a knot that, by now, it’s impossible to untie the two. I’ve heard every permutation of it.
The Happy one that started in 1994.
“We’d moved the Christmas before. It was my very first job in America. It was just an evening desk job. Back then, Mrs. Landau, RIP, liked the fact that I could speak French. In her mind, it added sophistication to the building that the janitor would be international. We lived in the Bronx and commuted in before this unit opened up and was offered to us.”
The Sad one.
“Your mother wanted us to stay in New York City because she didn’t want you to be the only little Black boy in some small town. And she wanted you to see snow. What was the point of coming to this country if you didn’t show your kid snow?”
The Inspiring one.
“This is the land of Doctor King, Maya Angelou, Michelle, and Beyoncé. This is the only place in the world where those stories can happen. All those town cars passing through? They’re as likely to have a Black or brown person in them these days. Back in Haiti, for me and your mother, that wasn’t the case.”