A Taste of Haiti
A range of colors danced across my plate, inviting me to take a bite before engaging in our dinner conversation. Brightly colored vegetables contrasted themselves with dark purple rice, creating a delicious spread next to the finely chopped chicken. The aroma of the food each night created a mirthful mood, allowing us to reflect upon our day as we graciously ate home-cooked Haitian meals. The flavors of Haiti, for me, are now forever accompanied by memories of joy and laughter, of strife and hardship, and of a group of people I will never forget.
Nicely put by Grace Talusan in her memoir, The Body Papers, I agree that, “every food...comes with a story (that one doesn’t) remember until they’ve chewed the memory in their mouths." She talks mostly about the native fruits of the Philippines, whereas I speak of flavors specific to Haiti.
Tastes store memories within them; for me, one such taste is that of Haitian fried plantains. The starchy crunch, peppered with spices, can mentally transport me to the distinct space of the school compound where I ate them almost every night.
With the flavors on my tongue, I can walk throughout the building; I can peek from the dining area into the room next door with the piano where talented Haitian students would proudly demonstrate their knowledge of the black and white keys; I can meander down the stairs to where our kind hosts would package up the leftover dinner portions to take home to their own families; and I can open the door to the courtyard and still see students enjoying a game of soccer, hours after the camp has ended for the day. These memories reverberate through my mind with just a few chews of the familiar food.
Another taste that has a similar effect on me is the sickly sweet punch of an orange, carbonated liquid called fruit champagne soda. The first time I experienced this flavor in Haiti, I was drenched in sweat and baking in the early July heat. After leading a group of Haitian students through a relay race, I sought relief from the weather by taking a long chug from the cold, glass lip of the bottle.
My lips puckered and my taste buds became animated from the massive amount of sugar that I had not been expecting. That distinct taste was imprinted in my mind alongside various memories from that moment: the cheers of triumph from the winning team and the playful demands for rematches from the students who were within seconds from the chalk-drawn finish line.
The refreshing gulps of that soda foreshadowed the rainstorm that poured upon us minutes later, replacing everyone’s dry thirst and salty sweat with fresh water. After sipping a bit of that specific soda, I cannot help but reminisce about the students and I splashing through puddles of fresh rain, declaring that we all won, since the precipitation ultimately erased the chalky finish line.
Other memories that resurface from familiar Haitian flavors are less jovial. Human senses of taste and olfactory are intertwined, so I also tend to associate many of my recollections with the distinct smells of Haiti.
Later in the week, as we dared venture toward the airport amidst riots in hopes of finally flying home safely, our van was full of anxious murmurs. My memories – marked with uncertainty about whether we would complete our trek to Port-au-Prince – have been forever branded with the scent of burning rubber. This distinct smell wafted through the van windows from tires that were ignited and cast across the streets: attempts to create roadblocks.
Images of those uncontrolled flames and the anxiety that we all felt reemerge within me when I recognize that scent. I think of my peers next to me and how the overwhelming tension eventually silenced us all as we prayed to avoid harm’s way.
My journey in Haiti revealed to me that tastes and smells can miraculously preserve and summon precious memories. All that I experienced in those 11 days, the shockingly beautiful and the alarmingly dreadful, are memories that I hope to carry forth and use to inspire change. The emotions wrapped up in those memories are difficult to explain with words, but I hope that this short piece was enough to give you a little taste of Haiti.
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