American Street by Ibi Zoboi

Author:Ibi Zoboi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

MARJORIE & VALERIE’S STORY

When I was fifteen and my little sister was thirteen, a whole new world opened up to us. Not in the way that the world opened up to Chantal when a fancy private high school offered her a full scholarship. Not in the way that Princess put all her dresses and skirts into trash bags and started dressing like the son I never had. And not in the way that the world opened up to Primadonna when she threatened to run away with her new boyfriend if I didn’t let her go on dates with him.

Our world opened up because a long-time dictator was thrown out of Haiti. This dictator was the heavy boot on our skinny necks. Our dear parents in heaven never knew a world without Jean-Claude “Baby Doc” Duvalier and his father, François Duvalier. We thought there would be freedom and democracy, and that money would start flowing into the country like a long-awaited rainstorm.

But when the dictator and his fancy wife left, everything broke. There was no order, no peace.

But as thirteen- and fifteen-year-old girls, with no mother and father to watch over us, our bodies were like poor countries—there was always a dictator trying to rule over us.

We were hired to work in the house of a well-known businessman. And he would watch us while we worked. We let him look. Eyes are only dull blades, but hands are as sharp as broken glass. Eventually, he touched me, and I was cut. That day, I screamed for my sister. She then screamed for his wife.

We had to leave his house that night. We wanted to leave the whole country.

Valerie and I joined the crowds that gathered by the shores of Cité Soleil waiting for a boat to Miami. We gave our money to the captain—a skinny fisherman with missing teeth. We folded ourselves between a woman with too many bags and a man holding a crying baby. Valerie offered to hold the baby when the waters got too rough. The woman had to throw her bags overboard when water started to fill the boat. Our precious things were soaked, and there were cries and screams. Everyone cursed and prayed and shouted as our legs became wet and cold.

We were too heavy. Not with our bags. Not with our bodies. But with our burdens.

The captain yelled for some of us to get off. But we couldn’t simply walk away—we were surrounded by water. We huddled together because the boat was sinking.

Valerie and I never let go of each other. She whispered La Siren’s name over and over again, praying for the beautiful mermaid to rise up from the depths of the ocean and save us.

So the spirit of La Siren came in the form of a big boat, with strong arms to pull us up and over the side of the metal railing.

We had not drowned in that ocean. For me, it was so that I could find love and freedom in this new home called America with my beautiful girls.

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