Free Brush with Haiti by Kathleen A. Tobin Page A

my grandmother's sister, minus the ruffles at the shoulders. An embroidered "Haiti" graced the chest. I knew that I would wear it to cook. The universality of women and food preparation would bring the importance of family and nourishment to mind once back home. When I pointed to the apron and it was taken from the wall, one of the women beamed with delight. She swelled with a humble satisfaction and I knew then that she had made it.
    We were reminded that dinner at the bishop's house awaited us, so we paid for our selections and were on our way. John took a photo of the women, a copy of which I have resting on the window ledge of my office at the university. It is a gentle reminder to me that women are women and work is work. I create course syllabi for my classes and they create aprons. And we all create meals. And I am grateful to have met them.
    The apron hangs in my closet, and I do wear it from time to time. The holiday at home with the most elaborate family meal is Thanksgiving and wearing the apron invokes recognition of the abundance we have, as well as the waste and excess consumption that is so much a part of our lives. I prefer to wear it on not so special days as a reminder of the everyday fundamental need to feed oneself and one's children. I try not to think about how out of place the pink looks in a subdued beige suburban kitchen, or that tying it too snugly makes my hips look big. Rather, I try to wear it when making something "a la the Islands" such as beans and rice, or the occasional pumpkin dish. Pumpkin pie always goes down more sweetly when my pink apron is on especially knowing the distinctive place pumpkins hold for Haitians.
    On the first of January, their Independence Day, Haitians traditionally eat pumpkin soup. The most important annual holiday, marking the beginning of a new nation and of a new year, it overshadows even Christmas, as there is little chance of splurging on gifts for friends and family. Under the colonial plantation system, pumpkins (indigenous to the Americas) were restricted to the elite class. The vast majority of land was used to cultivate sugar for export and there was little concern for providing variety in the slaves' diets. Upon independence, the coveted pumpkin became a symbol of independence and freedom and pumpkin soup a traditional dish of commemoration. Wearing a pink apron while making pumpkin soup is a personal act of liberation perhaps meaningful only to me. Sometimes I am tempted to give history lessons to my friends and family, but I was fine keeping this one to myself.

13
Madonnas
    Leaving Fort Liberté was not easy as we had made friends there. In my earlier years of travel I assumed I would make return trips to places that made a mark on me. By this time I knew that happens rarely, and only with intentional effort. As much as I wanted to see the area and its people again, I admitted I might never return.
    Following our experiences with country life, Port-au-Prince seemed even more crowded and bustling than before. It was like any urban area, but with considerably more people per block out on the streets, doing whatever it is they have to do. With little electricity, even in the capital, they live mainly with the rhythm of the earth's rotation, activity substantially subsiding when the sun goes down, making the neighborhoods far quieter.
    One evening, Jennifer, a Catholic Relief Services worker who had organized and led a number of our meetings in the city, asked if we would like to go for drink at a local bar. A few of us agreed. I was still not accustomed to the night in Haiti, and it was very dark. We had generally continued conversations following late dinners, and then retired to our rooms. Maneuvering through the streets of Port-au-Prince was a very different story. The level of electricity consumption in the United States becomes more palpable in contrast when visiting the less developed world. Hotel rooms and other types of accommodations are more dimly