Part I

Chapter 1

What’s taking her so long? Ladymia is impatient – and that’s not just because of the hormones. Her mother is long overdue. She is going to look after little Geraldy for a while, so Ladymia can do some shopping without a toddler at hand. It’s hard enough to go into town now that she’s heavily pregnant. The centre of the Haitian city of Jacmel is not the safest place to visit in the late afternoon.

Late in the afternoon, much later than planned, Saraphina arrives at her daughter’s simple house. The rickety taxi van that took her from her hometown of Leogane to Jacmel had a flat tire on the way, so that the ride took longer than usual.

Relieved that her mother is finally there, Ladymia goes in to fetch a bag and money. She hides the money that her husband gave her for the groceries in different places on her body, so she doesn’t lose everything at once if she is robbed. She puts a few dollar bills between the plastic straps of her cheap bra, hides another few in the hem of her underwear, and she puts a small billfold containing a few bills in her shopping bag.

‘I’ll be gone for a while. It’ll take about an hour and then I’ll be back again,’ she says to her mother when she leaves.

Saraphina, a small, sturdy, dark woman in her late fifties, is already playing with the little boy. Together they sit in front of the house under a metal corrugated roof. She nods, smiles at her daughter and says: ‘Watch out for the robbers, and come back in time. We’ll wait for you here, you hear?’

Ladymia walks up to her son and kisses him on his cheek. ‘Yes, yes, I’ll be back before dark. See you later.’

As she walks to the unpaved road passing her house, she takes a look at the vegetable garden that her husband has laid out for her. The chilies and vine tomatoes are coming along fine, especially now that Ladymia is watering them every day. Maybe I should harvest them tomorrow, before the animals will eat them, she thinks.

She walks down the dusty dirt track towards the city. Her slippers leave small clouds of dust behind with every step she takes. The ground is very dry, it hasn’t rained for way too long, and she clearly feels the heat emanating from the sand.

To the left and right of the sandy path are simple, painted houses, crisscrossed, most of them without electricity or running water. If there is electricity, it is often illegally intercepted, with all the risks this entails. Between the houses are all kinds of tropical trees and shrubs.

A banana tree here and there, and many palm trees with the unripe coconuts still attached. A few residents of this street also have banana trees in the garden next to the house. Mostly for personal use, but sometimes to sell the bananas in the city.

Most of the houses are built of sober materials like wood and stone, and some of the roofs are simply made of forest leaves. But it is better, in any case, than having to live in the emergency shelter on the other side of the city, where many tent camps set up after the latest hurricanes are still being used. The people who live there have not yet been able to build new houses. Most of them don’t even have jobs and live on donations and help from a few church organizations.

In Ladymia’s street it’s slightly better, which she realizes all too well. But there too is a lot of poverty. She has been living here for two years now with her husband, Jean Caleb. Ladymia was born in Leogane, but later left for Jacmel with Jean, because they both found work there. She could start immediately as housekeeper for a rich family, further on in the city. Jean has been working for various subcontractors in the neighbourhood, first as a carpenter and later also as a bricklayer.

What Ladymia especially notices about the city, which is located southwest of the Haitian capital Port-au-Prince, is the difference between rich and poor. The large colourful houses with high walls and security at the gate are centrally located, close to most of the city’s amenities. On the other side of the city are the houses built by the inhabitants themselves, slums and tent camps, on the edge of the garbage dump.

After about a mile and a half, Ladymia reaches a long, winding street. She sees a lot of pedestrians coming and going. It’s total chaos: cars, cyclists and mopeds all intermingle and everyone honks the horn whenever they feel like it. There is a cacophony of sounds. Several music systems boom there sounds through the street, unintelligible to anyone within fifty metres of the sound source.

There are randomly placed owner-built stalls with homegrown products. Others display their merchandise on a piece of cardboard on the ground. Carrots, peppers, coconuts, bananas and sometimes callaloo, a leafy green vegetable. Several of the sellers try to make the merchandise look more appealing by sprinkling the products with some water.

To her left Ladymia sees a dead dog lying on the ground. It is a large dog, with brownish fur. Apparently the animal has been lying there for a while, because the body has started to swell up. Thousands of flies are swarming around it. It looks disgusting and Ladymia is horrified by the sight. Like the other passers-by, she gives the dog a wide berth.

There’s garbage all over the street, left behind carelessly by the vendors. Nobody cares. Once in a while the pile of litter gets too high and is set on fire. Then the pile is gone for a while and another one will spontaneously pop up a bit further up the road.

The smells of burning waste and the widely used lignite mix with the delicious food smells coming from the food that women prepare and sell here. The pungent spices sometimes penetrate the smell of the lignite. For Ladymia, these smells are familiar and comforting. This is normal life in the simple streets of Jacmel, far away from the rich inhabitants of this city. Far away from the luxury of a supermarket, a baker’s or a butcher’s.

She continues until she’s about halfway down the street. Here she knows a number of vendors from whom she can buy products at normal prices. She can’t buy all that much from the money Jean makes. The shops and sellers on the street are not always well-stocked, and prices are often shockingly high. According to Ladymia, they are cheats, who make skilful use of the shortages. You should have your regular addresses here and keep a close eye on the price.

There has been a shortage of flour, baby food, medicines and diapers for years. Haiti is one of the poorest countries in the region and does not seem to be able to overcome this. Time and again, another corrupt government rises to power, and never does anything about the poverty, except enrich themselves. Since Hurricane Ike, about two years ago now, things have got worse on the island. The storm has left more than a hundred thousand people homeless, on top of the many existing homeless. To this date, almost everyone who became homeless at the time still lives in a tent or self-built hut. The tents are often made of white cloth with the letters UN in blue. They were donated by the United Nations. The UN has had a mission here in Haiti for many years, but Ladymia wonders whether this has improved the country in any way. She hasn’t noticed it, in any case, and she doesn’t benefit from it.

She immediately heads for an older woman, Omaira, who is standing behind a handcart on two different wheels. She sells deliciously sweet corn on the cob and fried chicken. The corn cobs are cooked in a kind of sugar water that comes from sugar cane. Dozens of fat flies are trying to land on the fried chicken. The old woman tries to chase them away by waving a piece of cardboard. Not that this is very useful; the flies are smarter and considerably faster than Omaira. In the corner of her mouth hangs a cigar stub, a wisp of smoke slowly spirals upwards.

Omaira must be about 70 years old, maybe a little older. She is a small and sturdy woman, stooping as if she is carrying a heavy load on her back. That is how much her back and her shoulders are bent. She has dark skin and a striking face full of wrinkles, which tell us that the woman has probably had a hard life. She wears a piece of cloth around her head, a colourful piece of fabric that ties her few remaining grey hairs together. Ladymia knows no better than that this elderly lady is always in this spot.

‘Hello Ladymia,’ Omaira calls as soon as she recognizes her. ‘How are you and how is your mother?’

‘All right, Omaira, thank you,’ answers Ladymia, and she asks about the price for three corn cobs and three pieces of chicken. As the price is acceptable, she buys the products from Omaira and pays her with a number of dollar bills, a popular currency.

The many flies land on the remaining pieces of chicken, while the old lady is busy putting her money away safely. An ash cone hanging from the cigar spontaneously falls down among the corn and the meat. The flies are startled for a moment, but soon regain their positions at the feast.

‘Say hello to your mum for me, will you?’ asks Omaira as soon as all the money’s been put away.

Ladymia carefully looks around her. There are always people who are interested when money changes hands. She knows that Omaira is an easy prey for criminals and therefore doesn’t stay in one place for too long. As long as there are lots of people on the streets, as is the case now, she will stay put; if not, she will rapidly disappear. She can pack her cart in no time, and despite her old age and stout posture she moves pretty quickly. Yet, last week Ladymia heard that the old woman was again the victim of a cowardly robbery by one of the many unemployed criminal youngsters who are on the lookout in the neighbourhood. She quickly says goodbye to Omaira and walks further down the street. It’s quite late in the afternoon and she definitely wants to be home before dark.

The next stop is at a woman’s who sells delicious home-baked bread. It’s only a few hundred metres down the same street, but twilight is upon her. Yet the sand on the ground still feels warm. A few drops of sweat trickle down Ladymia’s dark forehead. She quickly wipes them away with a piece of cloth. A breath of wind provides a bit of freshness.

She spots the woman sitting down on the corner of the street. She is of Ladymia’s age, and sometimes has a child with her, but this time she is sitting there alone. On the floor is a large piece of cardboard covered by a sheet. Under the colourful sheet are several loaves of the bread the woman has baked today.

A fire is burning next to the woman. It is not clear to Ladymia whether it is a random fire or whether someone is trying to bake something. It emits a lot of smoke anyway, and the stench is overwhelming. A little further on, a man is defecating right in the middle of the street. Unabashedly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Other people give him a wide berth and don’t pay much further attention. As soon as the man is finished, he kicks some sand over it with his bare foot and calmly walks away as if nothing has happened. Ladymia looks in the direction of the man and shakes her head indignantly.

The bread woman loudly calls out what she is selling. She tries to convince as many people as possible that her bread is the tastiest and cheapest. She stops shouting as soon as she sees Ladymia standing in front of her. ‘Three round loaves, please,’ Ladymia calls out, who wants to then pay quickly and go back home again. The woman takes three loaves from under the sheet and hands them to Ladymia. The money quickly changes hands. The women briefly talk to each other about Ladymia’s pregnancy, and then say goodbye.

Ladymia quickly walks back in the direction she came from. More and more small fires are being lit on both sides of the road, for light or to prepare food. The smell of fried food, sometimes burned, and the smell of smouldering plastic and paper are in the air.

The wind drops a little and the smoke stays low in the streets of Jacmel. It is dusky. There are no streetlights in this district – in fact, there are no normal streetlights throughout the city, with the exception of a few businesses or homes with outdoor lighting in the more expensive areas.

Ladymia would have liked to have been back sooner, but it didn’t work out that way. If only my mother had shown up a little earlier, she thinks worriedly. Steadily, she walks on. On her head she carries the bag of groceries, securing it with one hand. With her other hand she feels whether the remaining money is still where it should be.

Her big belly is beginning to bother her. She rubs it gently, as if to say hello to the unborn child. Only a few more weeks and the baby will be born, she thinks, and smiles unwittingly. She touches her necklace. It’s a narrow leather strap with a small hardwood amulet, made by Jean. It has the shape of a droplet, but if you look closely you could also discern the shape of a heart. Ladymia also sees an eye in it, her husband’s vigilant eye. It’s a lucky charm, he had said to her after she told him that she was pregnant with their second child.

Delighted and proud, Jean had given her this amulet a few days later. A few times a day she rubs the lucky charm, hoping for a little extra luck, and to think about Jean again while he’s working far away for his growing family.

Only 15 more minutes, first leave the busy street followed by a road where it’s a bit quieter. On the corner of the street she sees several young men. She tries to count them, there are at least three of them. Unfamiliar eyes are looking at her. She’s got the feeling that she is being checked out as a potentially easy prey.

She hesitates without showing it. Will she move on or go back? Ladymia decides to continue towards her house. She has little choice, there is no other route.

What will she do if the men stop her? What do they want from her? Would it be the groceries, do they think she has money or is it her body? She doesn’t want to think of what might happen. She feels shivers down her spine, and her heart rate is accelerating rapidly. She feels the first drops of sweat run down her back; it’s still quite hot and there is little wind.

Damn, why didn’t she take her phone? Jean has bought her a mobile phone especially for when he’s not around. Without a phone she can’t call anyone to come and help her. She walks on quickly.

Someone’s behind her. She now clearly hears footsteps directly behind her. It is a man, she can tell from his heavy breathing.

She increases her pace and lengthens her stride. She wonders whether she will look back to see who it is. Or should she just move on without looking? She takes the shopping bag off her head and holds it tight under her arm.

It has become even quieter in the ever darkening street, but she still sees a number of young men on the sides of the road. It seems as if these men are following her. What should she do now? She also feels the eyes of the man behind her stinging in her back. He too walks faster than before.

Further down the street, she can take a shortcut home by taking the route behind the rubbish dump. But this area is much more dangerous than when she walks straight ahead. She briefly hesitates and then walks straight on, along the familiar route. Will she run or is she too slow for these men anyway? And how long will she last with her big belly? Fear strikes. She feels her belly, rubs it once more. She won’t give in just like that and walks on resolutely.

With the shopping bag pressed firmly against her body, Ladymia once again lengthens her stride. Is the man still following her? She no longer dares look sideways or back, and tries to avoid any eye contact. Just a little further. She feels her heartbeat pounding in her head. She must be smarter and bolder than those men, she thinks. As fast as she can, she passes several passers-by and continues to zigzag on her way.

It’s almost completely dark now. The sky is murky blue to black. Ladymia’s eyes are getting used to the darkness. This street doesn’t have streetlights either, so she has to use her memory, the contours of the houses and the light of the burning fires. Ladymia looks up and sees that the moon is not yet fully visible.

Routinely she walks down the street where her house is, still at a brisk pace. All she hears now is her own heartbeat. She no longer pays attention to who is chasing her and focuses only on getting home safely. Just 150 metres to go, not far. Only 100 metres left… Will she call her mother to open the door? Is her mother even inside? And what if the men following her come in too? She can’t bear to think about what could happen then.

She reaches for the door of her house. The moment she wants to open it, she hears something she can’t identify. With a jolt she turns around and looks across the road, at the house of the neighbours, where the sound came from.

There her mother stands with Geraldy in her arms. She calls out to Ladymia and walks over to her.

Startled, Ladymia looks back at where she just came from. Where did that man go? What had that sound been? She looks around again, turns around and notices that there is no one behind her. She is alone at the door of her own house.

Has she imagined it or did the men stop following her? She is confused for a moment, but she is glad that at least the men are no longer there.

‘Girl, what’s going on?’ her mother asks.

Again Ladymia sighs with relief and the tension is released. ‘Nothing mama, nothing, fortunately.’ She kisses little Geraldy on his head. ‘It must be the pregnancy hormones, I think.’

‘We were across the street, so Geraldy could play with the boy next door. I called you when I saw you coming, but you didn’t react. That’s why I shouted a little louder.’

‘It’s all right, nothing’s wrong,’ she says soothingly to her mother as she opens the door. She just needs to recover from all the emotions and the effort. At times like this, she longs for the presence of her husband Jean. She has been hoping for some time now that he will be able to find work closer to home, but unfortunately, this luxury has not presented itself yet. In a few days’ time, he will come home. For the time being Ladymia won’t go shopping by herself anymore in the late afternoon.

Chapter 2

It won’t be long before the baby arrives; a few weeks at the most. Ladymia is sort of sick of it. Although she has been used to the tropical heat of Haiti all her life, it now affects her body more than during her previous pregnancy. She has swollen feet and suffers from oedema. Especially the last few months have not been easy. She frequently felt her stomach hardening, was sick and nauseous, and had headaches.

This time too she will give birth at home; hospital birth is not common in Haiti. Only if the life of the mother or child is in immediate danger will they eventually go to hospital. If there is enough money of course.

The baby is welcome in Ladymia and Jean’s family, even though it will not be easy to support the family financially. Ladymia had stopped working only a short while before the birth of their first child, now more than a year ago. Her housekeeping job allowed her to continue her work for a long time, even with a big belly. The lady of the house was not difficult and understood that Ladymia was unable to take on the usual amount of work. The heavy jobs were done by someone else, which was a blessing, as they really needed the extra income.

It’s a sweet woman, her employer, a descendant of the white French elite that was in charge here in Haiti in the colonial past. Ladymia has no hard feelings about this, even though she knows some Haitians do and that a lot of hatred is festering under the surface. Her mother always taught her to get over it, to let the past rest and work on the future. And this is exactly what she intends to do: look forward and not back.

A few weeks after Geraldy was born, she had gone back to work. Like most Haitian women, Ladymia is very fond of her independence. But lately she felt so sick that she often couldn’t go to work. The lady of the house understood, but also needed a permanent housekeeper.

‘I can no longer use you like this, so please don’t come back after you’ve given birth,’ she said to Ladymia in a business-like manner. The next day a new help had been hired.

Now Ladymia has been at home for almost two months, waiting for the new baby to be born. Actually this is not a bad thing altogether; she likes being at home with little Geraldy. However, she often feels more sick than lively and they now have to make ends meet with Jean’s income, which is not always enough to support the family.

He works in construction as bricklayer and carpenter, and is often away from home. Sometimes for several weeks at a time. Physically, the work is very demanding and Jean is underpaid. With temperatures averaging 29 to 30 degrees, he spends day upon day on the building site, in the burning sun. But there is a lot of unemployment, so if he wouldn’t do the job, someone would be waiting to take his place. He only gets paid after the job is done and then has to wait and see whether another job is forthcoming.

Jean now works on the construction of a new jetty to accommodate larger vessels in the port of Port-au-Prince. Since the large jetty was destroyed by Hurricane Ike, cargo has been taken into the port in small ships or is unloaded just outside the port. The government does not have the money to fix it, but an international organization is investing in the construction of a new jetty. Jean was able to get a job there, even for two to three months the supervisor said. But in two days’ time he will be home again for at least a moment.

Now that Ladymia spends so much time at home, she realizes how happy she is with their house. It is made of wood and stone and has a corrugated iron roof. Jean could buy the material via friends or found it at the garbage dump on the outskirts of town. The corrugated iron comes from a UN aid project, an orphanage for the youngest children. The small emergency building no longer met the requirements and a real building, made of stone with a good roof was built, paid for by the UN. Leftover materials were dumped at the rubbish tip – not the beautiful and usable materials, of course, which were taken away for personal use or sold on to friends or acquaintances.

‘You had to be quick,’ Jean had told her more than once. The first one to arrive is the lucky one. And you have to be able to cope with the permanent residents of the rubbish tip. They won’t just let you share their place. Here, too, the law of the jungle applies.

Sadly, it is normal for every dump in Haiti to have a community of residents that has nowhere else to go. Whole families with children, but also gangs, live on these dumps and try to score something useful, sometimes in a life-and-death struggle. They live off the proceeds of the dump, collect plastic or iron, and are always looking for something edible. To survive, nothing more, nothing less.

They walk there, often barefoot, between rats, dogs and pigs. Here and there, smoke rises from smouldering waste between the heaps of rubble, whether or not deliberately set on fire to slightly reduce the size of the mountain.

Of course there is no running water and no sewage system. It smells of rotting food, animal carcasses and human excrement. These are large, disgusting places, where all kinds of filth is dumped without a second thought. Domestic waste, chemical waste from the paint factory in the city, medical waste from the local hospital in Jacmel; everything is dumped together.

Ladymia frequently hears stories of murder or rape at the dump. Nobody does anything about it, no policeman dares go there. The mortal remains are simply left at the dump. No one bothers to bury the victims properly, because who will pay for the funeral of a homeless person in poverty-stricken Haiti?

Ladymia prefers not to go to the dump, but she is happy that Jean found materials for their home. It is a small house with only two rooms. Large sheets of hardboard on the ground serve as flooring. The floor starts to move when it’s raining very hard. The boards then almost float away on the water.

On the floor is a bed, or at least, something that should pass for a bed. Homemade by Jean, of course, from shelves he could get after a job on a house near Port-au-Prince. They have taken over the mattress from Ladymia’s previous employer. There is a large sheet over it, so that it at least looks decent. Next to the bed is the little crib for Geraldy. It is made of old crates and filled with soft materials, such as plastic and cloth, which act as a kind of mattress. When he turns in his sleep, everything creaks and squeaks in such a way that everyone wakes up immediately, except Geraldy.

Soon another small cot will be added for the baby. There is no room for it yet in the small bedroom, which is full of bags and boxes with clothes and other stuff.

Moreover, Jean needs to repair the roof of their house. When it rains it starts leaking in several places. Pieces of blue and white plastic have been attached to the roof, but this no longer suffices. The sun and the heat have made the plastic brittle. Maybe next week Jean will be able to look for replacement materials, when he is back from a job in Leogane. Then he can also see whether he can adjust the water storage, which Ladymia has asked him to do a few times already.

The rainwater is collected in a large container, located next to the house. Ladymia first has to go outside and open the heavy tap to get the water. The water runs out of the tank via a tube construction into a small container. There she can tap the water into a bowl or bucket.

Now that she’s heavily pregnant, this is becoming too heavy for her. If only we had running water like my former employer has in her house, she sometimes thinks. To simply open the tap and running water comes out…

It’s been sultry for several days now; there’s rain in the air. A little bit of rain is quite nice. It washes away all the dust. Moreover, the water tank is almost empty and Ladymia can no longer manage to buy water in the city. You can smell the rain, her mother had said. As long as it is only rain and not a tropical storm or – even worse – a hurricane, Ladymia thinks.

The hurricane season is coming to an end, and thank God no hurricanes have struck this time. The country cannot cope with more destroyed houses, dead and wounded. There are too few hospitals to treat all the wounded. There is always a shortage of medical personnel, equipment, and knowledge.

Strange, Ladymia sometimes thinks, that the neighbouring country is much wealthier than Haiti. Together with the Dominican Republic, Haiti forms the island of Hispaniola, but the difference between the two countries is huge. Tourists ignore Haiti, while the all-in-resorts on the eastern part of the island are mushrooming.

Now that Ladymia has been at home for a long time because of her pregnancy, she frequently fantasizes about moving to another country. To have a regular job and support her family. Maybe offer the children a future, let them go to school or buy new clothes for a change. She likes the idea of going to one of the nearby French, Dutch or American islands.

But she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her mother here by herself. Maybe her older sister and her daughter would be able to join her. Betiane no longer has a man in her life and her daughter Lourdy is still young. They too deserve the chance to build a new life in another country.

She’s still in doubt as to whether she’ll talk to Jean about this. She knows he’s not a big fan of the idea. He’d rather work himself to death than leave his native country, he told her once. To him it would feel like abandoning the country, while he wants to work towards a better life on this island.

‘Geraldy, do you want to stay here or are you coming with me?’ Ladymia asks her son. She doesn’t have to say it twice. He quickly jumps up and follows his mother on the dirt track. She is taking the toilet bucket to the open sewer. It’s only a short walk, but with a big belly of an almost full-term pregnancy and a heavy bucket, it’s a challenge in this temperature. The sun is high in the sky, sometimes a small cloud floats by. With a piece of cloth in her other hand she dabs the sweat off her forehead while walking

‘Stay close to me, sweetie. I don’t want you to fall into the sewer,’ she calls after Geraldy, but he walks ahead of her taking large steps, and doesn’t look back.

The sewer is a naturally formed water flow that once started out as drainage for the waterfall that comes out of the mountains beyond. The water first flows into a small lake and then splits into several streams. One of these runs near the street where the house of Ladymia and Jean stands. No one in this neighbourhood has their own sewer or toilet. People usually relieve themselves using a bucket, which is emptied into the open sewer. Some neighbours have built a cabin with a hole in the ground, or to place the bucket in, but there is no space in Ladymia and Jean’s house for that yet.

With a big swing Ladymia empties the bucket, and the dark watery mass of excrement drops down for more than a metre. Rats run undisturbedly through the sewer, unafraid of people or approaching dogs. It has been so dry lately that there is hardly any water left in the sewer. All the filth remains where it is and isn’t washed away. Large swarms of flies hover over the smelly waste.

‘Look,’ says little Geraldy, pointing his finger at another child.

Ladymia looks up and sees a boy of about ten years old poking a stick in the waste. Maybe he is looking for something to use or sell. Dressed only in a torn shirt and shorts, he stands barefoot on the side of the sewer. It saddens Ladymia. He can’t be looking for something edible, she thinks, while gently pushing Geraldy in the other direction to walk back.

This is exactly what she means, goes through her mind. This is what she should say to Jean when she wants to talk again about leaving Haiti. She can’t stand it anymore, the poverty surrounding her, boys like that, searching the sewer for something useful. It could have been her own child, or her sister’s child. They too can barely make ends meet, and at times don’t have the money to buy food. And it doesn’t look like it’ll get better any time soon now that she too is out of work.

Lost in thought, the empty bucket in her hand, she follows Geraldy back to the house, where he is playing with a small dog. Apparently it followed them from the sewer. No idea to whom the dog belongs, which is not unusual around here. Dogs are everywhere, but hardly anyone has a dog as a pet. Some rich people in the city have guard dogs. Ladymia doesn’t like dogs, they are often false and will bite you if they have the chance.

‘Remember, Geraldy. That dog won’t come into the house and we won’t feed him. He’ll have to find food elsewhere.’

Geraldy looks at his mother, laughs at her and cheerfully continues playing.

‘Mummy look, look Mummy,’ he yells excitedly and throws a ball. The dog runs after it and quickly returns it. ‘Again, again,’ he shouts.

Ladymia has to laugh despite herself. Despite all the pregnancy problems and missing her husband Jean, this makes her smile for a moment.

‘But that dog still can’t come in,’ she calls out to her son and goes to the kitchen.

Her stomach has been growling all day. They don’t have much to eat left. The little boy now gets a piece of bread and fruit from the forest twice a day, and for the rest they have been eating rice with beans and a little chicken for days. Ladymia asked her mother to do some shopping and she has brought two ripe papayas. Together they will turn them into a meal with rice. Saraphina is already busy preparing the rice. They have to make do with the small kitchen, but Ladymia does not complain. She is happy that her mother is here and that she will stay for the next two weeks to help out.

The women have been working on the meal for less than five minutes when Ladymia feels her belly starting to contract. She recognizes this feeling. A wave of warm amniotic fluid flows down her legs onto the wooden kitchen floor. She holds on to the small sink. A new world citizen will present himself, the birth has started.

‘Careful my child, come with me,’ Saraphina says and takes Ladymia to the bed in the small bedroom. It’s stifling, dark and full of clutter. Not an ideal nursery, but there is no other choice.

‘Lie down and try to relax,’ she says to her daughter and helps her onto the bed.

As a skilled midwife Saraphina takes charge and after a smooth delivery of barely two hours she hands Ladymia a beautiful baby. It’s a little girl, and it looks like everything is fine.

Exhausted, Ladymia lies on the bed, holding her daughter close. She is delighted with the birth of this miracle and caresses the little girl’s head. She softly kisses her daughter and sings a Haitian welcome song, as is done at the birth of a child.

As soon as the little girl starts crying, she latches the baby on to her breast. After a few unsuccessful attempts, the baby manages to drink. Meanwhile Ladymia looks at her daughter with a big smile on her face, as if she is in love with her.

‘Where’s Geraldy?’ she asks her mother.

‘He’s playing with the children next door. I’ll go and get him in a minute so he can see his new sister.’

A little later Saraphina comes in with little Geraldy. The boy is looking at the bed where his mother is lying, in her arms a little baby, wrapped in a piece of cloth. His sister is so small, she looks like a doll. ‘Come on over and touch her,’ his grandmother tells him.

He doesn’t really understand much about it, but he can see that his mother is happy. With his left hand he gently strokes his sister’s feet, coming out from under the cloth. He smiles from ear to ear.

‘Look,’ says Ladymia, ‘this is your sister, and you are a big brother now.’ And she reaches for her son to kiss him. Slightly ill at ease he stands at his mother’s bedside, and then Grandma takes him outside to play again.