A few years ago, Little Haiti was recognized as an official neighborhood by the city of Miami. Although this was supposed to ensure the preservation of the neighborhood’s culture, small business owners have complained that real estate developers are pushing them out and raising rent. To make matters worse, the Magic City Innovation District is under development; the project will occupy 33 acres of land in Little Haiti. While the project intends to increase tourism and create new jobs, these jobs will require skills that locals may not have. This, along with continued increase in property value can potentially drive the community further into poverty and people out of their homes.
The short story follows Mama, a Haitian woman who the community looks up to, and her account of the Magic City Development being yet another storm coming to destroy Haitian people.
"Everybody calls me Mama. I lived in the same home for 51 years before Matthew took it away from me. As I stood on what used to by my front porch, tears and raindrops became one. Watching my childhood drift away, I had no choice but to move to Miami. I did not expect to hear the “Bonswa!” and “Kijan ou ye!” greetings or smell the mushroom rice and banan coming from Mache Aiysen every Saturday morning. I made my famous griot and pikliz for my neighbors. I had my doubts about coming to America, but mwen santi m’lakay. There was even an annual Rara celebration. This was now home.
But now I was faced with a new Matthew. A luxury apartment building that houses 5,000 people. For the second time, my memories were drifting away. Mwen pa kapab anko! These new people aren’t even Haitian! They don’t value us! These people scoff at us when they see us, and whisper about how “out of fashion” our clothes look. They’ve replaced some of our favorite restaurants with their fancy American diners and steakhouses. Not to mention, they don’t care about our traditions. Our Rara processions are “too disruptive to traffic”, so we are no longer allowed to have them in the streets of our own community. 51 years ago, Matthew erased my past. I will not let this Matthew erase my future. If he thinks he can change the way we do things around here, wap kon Jorge. Veye Zo!"
But now I was faced with a new Matthew. A luxury apartment building that houses 5,000 people. For the second time, my memories were drifting away. Mwen pa kapab anko! These new people aren’t even Haitian! They don’t value us! These people scoff at us when they see us, and whisper about how “out of fashion” our clothes look. They’ve replaced some of our favorite restaurants with their fancy American diners and steakhouses. Not to mention, they don’t care about our traditions. Our Rara processions are “too disruptive to traffic”, so we are no longer allowed to have them in the streets of our own community. 51 years ago, Matthew erased my past. I will not let this Matthew erase my future. If he thinks he can change the way we do things around here, wap kon Jorge. Veye Zo!"
Written by Jheanelle Miller
