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Leaving Haiti was like dying. We could not take our possessions with us.On the eve of our departure, we gave away our kitchen table, thetablecloth, the wooden spoons, the dishes (even the good ones), and theclay jugs that kept our drinking water cool. Manman parceled out ourclothes, our shoes, every last grain of rice, sugar, and salt we possessed.She gave away our ironing board, the iron, our pillows, the sheets on thebed, the bed itself. Manman said we wouldn’t need those old things. Shesaid we would have new lives and new possessions to go with them. When the plane landed in JFK finally, and the cruel man at customs did theunthinkable, Manman’s joy curdled like milk under the noonday sun. Hersecret had been exposed. Something within her started to run backwards,running and howling like a child lost in dense woods. She’d made amistake. Now that she was at the finish line, she wanted out of the race.She wanted to give the Consul his visas back and return to the island. Butit was already too late.