Haiti, Forgive me Anonymous

There is nothing quite as extraordinary as witnessing a Haitian sunset. Watching as the sky folds itself to form a dichotomy of colors that bleed into the horizon. If I climb a roof high enough, or stand on a hill tall enough, it looks like the whole world is made up of a skyline of trees.

There is nothing quite as extraordinary as eating a fresh mango, right off the tree. Sneaking down to my neighbor’s backyard with my sister in tow, ripping a mango right off the branch and racing back before we’re caught. The juices run down our chins, run through our fingers, as we hurry to finish before our mother grows suspicious.

There is nothing quite as extraordinary as fresh Haitian coffee. The roast, darker than anything I’ve ever seen, brewed right in front of our house as my aunt sells cup-fulls in the morning. As I steal a cup, I hurry down the trash covered hill to walk two miles in order to take a taxi to bring me to school. There is nothing quite as extraordinary as living right beneath a candy store, as doing laundry-by hand- in the dead of night, with my uncle telling stories while my cousins succumb to sleep.

There is nothing quite as gut-wrenching as seeing Haitian children, their skin sunken deep with malnutrition, mouths...