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By Guithele Ruiz-Nicolas |
Florida, May 22 2005: My parents emigrated from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, in the 1960s after finding out that one of my father's cousins, an army colonel, had been assassinated. Fearing for the safety of the family during the regime of Francois "Papa Doc" Duvalier, my parents moved to New York City with my three younger brothers, and left my two sisters and I in a boarding school.
Five years later, we joined our parents and brothers in Brooklyn. Unlike the life I'd known in Haiti, there were no nannies here to take care of the younger children; no one to cook our meals, wash our clothes; no one to take us to school.
Our parents expected us to take care of our younger siblings, start dinner before they got home, do the laundry on weekends. I did not like it one bit and felt that life was too hard, that it was no longer carefree -- particularly because my father worked two jobs and my mother did a lot of overtime at a factory. Prior to the move, my father had been an attorney and my mother an elementary schoolteacher.
As the eldest daughter, I was actively involved with running the household and helping to raise five siblings.
I missed my "old" life in Haiti. I missed my friends and, for many years, I wished my parents had left me in Haiti at the boarding school until I was older. It took me several years to meet new friends, do things that teenagers do, and truly appreciate the life that my parents provided for me.
The hardest part was the isolation I felt from not speaking English. Because my brothers arrived here at a very young age, their primary language at home was English. They would have conversations that we, the girls, would not fully understand.
This was even worse at school. I did not have English for Speakers of Other Languages programs in those days to attend and had great difficulty catching up with schoolwork. In the classroom, whenever called upon to read out loud, I would feel my stomach sink because I knew I would become the subject of ridicule because of my strong accent and inability to correctly pronounce the words.
The best thing that happened to me came later, when I got to attend Riverdale Country School, a small preparatory school. Because my father taught French there, I was offered a full four-year scholarship.
Despite a challenging curriculum and competitive environment, somehow I blossomed. Classroom sizes were very small, and the teachers and students did not see my language challenges as a disability. They were encouraging and willing to help me.
I had several tutors, baby-sat for some of the teachers and had many friends. Life was good.
After graduating, I managed to get a scholarship for the small, private Briarcliff College. My parents had predetermined that I would become an interpreter and ultimately work for the United Nations. Consequently, my first two years of college were for my parents and not for me. I did not do as well as they would have liked, and ultimately stopped in 1976 after an associate degree. That was also the year I got married.
I went back to school three years later for a bachelor degree because I realized that, although I was working, professional growth would be impossible without a four-year degree.
The second time around, I knew I wanted to major in communications -- and that I would have to do it without my parents' financial assistance.
My goal was to obtain my degree in two years, before my son was old enough for first grade. Most importantly, I had to maintain at least a 3.0 grade point average.
Accomplishing this goal really made me see life differently. I realized that with God all things are possible, however we must be willing do our part. I still don't know how I managed at the time as a single mother, having a full-time job and taking 18 credits per term.
I also realized how blessed I was to have such a strong family and their support.
My worst transition was the one from New York to Florida. My parents relocated to North Miami in 1981. In light of my father's multiple strokes and poor health in the mid-1980s, I decided to move closer to my parents and relocated to Pembroke Pines in 1986.
During my first two years in Florida, I missed the "melting pot" feel that New York was known for. It seemed everyone "fit in" there, and it was not uncommon for others to take a newcomer under their wing and mentor them.
My move to Florida was much more of a cultural shock to me than my move to New York. It took me a few years to get fully acclimated. I realized early on that many from my new surroundings did not quite understand and were not accepting of the new group of immigrants from Haiti. I felt very sad about their plight, and the worst part was that I really did not know how to help or make it easier for them.
I finally began to really enjoy my new surroundings a few years later, while working for the Urban League of Broward County. Not only did I feel I was helping those in need, but I also had the opportunity to meet numerous professional colleagues, who later remained very close friends. It was also exciting to see how quickly changes in Broward County were coming to fruition, such as expanded roadways, theaters and economic growth. I felt very privileged to see how the community changed and to be part of the process.
My nationality was never an issue for me when I was growing up in New York City or during the time I went to college. I began to think about becoming a U.S. citizen after moving to Florida. Often, people would refer to me as a "hybrid," simply because my compatriots think I am too Americanized and native-born Americans would often say I am different. The most important thing is that I view myself as a Haitian-American who feels blessed to have gone through my immigrant experience.
To new arrivals, I would say that learning the language is key. I strongly recommend enrolling in an ESOL class at a church or community school, and finding what resources are available to get a job, health care for children, and other such help that can make the transition a lot better. Catholic Charities, Minority Development & Empowerment Inc. and Hispanic Unity are good organizations to start with.
One can never fit into a preconceived mold, in accordance to what others think of you. Whether people think I am a "hybrid" or "different," I would not change anything.
I am a human being first, and my experiences have made me who I am today. Life is a journey, and as I travel this road, I can only strive to be the best human being that I can be. I also feel a responsibility to teach the younger generation that no matter what adversity falls their way, they can overcome it if they try hard.
The occasional "My Story, A New Life" features people from outside the United States who have established themselves successfully in South Florida.