Before I go Haiti, everybody dey ask me one same question

Frantzdy Pierrot (Frantzdy Pierrot) talk one thing after training. This thing no be about football—even though he be Haiti national team striker, dey play for club for France, be one of the few people wey fit represent Haiti for international field. He talk: 'Every time I go back Haiti, the customs officer for Port-au-Prince airport know my mama. No be because of football—because she dey sell banana bread for street outside airport.'

I start from this thing. No be because e be about football, but because e open another entrance for Haiti immediately: one entrance wey no be defined by travel warning, but by memory of returning home and everyday toughness.

Haiti dey for Caribbean, share Hispaniola island with Dominican Republic. E be one of the poorest countries for West Hemisphere, for past few years e don suffer political trouble, gang fight and natural disaster wey come together. Most countries for 2025 dey write one same thing for travel advice for Haiti: 'No go.' But Haiti also be the first independent republic for world wey black slave uprising build. This country declare e own existence for 1804 behind the stone wall of Citadelle Laferriere (Citadelle Laferriere)—more than 200 years later, that castle still dey.

The moment wey I reach Port-au-Prince (Port-au-Prince) no be fine. For airport hall, Kompa (Kompa) music dey burst from old speaker—that rhythm wey mix African drum beat and Caribbean melody, make you want move your shoulder without thinking. Two small children dey squeeze among people wey dey collect luggage, help me carry bag—no be because of kindness, but because dem hope for tip. The wet heat dey choke pass the tarmac outside. True talk: first impression of Haiti no be romantic. But I decide no to make e fine nor make e ugly, just record.

As I dey travel north along coast road, pass dry bush and occasional roadside market, Cap-Haïtien (Cap-Haïtien) appear for horizon. Citadelle Laferriere (Citadelle Laferriere)—the biggest fortress for West Hemisphere—dey squat for top of 900-meter mountain, like one stone beast. The mountain road wey go reach am so steep, the breath of horse dey louder than bell. After I reach top, I dey pant and hold the 200-year stone wall, one local guide wey dey beside me talk: 'You know, nobody ever attack this castle. E too big, nobody get courage to come.' For empty ground for foot of mountain, children dey play football. The field get red and blue line like Haiti flag—put one national monument and one everyday football match inside same picture. This be the real rhythm of Haiti story.

Jacmel (Jacmel) be city wey dey made of paper pulp and paint—e carnival mask be the most complex art for whole Caribbean, and the craftsmen wey make dem, most of dem dey live for house wey no get electricity. One paper pulp mask craftsman dey squat for door, dey work. The mask for e hand get half smile, half roar—lion mane turn to human teeth, bird feather mix with African pattern. 'For carnival, everybody wear mask,' e talk, 'but under mask na the real Haiti. There dey fear, dey anger, and dey rhythm wey fit make you dance till morning. Haiti people no dey wear only one mask.' I remember Wilde-Donald Guerrier (Wilde-Donald Guerrier)—Haiti national team winger, wey walk from south coast of Port-à-Piment (Port-à-Piment) go reach Europe field. E life path be like Jacmel mask: half na suffering, half na light wey make world must look.

The smell of Griot (Griot)—fried pork piece with hot pickle (pikliz)—dey spread three mile from roadside stall. The madam be woman wey dey around sixty years, wear one faded apron for waist, see me dey take picture, smile and add two more piece of meat for my plate: 'Eat more, you look like you need am.' The hotness of Pikliz (Pikliz) no less than any Asian hot sauce—Haiti people use hotness to handle heat, handle poverty, handle all problem wey no fit solve by complaint. Inside the oil pot of Griot (Griot), inside the Kompa (Kompa) music for street corner, inside the speed of market woman wey dey peel beans, I see something wey I no fit describe with word pass 'toughness'.

One night before I leave Haiti, I dey for balcony of one hotel for Port-au-Prince (Port-au-Prince), dey look small light for mountain far away—no be street light, na candle and kerosene lamp, na everyday thing for area wey get no electricity. I remember the cold words for travel warning—'high crime rate', 'infrastructure no enough', 'no advise to go'. These statements no be wrong. But if you only read these statements, you no go know how Haiti people fit make the hottest pickle for whole Caribbean; you no go know why the stone of Citadelle Laferriere (Citadelle) no fall for 200 years; you no go know why mama of Pierrot (Pierrot) dey sell banana bread for outside airport, and twenty years later, e son go kick the name of Haiti enter world sight for international field.

Come back to wetin Pierrot (Pierrot) talk for end of interview: 'Haiti flag dey write—Unity be strength. When I be small, I no understand. Now every time I wear national team jersey, I remember my mama wey dey sell bread for street. That no be give up. That be Haiti way—for bus stop wey bus no go come, build your own stall.'