My two and a half hour flight home from the University of Miami was not its ordinary experience. In fact, I had a quite unordinary experience that I will never let go. While on the plane, I made friends with a sweet 10 year old girl named Molenncina and her father Monnaie.
Upon analyzing Molenncina sitting to my left and Monnaie sitting to my right, everything would seem quite normal. Molenncina is sporting pink shoes and a cute, fashionable hat, while Monnaie is dressed in jeans and a simple blue shirt. If one happened to look closer though, a modestly noticeable, oddly shaped scar nudges Molenncina's right cheek, while several yellow envelopes with the title, "Legal Documents" sit comfortably on Monnaie's lap. As you must be wondering what the backstory of this situation must be, I did as well and decided to search for answers.
Warm smiles appeared with my offer of minty gum, so it was time to engage in conversation. After a few tries consisting of, "What's your name?" and "Where are you from?", I realize that the French I learned while studying abroad in Paris was about to pay off as Molenncina and Monnaie are Haitian. The first thought that comes to my mind is whether this small family was affected by the disastrous earthquake that ruined Haiti this past January. Could it be that at one time, there were more members than just a father and daughter? Could it be that a father and daughter were all that survived?
I timidly asked the father of his situation with his daughter, afraid of opening barely healed wounds. I learned from Monnaie that not only were they both in the earthquake, but sweet Molenncina received injuries to the head from the natural disaster. Unabashedly, Monnaie instructs his daughter to remove her hat and shows me a bump on the back of her head and points to the injury on her face. Molenncina gives me a look of dismay and yet acceptance. Monnaie tells me that they had spent time at a hospital in Miami since Molenncina felt unwell from her injuries. The only sound able to leave my mouth is, "Oh..", as I rewind in my mind to earlier that day as I sat in the airport terminal carelessly watching those boarding the plane first, including a smaller person in a wheeler chair. Wasn't that person also wearing a hat?
Unsure of what step to take next as hopelessness and communication barriers seem to overcome the scene, I resort to a medium of strength and communication: music. As I open my laptop and ask Molenncina what type of music she likes, she requests Creole music, which I am then embarrassed to admit that, of course, this is the one type of "world music" that I do not own. As I begin to list different well-known American artists of international fame, she shows no recognition of any of them (not even Beyonce or Rihana!). At the Clinton Global Initiative University conference that I attended a few weeks before, many discussions centered around the power and utilization of the Internet through social media, such as Facebook and YouTube, to foster societal change. To those of the Western world, this form of action is applicable, yet we wrongly assume that these freedoms and privileges are available to everybody. For Molenncina, this freedom and privilege is still dormant. She was not even quite sure how to use the laptop. Yes, this was globalization at its best. None the less, globalization could not stop us from returning to the very basics of the human voice. Molenncina sang to me about a Papillon (butterfly). No auto-tune, click-track, or mics were necessary. There was only the hum of airplane and Molenncina's soulful voice.
While still trying to figure out how to bridge barriers through an "unfamiliar technological tool" known as the laptop, Molenncina seems uncomfortable, which I assume is fatigue. With her father sound asleep, I am unexpectedly her sole guardian. After a few tries to understand why she seemed uncomfortable, the answer becomes apparent. She needs to use the restroom. As she gets ready to leave her seat and asks me to go with her, I realize that I must help her walk. Up we both went holding each others' hands down the aisle as I spoke to her softly, "It's okay girl, I got you. It's okay girl". The other children on the plane of most likely generic lives stare at the scene. We reach the plane bathroom, I close the door slightly, and give Molenncina her privacy. Once finished, we washed our hands together, Molenncina with water and soap that I showed her how to use and myself with motions and air.
Returning to our seats after more stares from the flight audience, an idea finally forms that could bridge both worlds through the instruction of positive globalization. It was time to take pictures and make a short video together with the beloved Apple application, Photo Booth. Molenncina catches on quickly to the process of taking a picture through the laptop camera, so the fun kicks off. Smiles, Shinny teeth, tongues, pouts, and squinted eyes take over. With a few photos past us, it was time to try making a video.
At first, I am not sure whether Molenncina understands what we're doing, yet once the connection is made, she turns into a hit singer producing her debut music video. All giggles, we get into the music together. Nobody on the plane seems to mind our rambunctious behavior, including her father who is still sound asleep, unaware of the innocent humor he is providing to our video. After completing the video, we watched it over again, her hand holding mine.
The plane eventually landed and it was time to say bye. After an exchange of e-mails, my obvious lack of knowledge of how to brake a wheelchair (don't worry, nobody was hurt in the process), one more bathroom run in the airport- which again attracted an audience especially since she decided to scratch the wheelchair and hold my hands instead, we said, "au revoir et bisous!". Walking away, I already missed them both. The next morning, I receive a call from an unknown Miami number, which turns out to be Molenncina's social worker asking if I could send the pictures and the short video of Molenncina and myself to her so that she could e-mail it to their family in Haiti. As well, the social worker told me their full story:
Monnaie was a math professor in Haiti. Molenncina had lived as a healthy child in Haiti. The earthquake came along and almost killed Molenncina, known as a "miracle child" for surviving her injuries. Now Monnaie and Molenncina were being relocated to Portland, Oregon to start a new life that was not necessarily chosen by either. At that point, they did not have a TV, radio, or Internet in their new home.
My savta (grandmother) always says, "Only health and happiness matter". Though Molenncina is still on her way to recovery and there might not be any guarantee that she will be able to care for herself on her own someday, she has the courage to seize upon what makes her happy. She is a 10 year old child who accepts her circumstances, yet is unwilling to accept a minutiae role in life. She will sing, she will perform, she will laugh, and she will make friends. As well, she will demand to walk on her own without the wheelchair in front of an audience, unafraid of their pitying thoughts or the decision to ask another for assistance.
Here's our video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eafYnHRxwYw .
