Mami Resting in Little Haiti Miami FL, November 2023
My natural hair does not like heat and humidity, but my skin does. The minute I hit it I turn into a rotisserie chicken. I don't need foundation or concealer in tropicalia, but sunscreen sure. Miami sun is no joke, even in late autumn.
I hadn't been there in 4 years to the day since I went back home to CA. That was an arduous trip - four days alone cross country through the Deep South along the 10, north to the 40, and across the Texas plains. From the 40 I skirted through southern Oklahoma, New Mexico and Arizona until I reached the Bay. I slept for an entire day after that trip; a bit disoriented having been away, yet transformed, after a few years.
I always liked the romanticism of the rambler; the traveler in exile.
I have a tendency to be like that. I make a decision, roll the dice, and take a chance. The intention is the first step. The details I work out along the way. I feel at most free with thought, music, and the road.
I was home just three months when the pandemic hit and everything flipped on a dime. I remember feeling humble and fortunate that I was home while Florida went down in flames without functional leadership.
That was my issue with the state itself - its politics and archaic infrastructure. I gave it a few nicknames: Fucking Florida, The Wild East, and Banana Republic. I used to joke that city and state government were likely run by oligarchs and cartel. El hombre con el maletín. It was Miami character I was attracted to - the Caribbean food, the music, the abundance of colored people, and its beaches. The light and darkness of the region is very different than the West. Part of Miami's charm is that it doesn't feel or look much like an American city.
I had originally planned to visit an old friend for the holiday, but he turned out to be a bad trip human. I diverted to Miami to visit good friends there. I spent my visit having good conversation over savory Haitian food and Indian fusion. I strolled deserted streets in the rain and uncrowded beaches. Miami is chill this time of year until the spectacle of Art Basel begins.
I arrived Thursday afternoon, Eff the Pilgrims Day. It was hot, but not unbearable. The metro had changed with new stops and cars with mounted monitors that announced the next. Look at Miami coming into the 21st century. I got off at Government City Center, which was my stop for a long time.
That section of downtown is deserted during weekends and holidays. It's a bit melancholy and eerie, like the end of days. I imagine a horde of zombies turning a corner. City Center is not well designed to get in and out of - like a brutalist maze. Street people take shelter or shade under walkways and in doorways. I could have taken the 2 metrobus through Overtown and Little Haiti to where I was headed, but I decided to take an Uber. To my chagrin, the price of a one-way ride had jumped over 200% from four years ago. Damn.
I had booked an Airbnb in Little River, a district northeast of Little Haiti. It was a bungalow house obscured by trees and foliage out front. The charm of the place was its massive backyard jungle of banyan, Spanish moss, and palmettos. It was a small urban farm with chickens, roosters, pigs, goats, turkeys, and stray cats. I really enjoyed my early morning coffee in the jungle garden.
I'm always amused by hosts in predominantly black neighborhoods and the language they use. It's as if they're warning a white person. This may look like a low-income neighborhood, but...verbage. In America, low-income always puts the image of a colored person in someone's head. I prefer staying in places with character and interesting design around the way. There's no pretense. I'm not much a woman of modern contemporary and opulence. I like the beautiful, busted old bones of a place.
I responded to my host that I used to live in the neighborhood and Liberty City closer to midtown. I also tell them that I've spent time in Haiti. Americans, even in Miami, rarely travel to Haiti unless they're diplomats, aid workers, or missionaries.
I suppose there's something revolutionary and liberating that in some places, my color is like a path to belonging. I can disappear into a people and a place. Haiti was like that for me. Strolling around Little River in the rain, I looked like anyone else. It is a simple thing I enjoy. Listening to the sound of the rain and roosters, the scent of the sea air.
I wondered if I should move back. Miami is such a trippy, end of the world place. In some ways it's is easier than CA, where order, social services, and processes that function more like a country than a state. In Miami, one can just make shit up and get by. The politics and economics of the state are prohibitive to me, even without income tax. The state's two sources of revenue are property tax and tourism.
My friend Momo mentioned inflation had hit Miami the hardest. I looked it up and he was right. The MIA was hit at 8.83% index, above New York, Chicago, and San Diego. San Francisco didn't make the list because it is notoriously, chronically expensive anyway. Beach Boys and tech barbarians in those slim Cole Haan oxfords with their three capitalist figures.
Momo bought a house in Broward county about two years ago. Getting there by Uber was over 30 minutes and a bit of a grip. He lived in a subdivision built in the 1990s and GPS navigated to another neighborhood separated by a canal. Twice I had to negotiate the ride offline in cash while Momo talked shit about my sense of direction and GPS literacy.
Bruh, what the fuck do I know about Broward County?
I swear, even as good friends we low key squabble like old married people. Usually men just do my bidding and shut the fuck up. Momo holds me accountable to my trip outs. This is unusual.
His family put together a big Haitian dinner of barbeque and baked chicken, grangou ( a rice dish ), baked ham, mashed potatoes, and Haitian mac and cheese; a dish I ascertained is the secret to the universe.
I love black people. The way we get down during a holiday is self-serve from the feast. We're always working, so friends and fam show up at intervals based on their schedules. We make ourselves a plate, kick back, and chill. It's the cultural opposite of the American pastoral scene of people gathered at the dinner table. Paper plates remove the hassle and extra work of washing endless dishes.
Momo's mother said she was happy I was there. That translated into her approval. This is how charming Haitian people can be. If a Haitian mama doesn't like you, you're out! Momo's cousins Karen and Peter came later into the night. At one point, Karen was joking with Momo in kreyol and I giggled.
' Did you understand what I said? ' she asked.
'Wi.' I said. ' Kouman ou ye, cheri? Sak pase nan lavi ou?'
' Whaaat?! You speak such beautiful English and kreyol without an accent. How is this possible?'
I have an affinity with languages - my grammar isn't always spot on, but my sound can be. I imitate the sound of native speakers. I learned that in Central America. When I heard expats speak Spanish with an American accent it didn't sound melodic and fluid to me. I listened to Guatemalans and Panamanians for the sound. A linguist told me that I have an inner ear frequency that can process sound and language easily.
Friday was beach day and fortunately the metrobus was free through the holidays. I took a short ride on the 79 to Miami Beach and chilled by the sea for a few hours. It is a beautiful part of the landscape with white sand and bright blue-green water. I've always loved the water and the feeling of my body in water.
' Can you swim?' I asked Momo on an excursion to Lake Okeechobee.
' A bit. Not really.' He said.
' Ma took us for lessons at the Y when I was 5 or 6.'
' That's white people shit.' He said. ' They're into swimming lessons. You're doing great, honey!'
I shook my head. ' That's messed up. Yes, my white mom gave me swimming lessons so that I would survive in water.'
We both laughed.
Lake Okeechobee was a lovely place. It is a natural wonder in central Florida. We saw hawks and seagulls and it's also a manatee habitat. We stopped at a bridge that traversed a canal to a walking trail. Momo stopped the car short just before the bridge.
' What are you doing?' I asked. ' It's a bridge for cars. You drive over it.'
' Hella sketch.' He said. ' What if we fall in?'
' Momo, it's a metal bridge that goes up to let boats pass through the channel. It's also engineered for vehicles.'
Momo is brilliant, but not much of a naturalist. Going out to Okeechobee I wore surf shorts, flip flops, and a t-shirt, like I was home on the Russian River. He wore a print shirt, pants, clean shoes, and cologne. He looked like he was going to work on a casual Friday. It was a negotiation getting him out to Okeechobee at all.
Naturescapes and white Floridians? Nah, bruh.
Fair enough. I assured him I was thug-adajcent should any Florida man shit go down. Wakanda!
Momo sighed, manned up, and drove over the bridge. We parked and walked the trail at the lake's edge to an observation tower that was about 20 feet up. At the top, the grating was cross-hatched with open slats. We could see straight down. We were both taken off guard and a bit off balance. Momo walked to the center and anchored onto a beam.
' I can't look down!'
' Me either!'
The view of Okeechobee at sunset was beautiful, but we were both distracted by the height and our perception in space. I couldn't move further out to the center and stayed close to the stairs. Back down on the trail, I took a series of headshots for Momo to use in his art practice.
That was a nice day.
I also spent time with Dimitry, an artist and good friend with the coolest style. When he picked me up at the Coconut Grove metro station, we both cracked up. We were wearing identical black and beige, a bonafide sign of the elder Gen X with stylish tendencies. We may not be in our 30s anymore, but we still look cool.
Dimitry invited me to join friends for a birthday celebration dinner he had delayed for a over a month. Dimitry works as an associate professor for a design incubator at FIU. As we headed out to dinner, I took a faceplant in the darkness of his driveway.
' All I heard was a yelp.' He said, ' Alas....another one taken out by the jungle.'
I took a good bang to my knee and a scrape. Nothing a little booze and an ice pack couldn't cure. What is travel without a little mishap? I imagine myself to be like a suave gladiator, but in reality I'm more like a muppet at war with gravity and equilibrium.
We gathered at a restaurant in Dadeland. When Miamians say Dadeland it sounds to me like a western called Deadland. It's not a neighborhood or an incorporated part of town, but a sprawling shopping and dining district of South Miami. The architecture and layout of Dadeland remind me of Corte Madera or Walnut Creek. Everything is clean and new. No one walks in Dadeland. Everyone drives in Deadland.
We ate a place called Ghee, an Indian fusion restaurant. Each dish we tried was delicious and savory, over lively conversation about art and life. The gathering was planned by a former student of Dimitry's who made chic metal jewelry - pieces cut into contiguous geometric shapes. Dimitry wore a piece of hers regularly that fit over two fingers.
The designer and her husband met while studying in Japan. I liked hearing their story about he crashed a karaoke party and tried to get her attention. There was conflict and a squabble because she had a boyfriend back in the states. Then they took a stroll on a bridge under the moon that lead to a declaration of love. I'm a hardcore romantic and appreciate stories of how lovers met, unexpectedly. Love is the most important thing, I think. Without love, beauty, and integrity all is lost.
After dinner we went to visit another dear friend Laurencia, a dope conceptual artist and builder. She invited us to a gathering her extended family was having at their house in Pinecrest.
Pinecrest is a maze of affluent homes and lost mansions. Laurencia's family were lovely and welcomed us in for tea and sweets. The wife worked for Miami-Dade and her husband was a big time art installer for museums and collectors. From the circular driveway we walked into an open atrium entryway that lead to a cobalt blue swimming pool.
Dimitry and I paused internally with the realization that 'Wholly shit! They're rich. '
They were, but they were unaffected and genuine people with great Miami stories and progressive politics. I learned the wife had studied law at Berkeley. We sipped tea from china passed down from her aunt who had settled in El Cerrito in the 1950s.
I spent my last night at Momo's place since I was flying out of Fort Lauderdale the next morning. He's such a gentleman, he gave me his entire bedroom, which was glamorous. Why anyone would give a scrappy dame like me their bedroom is beyond me. He had a king size bed and placed fresh towels in his bathroom. The brother has Standard Hotel level hospitality going on.
I would learn I was the first person, outside of family, to stay over. In the Haitian universe that's a big deal.
In the middle of the night, Momo had an idea as we were standing outside at his front walkway gazing at the moon.
' Let's go see the full moon at the beach!'
' Say what? Right now? In the dark?'
' Yes! It's all energy. '
' I don't know about the beach at night.' I said. " I love nature, but I have issues ever since I saw Jaws as a kid. I don't go into the sea in the dark.'
' No one does.' Momo said. ' Sharks come out at night.'
' That's what I'm saying! '
I was reluctant, but my curiosity always bests my anxieties. We drove 20 minutes out to Dania Beach. The full moon hung low in the sky and was so brightly illuminated that we didn't need light. The sea shimmered under the moon like bits of silver scattered across its surface. What a beautiful sight that was.
' Let's go!' He turned and we got back on the road, passing seaside mansions with palm trees wrapped in opulent holiday lights.
' Damn!' we said in union at the 1% habitats of splendor. I can't imagine living like that. It's too ostentatious to me; too extravagant knowing that others live in struggle and poverty. Even if I was rich, I'd live in a farmhouse or a bungalow, surrounded by green, water, and woods. A place designed by Dries Van Noten with a chicken coop and chubby dogs.
I resigned to making regular visits to Miami, the weird end-of-the-world place with deserted streets and abandoned luxury condo developments, some made of shoddy construction, built fast and cheap that came tumbling down around people. A city where the sea encroaches upon it day by day as the world burns. Miami is a distinctly Latin-American place of kick-backs, prostitution, and corruption. It will never be a cosmopolitan city of intellectuals and poets. It wants reggaeton superstars, NFL players, and cash. It's a playground for the rich and Miami rich is quite a camp spectacle.
I like the round the way parts of town and every day people. I stopped at Sabor Tropical, a Latin cafeteria and market off NE 79th. I used to live close to Sabor and would cut through an empty lot and across the train tracks to get there.
In my hustle and flow when I lived in Miami, I once went to Planned Parenthood for my annual pap smear. Someone referred me to the Coral Gables clinic. I had a chat with a Dominican nurse practitioner there who assessed my labs.
' Miami esta la mierda.' She said. ' It's expensive and there's too many cars. Everyone is obsessed with how they look. The gringos are crazy, but they have money. I want to move to the Keys and live in my flip flops every day. My kids will start driving soon. We all have jobs in different parts of the city. That means 4 car insurance! Cono.'
' Do you ever want to go back to Santo Domingo?' I asked.
' Que no. Por que? Even if Miami is shit, I make a better living here.
My brother is a doctor there and I make more than he does. A dios, one day I hope we get to the Keys. It's a peaceful place.'
Hmmm. I never went farther than Key Largo in my time there. The next visit will include Islamorada and Key West, the very last stop at the end of a vaguely American world.
