When you think of Haiti, what comes to mind? Is it the beaches, or artist like Wyclef Jean, and Jason Derulo? For most people the thought of Haiti conjures up images of hunger and poverty. For me, it’s home. As the plane swooshed into the landing station, on that summer morning, a new feeling welled up in my chest. It might have been the mixture of excitement, and nostalgia at arriving in my parents’ homeland, or simply the dizziness from my first plane ride; either way, when my father arrived to pick me up from the airport, I was ecstatic. We soon arrived at his childhood home: a rust-red multi-unit dwelling on 20th street. As I walked through the door, beads of sweat formed across my brow. I wasn’t born in Haiti, nor did I live there for more than a year, so I was terrified to meet most of my relatives for the first time. When I walked through the doors, I was surrounded by smiling faces. I felt like the prodigal son, being welcomed home after a long journey.

Growing up in the land of key lime pie, sunshine, and oranges, I often found myself missing a home I never knew. As gloriously sunny Florida days filled with Flakey beef patties, and Cola Couronne, gave way to evenings echoing with the erratic beats of Kompa music I wistfully fantasized about what I wished was the land of my youth. I often imagined sitting under the Almond tree in my grandfather’s backyard, while sipping on a glass of freshly squeezed lime juice. I even pondered over the way I ’d and greet the neighbors that passed me by. Would I say bon après-midi, or wow them with a wholehearted Sak pase. I’ll admit at some point my nostalgic view of Haiti became my reality.

In Tennessee Williams A Streetcar Named Desire, a sense of place is often defined as a work of the imagination. Set on new Orleans’ bourbon street, the author often portrays touristic aspects of the town characterizing it as alluringly charming. As a Non-Haiti native, my nostalgic view of haiti drew me the small Island nation as well.