Bittersweet

He moved from Haiti to the Dominican Republic in search of a better life. He heard stories of more jobs and better pay. He made the choice to come here “under the wire.” If deciding to immigrate in order to feed your family can be called a choice. Once in the country, he found a sugar cane plantation that promised more money and better benefits than the others nearby. If $2 for a long day in the sun can be considered good money or a tin shack with a metal bed frame can be a benefit. They tore up his papers when he got there, so in addition to being illegal in this country, he no longer belongs to Haiti, either. He belongs to his boss, to his job, to sugar cane.

He starts his day without breakfast. Between the unfair wages and the plantation store’s inflated prices, there simply isn’t enough money for three meals a day. Sometimes he and his family gnaw on sugar canes to fill their stomachs. He works tirelessly in the field all day. Injuries from flying machetes and canes are frequent. Medical care is minimal. Sick or well, he must work every day to keep his family alive. The owner doesn’t value his life; there are plenty of workers that can replace him.

They were raised on this batey, one of many Haitian sugar cane settlements in the Dominican Republic. Born to Haitian parents without papers, they have no birth certificates, no identity. They are citizens of no country. Without Dominican citizenship, they will never be allowed an education. They will never know a home outside the batey. They will follow in the footsteps of their parents. They will marry sugar cane workers and try to stretch a little rice into sufficient sustenance for their husbands and children. Like their mothers, they will try to plant a small garden, and the overseers will chop them all down right before they see fruit. Their adulthood will be marked by the same poverty as their youth, but the burdens of reality will replace the hopeful and carefree spirit of childhood.

According to the long-standing residents of the community, our Doulos staff was the first group to visit this village. When we arrived, they were hesitant, scared. But as they realized that we were interested in learning about life in the batey and the truth about sugar, they drew near and told us. They did not complain or seek pity, but they admitted that their lives are tough. Yet they somehow found gratitude, insisting that they would be worse if they had stayed in Haiti.

Afterwards, we brought out water filters and began to teach how to clean and use them. One was distributed to each family, and as the mothers listened intently to our instructions, the children posed for our cameras, eager to be the stars of as many photos as possible and admire their images in the digital result.

As we pulled away from the batey in our plush charter bus, waving at the emaciated barefoot  children, I wondered what hope there was for change. And with my native country being the largest importer of Dominican sugar, I felt responsible for the injustices yet powerless to resolve them.

Why must this be the plight of so many immigrants around the world?

See more photos from the batey.