Lucky me

There’s a thing called survivor’s guilt. This means you feel bad or guilty being the fortunate who escaped an unfortunate situation. Meanwhile, your loved ones are still in the shackles of said situation. I was born in Les Cayes, Haiti. This is the countryside of Haiti. You may also call this a suburb which is located 4 hours outside of the city and capital, Port-Au-Prince. At 1 year old, my family and I moved to this city. We lived in a house in which we rented a room.

The four of us lived together – mom, dad, me, and Junior. My parents took Junior in because his parents struggled to provide for him. He lived with us since I was a baby and moved with us to Port-Au-Prince. Junior acted as another guardian of me. He was also like a helper in the home. You could say he worked for us while he lived with us. Many chores and house responsibilities were assigned to him by my parents.

Junior was like my big brother. He was roughly 10 years older than me. While he would babysit me when my parents weren’t around, we would also play games in the house all the time. We would play card games, sports, and even re-enact scenes from comedy films together. He was the first friend I ever had. While I was an only child, I truly believed Junior was my brother. I lived with him, saw him every day, and played with him every day. Whenever I would hear my mom say she had one child, I would interrupt and say, “No, you have two kids! Don’t forget about Junior.” She would play along but eventually she told me the truth. That’s when I learned that Junior was adopted and that we were not blood related.

Unbeknownst to me as a child, Haiti was not the easiest or safest place to live in. I’ve heard stories about how my parents struggled for food and resources growing up and how my grandparents struggled taking care of them. The common issue of poverty in Haiti is unlike anything I’ve ever seen or heard of. The dangers that have existed here can be quite scary as well. One day, my cousin was leaving the bank and a bunch of men turned up and started firing their weapons. Thankfully, he got in his car and escaped unharmed.

I was able to escape many hardships of Haiti as I moved to the U.S. with my father at 5 years old. Lucky me. My mom stayed in Haiti with Junior. Every summer my dad and I would visit my mom in Port-Au-Prince. Junior would always be there, and we’d pick up like I never left. The brotherhood continued.

One summer, my dad and I went to visit my mom, but something was different this time. Junior wasn’t there. I asked my mom what had happened, and she said she moved him back to Les Cayes, the countryside in Haiti. I would soon learn that Junior had gotten into a conflict at school, and someone was looking for him. They had tried to follow him home, but Junior was able to get away from this person.

When Junior got home, he told my mom what had happened. The person following him had made threats. For these reasons, my mom moved him back to Les Cayes. She couldn’t keep Junior at home anymore. She had to move him out of the city. Junior was now living in Les Cayes. I would no longer see my best friend.

Survivor’s guilt is when you feel guilty for having escaped an unfortunate situation, but someone close to you didn’t get that opportunity. I was now living in the U.S., the land of opportunity. I was here for a better life than what Haiti could offer. Junior on the other hand, got stuck in the trenches. This was now especially the case as Junior didn’t live with my mom anymore. While we would still support him from afar, it wasn’t the same. Living with my mom in Port-Au-Prince, food was never an issue, and he was well taken care of. Now living with his family again in Les Cayes, it wasn’t the same. I had even learned that Junior had lost a lot of weight, simply because resources were scarce.

Lucky me. I was now residing in the U.S., with access to nearly the world. Meanwhile, Junior had to worry about his next meal every day. This is a tale of two men, born in the same country, raised in the same city, but ended up on two paths that could not be more different. We were like brothers. Junior was now struggling for food, housing, education, and just to survive. He had asked my mom to move back in with her in Port-Au-Prince, but my mom didn’t want to compromise his safety. So, she declined. Meanwhile, I ended up attending university in New York and traveling the world. Lucky me.

While Junior was no longer living with my mom in Haiti, we still supported him from afar. We were just unable to completely alleviate the pressures he would experience. Eventually my mom would move to the U.S., and I would then be living with both parents. Still, my parents kept in touch with Junior and helped him as best as they could.

Junior and I briefly spoke almost a decade ago. He had reached out for some help with his circumstance, but I was unable to provide that. I even ended up cutting communication from him at the time as I didn’t want that pressure. I was trying to figure my own life out.

Even today I’m not able to help Junior. I wish I could go to Haiti, take him out and bring him near me. I wish I could alleviate him of the worry of food, water, and electricity. First world problems are what I think about. But knowing that my brother is struggling bothers me. The reasons for our split in the beginning are unbeknownst to me. Why did a bad situation have to occur and cause Junior to move away from me? Why did our paths end up so different? I’m grateful for my life, but I haven’t forgotten about his.