Growing Up Haitian in Black Miami: A Narrative in Three Acts
Jemima Pierre
Abstract
It is early afternoon and I am in the second of the three white limousines filled with family members at the head of a long funeral procession. We are slowly making our way on the Palmetto Express way (Highway SR 826) to the Vista Memorial Gardens in Miami Lakes. Barely able to contain my grief, I fix my eyes on the road outside. It is then that I realize that our entire side of the Palmetto Expressway had been closed off-with ramp entry after ramp entry blocked by escort police on motorcycles-in an effort to accommodate the massive procession of cars. Somehow, the eighty-plus Haitian pastors on the stage at Bethel Evangelical Baptiste Church, the large contingent of officials representing the national office of the Church of the Nazarene, or the hundreds of people that attended my father's funeral, did not surprise me as much as the closing of that entire side of the Palmetto Expressway. At that moment, looking out at the long car procession, I understood the importance of this church community, my community. I also came to terms with the significance of my father's legacy in Miami and, in particular, its Haitian community.