Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, January 2, 1993 TAG: 9301050017
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By Mark Morrison staff writer NOTE: above
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
HAITIANS' PAST CASTS SHADOW OVER NEW LIFE
For two Haitian refugees, Roanoke has offered a safe haven from likely executions in their homeland. But there is no guarantee they will be allowed to stay - and their families remain behind.LeGrand Noel didn't want to leave Haiti and come to Roanoke.
Haiti was home.
Haiti was where Noel lived with his wife and five children, a devoted family man; where he was a modestly prosperous farmer and a respected community leader.
He lived quietly and peacefully. He avoided politics.
But politics didn't avoid Noel.
Two years ago, government soldiers raided the farming community where Noel and his family, and some 570 other families lived and worked and owned their own homes just outside the Haitian capital of Port-au-Prince. The soldiers came to Noel's community because a rich landowner with political ties to the military had laid claim to the land. He said it originally belonged to his ancestors and he wanted it back.
The people refused. Some families had been there for generations.
Noel said the soldiers burned every home in the community to the ground.
Twelve people were killed.
Not long afterwards, Haiti elected a new president, Jean-Bertrand Aristide, the impoverished country's first democratically-elected leader. Aristide was disturbed by the military's tactics. He vowed to help the people rebuild their homes.
Noel said the rich landowner went into hiding.
With Aristide behind them and no military interference, the community rallied, appointed a leadership panel to spearhead fundraising and began the reconstruction. Noel was elected to one of the 12 community seats. He said he was not interested in politics at all. He just wanted his neighbors to get their homes back.
This was before the fall.
In September 1991, the military led a coup and Haiti changed overnight.
Gone was its newfound democracy. Aristide was sent into exile. And one day in May, soldiers showed up at Noel's doorstep. He and the other community leaders were under arrest, the soldiers said. There was no explanation why.
Fortunately, Noel wasn't home.
Word soon spread that the soldiers were waiting, however, and he was forced to flee, leaving his farm and his family behind. Three days later, he was on a crowded boat adrift in the Windward Passage that connects the Caribbean Sea to the Atlantic Ocean.
America lay ahead.
Bonhomme Nissage was equally apolitical.
He too was a working man - a carpenter - with a family to support.
It was his younger brother who was the radical. Although Nissage wanted democracy and voted for Jean-Bertrand Aristide, his brother was the one with a fire in his heart. And he was the one who continued the fight - even after the coup.
Much to Nissage's dismay.
Nissage often tried to caution his activist brother, who lived with Nissage and his wife and their five children in the Haitian city of Saint-Marc. Nissage worried that his brother would end up in jail. Or worse.
But he said his brother wouldn't listen.
Then last April, he was caught spreading pro-democracy, pro-Aristide handbills in Saint-Marc and promptly executed. The subsequent search of his room in Nissage's home uncovered more handbills.
Guilt by association. Nissage too was targeted as anti-government.
Again, thankfully, he wasn't home when the police came to call. He fled as well, to the waters which would lead to what his brother had wanted so much - democracy.
They left Haiti separately; on different days and different boats; strangers.
Yet, their lives now will be forever linked by the uncontrollable events that brought them together at the U.S. military base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and would lead them into a shared view of a new world in Virginia.
And an apartment in Northeast Roanoke.
Noel and Nissage were two of the lucky ones.
Approximately 38,000 Haitians fled the country following Aristide's overthrow. Of those, hundreds died on the waters of the Carribean. More than 25,000 were sent back to Haiti, according to the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service.
Noel and Nissage came to Roanoke in June, brought here by the U.S. Catholic Conference's Refugee Resettlement and Immigration Office in Roanoke. They are some of the first Haitian refugees to come to this city in about 10 years.
The Resettlement Office set them up in an apartment off Salem Turnpike, on the bus line and within walking distance of a grocery store. The office got them jobs cleaning bathrooms and offices at Community Hospital. It helped provide them with food stamps and Medicare coverage, an English tutor and other support to aide them in adjusting to life in Roanoke.
In the meantime, Noel and Nissage wait.
With the help of David Maxey, an immigration counselor with the Resettlement Office, both are preparing applications for political asylum. The applications are due in June and Maxey said Noel and Nissage must prove they are political refugees - and not economic refugees - in order to stay.
Otherwise, they could be deported back to Haiti.
Even if granted asylum, Noel, 34, and Nissage, 33, said it is unlikely the current government in Haiti will allow their families to come here. They said their families are safe and living now with relatives. Neither has encouraged their wives or children to try escaping Haiti, like they did, by boat.
It is too dangerous, they said.
Still, Nissage said he is hopeful that someday he will be reunited with his family. Despite the possibly permanent separation, he remains remarkably upbeat. He always is quick with a smile or a joke and seems to have a zest for life.
"You can't be angry every day. You can't live like that," he explained.
Nissage said he has talked with his family by telephone a few times since arriving here in June. They call him collect. He also has exchanged a handful of letters and tapes with them, delivered by other Haitians who are U.S. residents now and can travel freely to Haiti. Nissage sends money as well.
He likes Roanoke.
He said he was impressed by the trees and mountains and friendliness of the people. Also, the cold. Accustomed to a warmer climate in Haiti, he said he was not prepared for the colder weather.
Sometimes it makes him afraid, he said.
More than once, he said he and Noel have had to walk home from work when they couldn't find a ride. Neither has a car and they work until 10 p.m., when the buses have stopped running. After the 90-minute walk home from the hospital, Nissage said it felt like his ears were frozen.
He said his favorite times have been weekends when they spend time with other Haitian refugees who settled in Roanoke previously. He said it has helped him with his English, which has a long way to go. Nissage and Noel speak Creole. They were interviewed through an interpreter for this story.
The weekend gatherings often include dominos, a favorite game in Haiti.
It is also a game Noel said his roommate cheats at.
"True," Nissage admitted with a grin.
Noel is more outwardly melancholy about his resettlement.
Given the chance, he would return to Haiti if a democratic government could be restored to power. But he is cynical now that such a change will occur or that any new government would be able to withstand another coup.
So, he doubts Haiti will ever be home again.
A very religious man, Noel said he had visions years ago of coming to a place like Roanoke. "God already knew there would be a time when I would come here," he said.
And like Nissage, he too has faith that his family will eventually join him.
He prays so every Sunday. He said it helps him to pray.
"It consoles me."
Still, he said the separation has been painful. He can't listen to some of the tapes his family has sent where they talk about having to leave their home and live with relatives. Other tapes he can listen to, but often they stir him to tears.
He regrets not being able to give his family Christmas presents this year. It also is frustrating not being able to send more money home. Even with assistance from the Resettlement Office, Noel said most of the $500 he earns a month goes to living expenses.
He would prefer a better job - in farming - with better pay, but he doesn't complain. He said he likes to work and he is happy to have a job. He is happy to be here, when the alternative could have been so much worse.
It may not be home, but at least in Roanoke he said he feels safe.
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