Whatever...Love Is Love (9 page)

I believe that if that group I worked with had not fallen in love with each other the way we did, and experienced what we did, together, most of us would have never gone back. Even I, who had such strong feelings for Haiti before the earthquake, may have stayed away. It was our love for the country, but also our dedication to each other, that kept us in her grasp.

There were many incarnations of relationships in our group—romantic, business, or platonic—that shifted and changed constantly in those years after the earthquake. We all fought and laughed and drank and made love and broke up and made up and raged and screamed at each other and at the country that seemed to have been forgotten by much of the world. I think when she started to see she was losing one of us to a simpler life away from the island, Haiti created chaos and drama between the groups to keep us there. From the hopeful, loving place where we all started, altruistic but drunk with adrenaline, we eventually ended up torn apart and displaced.

During my time in Haiti, I fell hopelessly in love with a man who became a driving force in my staying there. And I became that for him. I then developed a relationship with a woman, the beautiful Lolo, who first captivated me with her golden eyes and confident stare. Haiti was a place where emotions came rushing forward—your heart was raw and open to feeling at all times.

I met people who became dear friends, like family even. My wide array of friends included powerful Haitian artists and activists such as the incredible badass Barbara Guillaume. Barbara can call one person and within an hour the entire country will know what she said. Other friends of mine were from the well-to-do families in Haiti who had left seeking a better life, but came home to help when disaster struck. This was the case for Caroline Sada, who, once she returned after the quake, drove down to the neighborhoods of Cité Soleil and asked the pastor of the ruined church what he needed. Five years later, she and the pastor have built a school, a playground, and businesses that have transformed the community. I am in awe of these people and will be for the rest of my life.

One of the other remarkable things that happened in Haiti was the way “Hollywood folks” showed up. People often ask if the celebrities, including myself, were there for the right reasons. Were we just trying to get good press and prove to the world what great people we were? The truth is, all of the celebrities I knew who worked in the country long term were there from a place of deep compassion and a desire to make change. And they all have, in very powerful and profound ways, but all very differently.

As we began to think about how to raise awareness of the dire situation in the country, my colleagues and I did not agree on how to most effectively involve celebrities in the cause. Some said that we should just take these high-profile folks to the areas most broken and show them what needed to be fixed, have a camera on hand to capture them holding a suffering baby, and put it out to the world. And that method worked. Imagine how great a young, self-involved, and very famous musician felt when he went to Haiti for two days and held the hand of a little girl who was being operated on after a rape. He felt good, and so gave money to the organization that had helped the girl, thus bringing attention to the work the organization was doing.

Others, including myself, had a different approach. We wanted to show the world how Haitians were rebuilding their
own
country. One shining example of this was the trade and fashion show that many of the Haitian women I worked with put together. Just one year after the earthquake, they were designing, manufacturing, and distributing their goods to the world. I wanted the world to see what smart support and investment could do to help make this country stronger and more resilient. When I brought people to the country, specifically celebrities, I didn't want them to meet only the people in need. Many others were raising awareness for those people. I needed the celebrities to know Haiti's change makers and influencers, people invested in rebuilding a stronger and more resilient country, and to know that Haiti was looking forward, to the future. By focusing my efforts on celebrating the most powerful, my feeling was that we could do more to help those most in need.

This strategy was not without its challenges. It was a tense, then awful, then funny few days when I brought a couple of very kind and well-intentioned celebrities to see how Haiti was recovering a year after the earthquake. They arrived late one night to discover that their nice hotel did not serve food after 9
P.M.
Since many of us there were hardened relief workers, the thought hadn't occurred to us that maybe these two might need some additional TLC on their first night in a new country. Instead, we threw some energy bars at them with an air of “good luck and see you in the morning!” The next night, while driving in an armored car, a canister of pepper spray accidentally went off and one of the lovely celebrities was literally choking, eyes burning in pain. To her credit, she had a great sense of humor about the whole thing.

Then, after taking them to a clinic where we bathed 100 kids in the same pool, with only one towel to dry them, they were close to leaving. But things became even more tense when we took them to the mansion of the cousin of the president for a big party, with a traditional Haitian band playing. The famous folks were righteously indignant, as they had come to Haiti to hold orphaned babies, not go to parties. But the people there were talking about investment and tourism and rebuilding and had the influence to make these ideas real, and they were who I wanted these famous folks to meet. And for the Haitians who were present that night with the celebrities, they were inspired to see such famous people in their home showing concern about their country. Many said that after, they felt a renewed sense of energy to rebuild a better Haiti and to keep fighting. I like to think that after everything, the celebrities were grateful to have experienced such a range of emotions and to have seen the full array of what Haiti was.

A group of women and I started the organization We Advance. Our mission started in a tiny yellow clinic in Cité Soleil, the poorest slum in the Western Hemisphere. The neighborhood of tin shacks was like the film set of the dirtiest, most devastating place you could ever imagine, with its cesspools filled with rotten water and trash where the children bathed. Out of the “Sunshine Clinic” we put Band-Aids wherever they were needed, whether that meant giving out medicine, giving a mother food for her baby, or helping a rape victim. Eventually we realized there were never going to be enough hands or enough Band-Aids. What the women really needed and wanted was an education so that they could help themselves. That network is up and running as We Advance University, the first online educational site for women's groups all over the country. We are still struggling for funding, but it is my great hope we will stay up and running.

When we needed a break from the Sunshine Clinic, we would head to the beach in Jacmel. It is on the other side of the island from Port-au-Prince, an area that most people never see. It is paradise on earth. On our days away from the disaster of the city, we would drive through the slums, up to the heavenly mountain pass leading to a town that looked like New Orleans. With its artisans and architecture, with interesting people from all over the world, Jacmel held the promise of what Haiti could be.

On one particular weekend I drove with friends to Jacmel. I was tired from working at the clinic, my leadership skills questioned, even by myself. I was getting over a relationship that I had enjoyed, but knew had to end. As soon as we arrived at the simple but elegant hut on the beach that belonged to our hosts, I dove into the crystal blue waters with all of my clothes on. I wanted to be healed and to wash away the pain that was hanging off me from the city. We all needed to be cleansed. But the truth is, it got harder and harder to feel clean as time went by.

We all hung on as long as possible, sometimes our egos the only thing driving us to stay. Bryn later said that one of the reasons he lived in a tent for two years in Haiti while working at the hospital and building a school was because he was trying to prove that he could, to others, to himself, and to me. And what was I trying to prove? That I could make a difference? That my voice mattered? That I could convince the world to listen to the women of this great country? That I was a humanitarian?

I think if I were a true “humanitarian,” I would have stayed longer, and continued to go back even if almost everyone who I knew and loved had gone. If I were a true humanitarian by the definition—“a person who seeks to promote human welfare”—maybe I would be living in Cité Soleil now. An antonym for
humanitarian
is
selfish
. The truth was, I wanted to give relief because I also needed relief.

I tried as hard as I could to hold on. I think now that I failed miserably. I was foolish in the way I walked in Haiti, with bare feet in the slums, washing children in a dirty pool. I was rewarded with hundreds of parasites that tried to eat me alive. But would I take it back? Could I ever forget the smell, the life, the resilience, the sex, and the generosity? Never.

So no, I would not consider myself a humanitarian. Nor would I consider myself selfish. I would label myself a “human,” trying to do my best in this beautiful fucked-up world to make a difference, for this country I love, for my friends, and for myself. As they say, time does heal wounds, and Haiti has proven she is more resilient than I could have imagined.

I will be back soon, my love.

8

AM I CINDERELLA?

I
s there a “sole mate” out there for you?

On a freezing cold, snowy night in December 1992, I was walking in New York City. After a year of taking acting classes I was finally getting auditions, mostly for commercials and small plays. It was around 5
P.M.
and the snow was just beginning to hit the ground. I was excited, and said affirmations to myself for twelve blocks. (Those were the days when affirmations were becoming popular.)

“I am a big famous movie star.”

“This part is mine under divine grace.”

“I am living my dream.”

I smiled the whole way, desperately wanting my affirmations to work. My manager had explained that the audition I was headed to was for a “big Hollywood movie.” This was the most important one I'd ever been on.

When I got to the audition, there were already six other women sitting in a tiny room, waiting to be seen. I immediately became deflated. I sensed that all the other pretty blond-haired actresses had done their affirmations as well. Mine stopped working for me the minute I realized this. But I sucked it up and went into the room with the casting director and the reader.

I want to explain a little bit more about the auditioning process. When an actor goes for an audition, you often wait for hours in what feels like, and sometimes looks like, a holding cell. When your number (or name) is called, you take the long walk to the courtroom where the jury will tell you if you are good or bad. That jury will consist of a casting director, a camera person, and a reader. If you are lucky and the casting director is good, the reader will be a fellow actor who performs the scene with you as you look into a camera. But sometimes, the reader is the assistant of the main assistant who just sits there, saying the lines that come before and after yours.

This audition consisted of a scene in which my father has just died. The scene started with me speaking to my mother with a defensive tone, and ended with me breaking down in the corner as she held me. In this instance, the mother was played by a 50-year-old man who had never acted in his life, but was capable of chewing gum and drinking coffee at the same time. Regardless, I thought I did great. Even the female casting director said as much.

So I said a series of affirmations of gratitude all the way back to my tiny apartment on Christopher Street.

“I am so grateful for this opportunity to be in this movie.”

“My time has come, and so it is done.”

“I draw people toward me who help realize my dream.”

No sooner than I had opened the door, I heard the phone ringing. (I know it's hard to believe that there was a time when you actually had to be home for a phone call!) “Oh, that must be a good sign,” I thought. “They only call so quickly when they want you!”

It was my manager. The next moments are a blur, but as best I can remember he said, “Well, the casting director said, and I quote, you ‘need to go back to school and learn how to act. And don't send her on any more auditions until she does.'”

“Oh,” he added, “she called your agents to tell them, too, and they totally agree. They've fired you.”

After hanging up, I sat crying and devastated in my roach-infested apartment. Eventually, I ran down the stairs and I just started walking. By the time I got to 23rd Street, dressed in my army boots and black leather jacket, I was ranting to God in my head. “Okay, God, what are you trying to tell me? That this is it? I guess I'm not supposed to be an actress. The casting directors, my agents, they are all right. I don't know how to act and I never will no matter how many classes I take. I'm going back to Philly and starting over.”