“M’ Prale Nan Mache!”

“M’ Prale Nan Mache!”

I come from a family of mild hoarders. We’d all deny it if you asked, and our home looks fairly normal when you first enter, but open up one of our well hidden back closets and God knows what could come out. As much as it is the fact that we can’t throw things away, it’s also the fact that we’re hopelessly enslaved to consumerism and don’t consider the things we already have before buying new things; specifically shoes.

We live in the lower apartment of our two-family house, and there’s a staircase on the inside between the apartments that’s meant for everyday coming and going, or easy transport in an emergency; NOT an endless abyss of shoes. Heels, boots, sneakers, belonging to my mom and I combined, cover the entire stairwell, threatening anyone who tries to cross their threshold. But last week, I decided enough was enough; I threw all my care to the wind and dove in.

One thing I’ve found interesting about the process though, is just how hard it is to decide what to get rid of. All of a sudden, things we weren’t using seem to be “perfectly good,” or “in great condition,” or some other excuse we could come up with for keeping them.

My mom grew up in Jeremie, Haiti in the 70’s with the few clothes she shared between her and her two sisters, and the plantains and sugarcane that grew on her father’s farms but was sold off before reaching their bellies. They didn’t have much food or many possessions, but when they needed something quick and guaranteed, “M’ prale nan mache!” was always the first thought.

Haiti’s communities thrive off of their diverse marketplaces called “mache(s)” where people buy and sell everything from fruits and vegetables to clothing, cleaning supplies, toiletries, and (you guessed it) shoes. The items sold can either be brand new and made within the country, imported, or sent from outside family members or friends in the U.S. But in the mache, the source of the item is really the least of the customer’s worries. If it’s usable and there’s a need for it, it’s bought.

My mom and grandmother never actually sold in the mache, but they always bought sometimes new and other times secondhand goods from their neighbors who did. It was a way for the little towns of Jeremie to support their living, and to circulate objects that could be used by multiple families in multiple ways.

So all those shoes my mom and I managed to convince ourselves we no longer need are being sent to Haiti for friends and family who are still faithful to their commerce in the mache. And although I know the grit, resilience, and versatility of Haitians isn’t something innate or even chosen, I still find myself wishing I had more of those qualities. But something as small as sending my shoes there makes me feel like I might. Like I’m a part of something held close enough that, though small, can bring about pride and worth that no one can claim but the people who worked to gain it themselves. I hope to one day gain it too.

-Nathalie D.