1.
Fixing Christine
One woman’s struggle with transnational identity
By Jewel Johnson
Instructor: David Blum, Editor of Amazon.com’s Kindle Singles
Master’s Project (sample of 4,500 word story)
He smiled in her face for years, acting as though nothing happened. Christine’s family
never noticed as her eyes dropped and her voice muted when he came around. Instead,
her family welcomed him with hospitality and food. After he had begun dating
Christine’s cousin he became a part of the family. When Christine’s cousin and he visited
Christine’s home they’d sit in the living room, plastered with wall­to­wall mirrors, and
talk. They’d talk about everything, except the years he raped her.
As she sat on her bed her mind began to flip like a Rolodex. Images of him grinning
every time he visited, the remembrance of the years she was bound to silence and the
disenchantment for her sister Katucha draped Christine’s face.
It started when Christine was nine years old.
Before he was married to the family, he was just a family friend. His parents were friends
of Christine’s parents, so they would visit each other’s homes regularly.
One day Christine’s family came to visit his home. Her parents were considering moving
to upstate New York, so they came to scan the area.
His home was surrounded by empty fields where Christine would run eagerly to play.
She was always a tomboy. Her regular attire was t­shirts, sneakers, jeans, and a ponytail.
While both families were in the house, Christine was outside playing ball. As she played,
the ball drifted away. Before she could reach it, he grabbed her and pulled her into the
shed. He was 16 years old. But Christine was seven years younger, so she wasn’t allowed
to say much. Maybe that’s why he chose Christine instead of her 17­year­old sister,
Katucha.
“I called for help, but I was behind a shed and no one could hear me.” Christine
continued, “So after a while I stopped screaming.”
The shed sat in the far back of the house. After moments of pushing and pulling,
Christine silently laid there as he stole her virginity. Feeling disgusted and hopeless,
Christine remained mute while salty tears ran down her milk chocolate cheeks.
What am I supposed to say? Asked Christine. She was the youngest in the family. She
wasn’t supposed to speak when she wasn’t spoken to. So would anyone hear her or would
anyone even listen, Christine wondered.

2. “I’ll buy you candy if you don’t tell anyone,” he told Christine after he finished.
Afterwards Christine hurried to the first person she believed would speak for her, her
older sister Katucha.
“Don’t say anything to anyone,“ Katucha said.
It was left at that. No police were called. Katucha didn’t even tell their parents. Christine
honored her sister’s wishes and said nothing. Then the repetition began. He watched
Christine as she played. He waited until she lost control over her soccer ball, and then
snatched her back into the shed.
Images shot across her television as Christine, now 25, looked down and fiddled with her
hands. It happened many times.
Christine’s sister, Katucha, did nothing to protect her sister, but she did play cupid. In
college, Katucha introduced him to her cousin, claimed Christine. They married, an event
Christine had to attend, and had children. It was not until after that did her parents find
out the truth about their cousin­in­law.
When Christine was a teen, her parents complained that she was distant and, even though
they didn’t believe in depression, she had no explanation for her ill feelings. They’d
never know the truth unless Christine told them herself. But she was a young Haitian girl
who was not allowed to speak, especially if it would challenge her parents, so how would
she ever be able to break her silence. She did so in the most unconnected way. She gave
her mother her diary.
It was mid September when I got a call from Christine. She asked if we could meet up
because we had not seen each other since she graduated from University of Maryland,
College Park, in 2009.
Although we hadn’t seen each other in over a year, I spotted her instantly as she stood
waiting on the street corner for me to appear. Christine’s 5’7 frame was draped in a dark
blue hoodie, dark blue jeans, black and red patent leather Jordans. Her fashion hadn’t
changed since college. She topped off her look with a ponytail.
We walked down Harlem’s 125​th​
street, as we reminisced about college and caught up on
what has changed in each other’s life, when Christine stopped suddenly.
"I have something to tell you," Christine said shyly. As she watched me sift through
overflowing bowls of caramel­and­fuchsia­colored hair clips in H&M clothing store,
Christine continued, "When I was in California, I met this gay girl."
Christine moved to California after she graduated from UMD. She was offered a job
working for Support Harbor Area Women’s Lives (SHAWL).

3. "What does that mean," I asked, as I waved my hands gesturing her to go on.
"Are you going to make me say it?" Christine sighed, “we were dating." Her head tilted
down as she sifted through a rack of clothes aimlessly, Christine mumbled, "This can't
happen. I can't be gay.”
In many immigrant and minority cultures, if one’s sexual orientation differs from
heterosexuality, commonly, it is not talked about publicly or spoken of in disgust. Some,
such as Christine Jack (her name has been changed to protect her privacy), say
non­acknowledgement or open hatred of alternative sexual orientations are expressed
within these groups because exposing what “isn’t natural” adds hardship.
“For immigrants from the Caribbean who might be gay, on top of the cultural
adjustments that they have to make, there’s this piece of sexuality that they have to
negotiate because the experience isn’t represented within the Caribbean community,”
said Timothy Chin, an associate professor of English at California State University. Chin
is an Asian­Jamaican who has studied transnational approaches and questions of
ethnicity, gender, and sexuality in African­American and Caribbean literature.
Although, Christine is not an only child, she is her parents’ only child born in America.
Christine’s brother, Beethoven, is ten years older and her sister Katucha is eight years
older than her. They both lived in Haiti until they were about 15 and 13, respectively. In
Haiti they were raised as Haitians, said Christine. Repeatedly they were taught not to
speak when they aren’t spoken to, the importance of religion, to follow the direction of
elders without any discussion, and that they were either a boy or girl and each sex has a
definite place.
Christine is the only first generation Haitian­American in her immediate family. She
hears what her parents say she must do, what is expected of her, and what kind of life she
should lead as a good Haitian woman. But Christine has lived only on American soil.
Outside of her parents’ restraint of her, Americans and American ideals surround her.
Transnational(ism) identity suggests that an individual has attachment toward more than
one nation. This is Christine’s dilemma. She is attempting to live through the lens her
parents and Haitian culture are looking out of, but as an American woman from New
York, confining her wants and desires is not what she sees. But Christina’s story is a
mere representation of the first generation children who are conflicted by their parents’
native culture ideals and the American culture and ideals that they live. After talking with
a few other first­generation Haitian­Americans it’s clear that the pull they experience
from nations with conflicting ideals is a problem.
Transnationalism can be expressed through varying aspects such as culture, language,
and religion. But, sexual orientation can be the most significant source of pain for these
three aspects.
One woman who lives a restricted life similar to Christine’s is her friend Sandra.

4. Sandra’s 5’11” chestnut frame paired with her boisterous yet audacious personality
doesn’t offer a shield from the feelings she possesses as a first­generation
Haitian­American. Sandra, who is 23 years old, has seen what severe punishment can
occur when Haitian children rebel.
Within the traditional Haitian community, children are to be seen and not heard. They are
expected to obey any demands from their parents or any other elder, and they are not
expected to question anything, said Sandra and several other first generation Haitians.
The lack of conversation that is allowed within Haitian households serves as the source of
conflict for young Haitian­Americans like Sandra and Christine. They both agree that the
lack of conversation results in hiding information and undoubtedly creates this constantly
growing distance between themselves and their parents.
Haitian parents raise their children the way they were raised. But Haitian­Americans are
raised in America and are influenced by the American culture.
When you are taught one culture, but you are experiencing another, and the difference
between the cultures is not discussed, the festering tensions can result in extreme
punishments and deception.
“Haitians don’t do regular timeouts.” Sandra continued, “I’ve been made to kneel on my
knees with rock salt while holding a watermelon as punishment.”
Imposing physical pain is the lesser of the punishments. Haitian children are exposed to.
If you are rebellious it is likely that you get disowned, Sandra said. Disowning is
explained as the harshest punishment because Haitians are family­oriented, yet you do
not have to do much to receive this punishment.
When asked if disowning children is an empty threat Haitian parents use, Sandra
answered, “We’ve seen it happen.”
“It’s used to give them [disobedient children] a taste of what they left behind,” Sandra
said.
In a lowered staccato tone, Sandra began to recall what led to her sister’s harsh
punishment.
“About 11 years ago my sister was shipped back to Haiti as a punishment.” Sandra’s
sister was 16 then.
Sandra went on, “It wasn’t until recently that she stepped back into my parents’ house.”
Acting like a badass for Sandra’s sister meant not going to school, switching into pants
when she attended school instead of strictly wearing skirts that religious Haitians females
were bound to, and wearing earrings. Sandra’s sister also began to question her parents’
rules.
Sandra said her sister’s actions were despicable in her parents’ eyes. Besides the fact that

5. Sandra’s sister found her way back to New York when she was 18 by lying to authorities
and saying she lost her passport she did not see her family again until she was 28.
Sandra’s sister was struggling to fit in with the American culture that surrounded her. She
tried by wearing what other girls wore. She tried by asking questions. Her sister’s
motives seem to be a part of human nature and adolescence. By the 1990s wearing pants
and speaking up had become a way of life for the typical American woman and teenage
girl, yet within religious Haitian culture, these aspects still represented unacceptable
behavior.
“In my house, we say chi­chi man,” said Christine when describing what homophobic
slurs she hears regularly. Christine continued, “It means gay man. It’s a taunting phrase
we use for gay men.”
Taunting as a result of being gay is a common phenomenon among the countries within
the Caribbean. In 2001 T.O.K, a dancehall group from Kingston, Jamaica, debuted a song
titled, “Chi­Chi Man.” Some of the song’s lyrics are “Bun out the chi­chi man,” which
means stomp out the gay man. The single continues with, “Lay the fire and then we burn
them.”
Gay bashing is so entrenched within the Caribbean culture it is often something that is
inescapable; it is present in public forums, such as music, work and at home.
Christine barricaded herself in her bedroom as she shared how her own family victimizes
her. Christine whispered, for fear that someone will hear the soreness in her voice, as she
replicated the conversation she shared with her mom.