Haitian Heritage Month, when I sit with it long enough, feels less like a celebration and more like an awakening. Yon moman refleksyon! It is a call to look again at who we are, where we come from, and how our story continues to unfold. Every year, I uncover new depths about our people, layers of brilliance I had somehow missed before.
I see it in modern triumphs: a young Haitian scientist honored in Europe, a chef in Canada reinventing traditional dishes with global flair, or Haiti’s national soccer team returning to the FIFA World Cup scene after 52 years. Closer to home, I think of the Haitian-American athletes honored at the Flag Raising Celebration at Boston City Hall. Witnessing our future and past excellence occupying the same room does something to me. Se fyète. That’s pride. These rising stars shine in places our ancestors could never have imagined, yet they still carry that ancestral fire within them.
Our history has often been quieted, overshadowed, or misunderstood, but during May, it comes alive. At many Haitian events the story of Catherine Flon, the woman who sewed the first Haitian flag is proudly shared. While at the U.S. Haitian Chamber of Commerce business Expo, I strolled past vendors displaying arts, crafts, and books, feeling the weight of a heritage hiding in plain sight. I recalled a community event hosted by MAHP, where a man retold the story of Toussaint Louverture. Though I knew the history, his voice, lifted in pride and passion, made it feel entirely new. Se tankou zansèt yo t ap pale atravè li.
This heritage is also visual. Beyond the richness of our melanin, it lives in the bold colors of our freedom. The vivid blue and red filling my world this month feel like a warm embrace; from church members dressed beautifully in ble e wouj praying for Haiti, to community members waving flags proudly down Blue Hills Avenue toward Harambee Park during the Haitian Flag Day Parade. These colors stir something ancestral, reminding us that our pride is not quiet; li vivan, li fò, it is vibrant, it is strong.
Yet, the most profound moment of this celebration turns inward. As a Haitian-American woman raising children of Haitian descent, this month asks me what am I passing down.
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I think of the bilingual children’s books I’ve written, pouring our language and stories onto the page so that the next generation can see their culture reflected and celebrated.
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I think of my second daughter wholeheartedly embracing Kreyòl, and the beautiful conversations that followed with her grandparents, a reminder that language is a bridge to love and connection.
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I think of teaching my eldest daughter to make diri kole, watching her hands stir the rice pot, and realizing that these ordinary moments are exactly how culture survives. Se konsa kilti rete vivan.
Haitian Heritage Month calls me to be present. Present with my culture, present with my children, and present with the legacy I am both inheriting and shaping. It reminds me that heritage is not just something we celebrate; it is something we live, something we teach, and for the Haitian people, it is something we intentionally choose to honor every month of May. Nou pa janm bliye kote nou soti.
Nahomie Vilnaigre is a paralegal working with the Immigrant Assistance Services program at MIRA, as well as an author. In addition to the client facing work that has changed so many lives, Nahomie recently completed an extensive multilingual resource for new arrivals: Life in the USA: A Booklet for Newcomers
Learn more about the IAS team and their work here
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