What is Rosanny’s Baggage Full Of?

by Rosanny Romilis Jiménez

Rosanny Romilis Jiménez (1987) Barrio El Golfo, San Pedro de Macorís. She is currently attending university. Married at 22, she has two children and she does not work at the moment. She has her national identity and electoral card.

I want to tell you a story. It is not a soap opera. It is not a fable. You will not find it in a book by a renowned author. It is my life story. What is Rosanny’s baggage full of? I wake up in the batey Pepillo, mountainous highland, with two barracks, dusty streets and full of stones, surrounded by cane, a river running down the Arroyo and Laguna Hill…it is the land where I was born.

I can’t help but remember what the shadow of the “Saramago” motorcycle looked like. It was the red 50cc motorcycle, in which my dad took me to school in the Ramón Santana municipality, it was far from the batey we lived… and there was no school there. How could I forget that shadow that formed with the help of the eastern sun of the mornings, which fell on the dusty roads, full of holes and of stones. My dad—as always, so protective—told me: “Hold on, Cancún.” That was my nickname when I was little. I imagine now after becoming an adult, his hopes and plans that he had for his eldest daughter from a family that formed in a foreign country to him and homeland for me.

My mother told me how my first years were there [Batey Pepillo]. She told me how she woke up with me in hospitals because if it wasn’t a high fever it was swelling all over my body— always vomiting, diarrhea and the flu. She always had a gallon of boiled water, milk, towel and extra clothes in case of any emergency. So, she spent more time in the hospital than at home in my first months of life.

On one occasion, after taking me from one hospital to another, the doctors couldn’t find where else to put the IV from my head, arms, feet and my little vulva. A doctor told my mom, “Madam, you can take your daughter, because what she has is not a medical issue…I recommend you look elsewhere”. Mami, desperate with her only daughter, little and on the verge of death, did not know what to do: whether to doubt her faith or to continue on with her faith. She held on to her faith.

Several times the hospital discharged me and neighbors prepared for my death and watched over me at night (me velaban). On one occasion, my grandmother Melania took me to her house, so that if I died, my mother - who was pregnant - would not notice it. On several occasions I died and was revived. It seemed that life and death fought for me, but God had a purpose for me. The day my brother Wilson was born, I walked. At one year and three months. After that moment, I didn’t get sick again.

We moved to Las Colinas, a neighborhood of S.P.M.¹. Although the neighborhood was developed , it had no school. For this reason, I missed a year of classes.² After a year, we moved onto a hill with five scattered houses. It was a new neighborhood. In a house with a blue canvas roof.

My mother worked in the S.P.M. free zone and my father [as] chiripero³, sereno⁴, and mason. Since I was the oldest, I was in charge of the household, of housekeeping and maintaining order at home. We lived with the gate closed and padlocked. We only went out when he had to go to school or the grocery store, which was like a fifteen-minute walk. They left my little 3-month old sister with me. I was only 9-years-old and later, when my brother Marino was born—the youngest—he was no exception. Well, I had to take care of them and take care of myself. Of course, we fought like all siblings.

My adolescence was sad. I found myself in a difficult situation. My father didn’t play with me anymore. I was becoming a young woman who had to be corrected. My mother understood that I had to prepare to be a woman and she didn’t understand me. I just wanted to die, and thought perhaps they would be happy.

While they worried about the younger children, I was the one to serve them. I felt like they treated me like a housemaid. Sometimes I sat in a small family plot (conuco) in the courtyard of my house and cried without anyone to console me. When I was tired of crying, I closed my eyes and imagined how a large hand - like a plush teddy bear - hugged me (to me, this was God) until I felt sleepy. I walked towards the house to try to sleep.

They would call me … there was always something to do for someone. But who, but who, did something for me? Who asked what I wanted them to do for me? Well, for my family, my needs were covered: eating, sleeping, studying … of course: ears pulled, belt beatings, hard smacks. I didn’t need anything …nothing more.

In 1998, after Hurricane George - which struck the country - the majority of the houses were destroyed. Because of this, [people] took refuge in a community school (the school’s infrastructure was not very good and the government repaired it). I missed two years of school as a result. Since my parents could not afford school for everyone, I was left out. After two years— at the start of the school year— I joined the class, but my classmates had the advantage of two more years of schooling than me. The relationship with my classmates was never the same again.

When I was at Gastón Fernando Deligne High School, finishing the last year of high school, I applied for my diploma. Surprise: I didn’t even appear on the classroom list. The secretary asked me if I knew my classmates and I then identified them one by one. After an hour, she asked me, “What can we do with you!?” I replied, “Give me my report card.” She replied, “It won’t be for today, come back in two weeks to get it.”

After two weeks I came back and she told me, “What do I tell you? It is not here.” I walked the hallways and found my teacher, and I told her … and she was surprised. And after talking with the secretary, the secretary said, “Come back next week.”

Then, when I arrived, the secretary told me: “We have to make you a file. Bring me all of your documents … as if you were going to register again.” So I did that and, when I came back, they told me that it appeared on the “Prepara” list (an adult education program) [I was enrolled in the morning, I was in high school … this had nothing to do with me].

In my school report card, they entered the grades that they wanted, since I had been exempted several times in biology, chemistry and mathematics during my two years of high school…not to mention that I was one of the beneficiaries of a special high school program that lasted two years and we even took classes in high school on Saturdays and some Sundays.

After I received the report card, I had to apply for my high school diploma. “I’m finally finishing my ordeal,” I thought. When I got to the District [of Education] 05—which was the district that applied to me—I applied without any inconvenience. After fifteen days I had to return. When I arrived in the District, the secretary told me: “Everything was lost, we did not find it. Come back in fifteen days for us to give you answers.” After going [there for] two months, they tell me that I have to put the whole file together again. I just replied, “Are you serious?” Since I was not working, I had to go on foot, taking about two hours or more walking by foot.

On one occasion I went with my mother and she [the secretary] refused us at the offices. And the deputy director of the District (Gustavo) said: “I will solve this problem, come in fifteen days. "When I returned, I finally received the certificate …yes, but with my father’s last name and my name misspelled, instead of Rosanny Romilis, it was misspelled: Rosannys Romilus.

After several weeks, it was finally corrected and I was able to enter the university, UNEV.⁵ After three quarters in the Psychology degree program, I withdrew for financial reasons.

When I wanted to re-enter [the university], since I was working, I made a request for my birth certificate and they did not give it to me because of Resolution 12 issued by the Central Electoral Board (JCE) that stated that they did not issue birth certificates to the children of [Haitian] immigrants. Of course, I felt it would be the happiest day of my life, and suddenly, I got smacked by a wall of glass that would not let me go and look for what for me represented the present and the future in my life.

After crying and feeling depressed, I got married. I had a son, whom I could not declare due to R12 [resolution] by the JCE in 2009 and in 2014 I registered him at last. That’s how I joined the Reconoci.do movement, of which I am the national secretary today. I am in my sixth semester of study at the Psychology School at the (UASD) of San Pedro de Macoris.

With my children Rigo Antonio Romilis, who is 7 years old, and Corianny Romilis, who is 2 years old, now I can: fulfill the dreams of my father and mine. I continue in this life, filling my suitcase.

Further Reflections from the author Rosanny Romilis Jiménez