I sent out the necessary mass messages informing those who mattered most, that I would be out of the country for a week. The replies were instant, and the responses were joyful and intrigued, until I told them of my destination. “You’re going to Haiti?” The second volley of digital voices sounded more like polite indifference. As if the right smiling emoji masked the pity, confusion, and preconceived notions about a place that is only ever painted in consistent palettes of negativity.

They say that tone and context are lost through texting, but the ghosts of whispered concerns were all too present. “He must have had a death in the family,” or “I guess it got better since the earthquake…” I know the wishes of a safe trip were really prayers of finding some level of safety within the borders of a country known for not having any. Still I flew with purpose, accepting those gentle words loaded with unintentional prejudice.

The flight was everything you’d expect. Professional service trying to win over a plane full of people from a contrasting culture. We took off; late of course. Finding personal items within the stream of similarly ribboned luggage was as difficult as it was entertaining. Elderly women who all become “grandma” once within their radius, vocally berate you for trying to help while chastising you for not grabbing their bags quickly enough.

This wasn’t my first time in my parents’ homeland, however this would be a real opportunity to better understand it. There are things you learn very quickly, if you futilely attempt to blend in. The honking of a car horn is not the expletive it represents within my beloved New York, nor is it the gentle caution that it may represent elsewhere. Here, that horn is a greeting, a reminder, a courtesy, and a thank you. Something so simple, symbolizing so much, is the norm here. You learn that quickly too.

I was welcomed by servants in my uncle’s house who hugged me, offered me food, and chilled the champagne upon my arrival. This isn’t CNN’s Haiti, but it is definitely my own. Warm embraces, cold drinks, colorful greetings and love were exchanged in a language made explicitly to share these simple joys. I find myself silently thanking my grandmother, who makes her presence felt from beyond the grave. One day I’ll tell her about this moment, and show her how I was able to bond with my family because she never learned English.

This trip to Haiti required a smaller trip from the capital, to the second largest city called Cap-Haitien (or Au Cap). We were going cross-country across unpaved roads, crater-sized potholes, and ungated mountainsides. Did I mention that the sides of the mountains had no barriers? The journey showed me what Haiti really looked like. Frankly, the country could be summed up in 4 things: resilient people, colorful psalm-inscribed tap taps, an endless supply of motorcycles, and goats. I question if you could go anywhere in this country without seeing a combination of these things.

A pitstop was made in the very small town of Capotille. I always heard of my dad’s “country” background, but seeing his origins really had an effect on me. He has built a modest house there for his mother and other family in the area. I use the term “modest” very loosely, because the home had electricity via inverter, as well as solar panels, indoor plumbing, and several modern appliances including a vitamix blender. (The same one in our kitchen. Did you buy 2 and not tell mom, pop?)

Here, I met a cousin who knows my whole life story, but I was ashamed to say I didn’t even know his name. (For us American-born, you know how it is when your parents make you say hi to family on the phone without ever properly introducing you. smh). After showing me around, he took me to the backyard where there was a small crowd of more anonymous family gathered. Along with them, were 3 dogs of a breed I never saw before, and 2 newly born kittens. This entire group of souls were huddled around an open fire. As I drew closer, I saw an old shirtless man holding a machete (how cliche Caribbean can you be?) and a goat. I should specify that he wasn’t herding the goat. Instead he was holding it upside down over the open flame and skinning it. (I apologize for the vivid description, especially for my vegans, but let’s just say I definitely understand where you’re coming from now…)

My unnamed cousin proudly explained that the goat was a gift; a way to celebrate my arrival to my father’s old stomping grounds. Remember when I mentioned that the country was full of goats? Apparently, this is why. Must be a lot of people waiting for a reason to celebrate…(insert your sarcasm here). After this, were the goodbyes. They were awkward only if you weren’t accustomed to it. Every departure from old family ends with a personal sob story of their unending suffering that is only appeased by subtly sliding some american currency into a shirt pocket, or dress flap. Thankfully, my mother handles those, and I don’t envy her for it.

We continued to Au Cap where I saw more of the beauty mixed with despair. Next to beautiful homes and businesses, were heaping piles of garbage on the road. Next to these piles, I saw proud women (and men) carrying large containers and bags of material balanced exquisitely on their heads. The traces of our african roots clearly still tangible and alive. The advertising of Coca Cola and Digicel, and Prestige beer hung high, but were all but ignored by the population walking and talking on their smartphones.

The contrast between the expectations of Haiti and the reality aren’t as stark as I wish there were. But it’s undeniable that there is beauty here that isn’t revealed enough. I know the problems that are always mentioned are still alive and well. However, I saw the resorts, the love, and the possibilities. Haiti is a country with its flaws, corruption, and legitimate concerns. It is also a place of individuality, voice, and growth. I write this long-winded reflection with a very specific hope in mind. With the right lens on what Haiti looks like, the next time I send out my mass messages about going away to Haiti, I hope that my replies aren’t a flurry of “safe travels” well-wishing. Instead, I hope it’s the same reaction of when I went to Mexico, Jamaica, the Bahamas, and the neighboring Dominican Republic; where I was met with the healthy envy of friends saying “next time, take me with you.”