I still remember the first time we met. Her hair was pulled back into a puff. Her tattered clothing hanging off her very thin frame. She was barefoot. Her caramel complexion was stained with mud or dust. She seemed like she’d been working very hard.

Our eyes met, and her mouth opened into a giant smile, showing all of her teeth.  She was an unfamiliar face in the house I grew up in. The house that I left ten years before to come live in the cold land of opportunities. I wondered who she was and what she was doing there. I asked her to come to me, and she approached me without hesitation, without losing her smile, her hands pulling at the side of her dress. I asked her for her name.

“Islande,” she said, with her big smile. Her eyes were glaring at me, and she addressed me as if we were the longest of friends. I fell in love with her right away. She was my new friend, she smiled every time I saw her. My third night back in Haiti, we were sitting in the living room, after I painted her nails, I sat back and watched her. I asked her why she smiled so much, she said she didn’t know how to do anything else with her face. She told me smiling is one of the best things she knew how to do. I gave her a hug because she was Islande, my angel.

After becoming friends with Islande, I wanted to change her lifestyle. I wanted for her to go to school in the morning like regular nine-year olds. I wanted her to experience fun, and I didn’t want her work all the time. I thought to myself, “if she smiles like this even in her situation, I wonder how much more she would smile if she got the basic necessities most kids take for granted.”

I left Haiti with tears in my eyes. I sobbed so much on the airplane on the way back to New York City. I thought about the house I lived in that hadn’t changed one bit. I thought about the beautiful people who lived there. And I thought about Islande, my angel.