Barzil Marius was only 15-years-old when COVID-19 shocked the world, and his father Nestor, a Haitian immigrant, fell sick and spent months in a hospital bed recovering. Then a high schooler, he took jobs bussing tables and flipping cars. He also applied for government aid to cover the rent for his family’s Lake Worth apartment.
He was forced to grow up quickly. His childhood, he says, “was already out the window.”
“It wasn’t about me making money,” he says, “It was about me helping people.”
The superhuman drive to keep his loved ones afloat deserves notice in Haitian Heritage month, which ends today. It is typical of the way Miami’s Haitian community, which has grown to 130,000 residents (according to WLRN) strives to accomplish the American Dream.
In 1995, a tumultuous time in the country thanks to presences of thousands of American soldiers on the island thanks to Operation Uphold Democracy, Marius’ father immigrated to Florida from Haiti. He came with Marius’ older sister Christy and worked as a taxi driver and tailor. Marius was born in 2004. By the time he was in elementary school in 2010, his mother had separated from the family. He shared a small bedroom with his father and sister. They lived humbly.
“It was a good mix of things like not having food all the time or eating McDonald’s,” said Marius. “We lived in an apartment with this family where the parents managed a McDonald’s, so they’d give us a stack of gift cards to use. We’d eat McDonald’s every night.”
Now, he does side hustles and attends Florida International University as a first-generation college student. He says it would not have been possible without his father’s persistence — and help from his godparents during the application process. In fact, Marius believes his ability to juggle so many responsibilities is in line with his cultural heritage.
“I think it’s in our genetic code, I really do,” said Marius. “It’s an immigrant thing, but it’s a Haitian thing too. I’ve never met any older Haitian person that wasn’t grinding. I’ve never met a lazy Haitian person.”
There is certainly some truth to this idea. A study from Migrationpolicy.org found that 71% of Haitian immigrants aged 16 or older participate in the civilian work force. Whereas, only 62% of the U.S.-born population participates.
Although not raised alongside Marius, his older half-brother Johnson Michel shares a similar perspective on work.
“Barzil works so hard because that’s how we were raised and what we’re supposed to do to be great at something,” said Michel. “He wants to be happy and not worry about things that he’s seen all around him his whole life.”
Marius started attending college as a business major in 2023. When he isn’t working his restaurant job or studying, he’s a freelance mechanic.
Marius working on his car. (Courtesy of Natalie Macadar)
During an average week, he busses tables for four days, goes to school for two and fixes cars in his spare time. Somehow, he finds time to express himself by making music, writing or painting.
“It just feels like I’m so much more free,” said Marius. “I can do whatever I want with this piece of work right here, this is me, I made this.”
Marius also makes it a point to spend as much time as he can with family and friends. He met one of his best friends, Natalie Macadar – another FIU student — in high school at the Dreyfoos School of the Arts.
“Although he works so hard and puts so much time into making money and getting by, he still finds time to do things he loves,” said Macadar. “And he still finds time to spend time with the people that he loves. I think that is so important.”
Marius’ mission is not only to hustle but to prioritize what and who matters most to him. After all, what’s the point of work without the subsequent fruits of labor?
“When I die,” said Marius, “I want to know that I did everything in my power to make what we call life the most enjoyable thing ever.”
