It’s hard to think of a single country whose people have suffered a wider range of debilitating challenges than Haiti, the subject of Dominique Morisseau’s beguiling new play, “Bad Kreyòl.”

Economically plundered by the French for years after establishing its independence, then subject to occupation and decades of dictatorship, the Caribbean nation has in recent years endured dire poverty, natural disasters, health crises, gang violence, and — not unrelatedly — corruption from within and outside its borders.

Yet the Haiti presented in “Bad Kreyòl” is, at least at first blush, a place of almost ebullient resilience. Before the off-Broadway production even begins, food, clothing, and other goods showcasing Haitian vendors and artists are on offer in the theater lobby. 

When the curtain rises, it’s on a chic fashion boutique at Port-au-Prince — that is, scenic designer Jason Sherwood’s cheery simulation of one — where brightly colored items mingle with signs of national pride, from a flag to a framed photo of the local currency.  

There’s also, notably, a picture of Beyoncé and Jay Z — our first clue to the aspirational nature of this store’s owner, an elegant, thirtysomething woman named Gigi. She works in international trading, and experience and business savvy have clearly led her to embrace American culture. Yet when a cousin arrives from that country, in the first scene, the conflict that will fester between them is both cultural and personal.

Simone, a first-generation Haitian American, might be described as a certain type of well-meaning foreigner: educated, socially progressive, hyper-aware of her privilege and yet awkward around those who might benefit from it. 

Gigi, in contrast, is, on the surface, confident to the point of being haughty, with an air of self-seriousness that clashes immediately with her cousin’s self-consciousness.

The two women have been brought together by their grandmother’s dying wish that they reconnect, and “Kreyòl” sets their choppy progress — one step forward, two steps back, it often seems — against the larger-scale problems surrounding them. 

Inspired by a trip that Ms. Morisseau took with her Haitian-born father to his native country, the play also introduces us to other characters for whom these problems are more pressing.

There’s Pita, Gigi’s male housekeeper, whose playful demeanor masks a background of struggle; even the safe harbor he has seemingly found with Gigi, who values him as far more than an employee, is threatened by his coming to terms with his sexual orientation. We also meet Lovelie, a former prostitute now working as a seamstress for a non-governmental organization.

Such organizations are called into question in the play. When Simone intimates she would like to contact one, Gigi says, flatly, “We don’t do NGO here.” Even Pita, who will connect Simone and Lovelie, notes they “come here to take over the beauty of our island and leave us with the sh—ty parts.” 

This view is reinforced by the presence of a local boy-turned-international businessman named Thomas, described in the script as embodying “all of the tropes of foreign executive power, a shark nature where self-preservation trumps all.”

Ultimately, though, “Kreyòl” is a celebration of those who have survived in spite of these impediments. Director Tiffany Nichole Greene serves its warm, buoyant spirit by culling vibrant portraits from all of her actors, from Kelly McCreary, who captures Simone’s earnestness and insecurity with humor and heart, to Andy Lucien, whose Thomas is chilling in his imperiousness and his imperviousness.

Fedna Jacquet’s Lovelie exudes a quiet but fierce dignity that’s shared by Jude Tibeau’s more extroverted, comical, and altogether delightful Pita. But Pascale Armand delivers the most nuanced and haunting performance as Gigi, whose superficial rigidity is revealed as partly a defense mechanism, and a mark of determination. 

“Don’t go trying to drudge up ghosts of earthquakes and hurricanes past,” Gigi tells Simone at one point. “We do not dwell here. We move on.” While Simone and others, in the play and in the audience, might question this version of fortitude, Gigi’s sheer resolve remains, like much else in “Bad Kreyol,” inspiring.