Growing up in St. Lucia, I’ve always been fascinated by Haiti, especially its status as the first black republic in the Western hemisphere. African-born Haitian slaves overthrew the French colonial powers in 1804, the only successful revolution during that time period to result in the creation of an independent nation.
In the aftermath of the Haitian earthquake in January 2010, my IDST 100 class was given a special lecture by professor Paul Kellogg on the circumstances that led to Haiti’s current unenviable designation as “the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere” and the factors that contributed to the widespread destruction and loss of life unleashed by this force of nature. This was further fire to fuel my fascination with this Republic.
In the last few years, my perception of Haiti has been molded by what I have been fed by the American media. Poverty, depravation, misery, violence and insurrection form he constant stream of images that formed and informed my view of what to expect in this country.
This sense of insecurity was further heightened by the insistence of the company that I would be employed with that any travel that I undertook within the country had to be accompanied by an armed bodyguard and driver. And so, the prevailing cliché in my head was this idea of Haiti as a ‘failed state.’
And in many ways it is a crumbling metropolis. The recovery from the earthquake cannot begin in earnest because the clean-up has not been completed as yet. One would not be faulted on driving through Port-au-Prince today to think that the earthquake had only happened yesterday. Tent cities still dot any clear spaces, with no proper sanitation infrastructure. The road network is in dire need of repair, pollution is rampant, and traffic rules are made on the fly which leads to an inevitable cacophony of honking vehicles and the animated gesticulations of drivers. There is no reliable supply of electricity and so it is not unusual to see vendors selling by candlelight on the roadsides after dark.
A functioning government is non-existent and the newly installed singer-cum-President, Michel Martelly has had to deal with a Senate that has rejected two nominees for Prime Minister; a crucial blow that has stalled comprehensive post 12/01 reconstruction.
Fortunately that is not the totality of the Haitian story. As I slowly overcame my instinctive pity at the plight of the Haitian people, it was replaced with an admiration at their resilience. Prestige was not just their national beer; it was epitomized in their attitude as well.
There was a pride of country that was captured in the fierce adherence to creole in everyday parlance; in the crews of women that I saw daily with brooms made out of palm leaves going off to clean the streets; in the iridescent displays of artwork for sale along the roadsides that spoke of the vibrancy of the Haitian culture and people. The tap-taps (public transportation) emblazoned in rainbows of blues, reds and yellows spoke of a joie de vie that the Western media conveniently neglects to portray.
In my insulated cocoon of driver and guard, I witnessed kids immaculately dressed every morning, socks shimmering white and stopping to polish off the specks of dust as they made their way to school. The infectious beats of kompa music and the pulsating rhythms of the ra-ra drums and instruments fashioned out of scrap metal are the other story of Haiti. The rolling hills of Furcy, the absorbing history of Gonaives, the captivating scenery of Cap Haitian, and the antique architecture of Jacmel are the stories that I will remember of Haiti.
And so as I left Port-au-Prince for the last time in early August, the person who had arrived just 3 months earlier had been transformed. I had seen a side of Haiti that I would gladly return to see. Haiti it seems n’ap boule (is chilling).
