Beginnings: Haiti

I begin with reflections/observations from 2000, while I was staying in Haiti (or Ayiti, in Kreyol). The next few posts form a series that was originally published on Blueear.com, an online source for global writing. Blue Ear no longer exists, but Ethan Casey, the founder, has an ongoing blog, and links to some of the writers who frequented its pages (or is that URL?).

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Introductions
It’s morning in Port-au-Prince: the street vendors are setting up their stands, the tap-taps are full of children on their way to school, people are jostling one another on the sidewalk, and women are yelling at the mangy dogs trying to steal their food. I am on my way to work, stuck in one of Port-au-Prince’s never-ending traffic jams.

Last night, we had power for four hours – long enough to charge the batteries of our inverter, refill our water buckets, and eat dinner in a lit kitchen. With no electricity, the water pump doesn’t have enough pressure for a shower. So, until we have power again, I’ll be taking bucket baths. However, I can’t forget that in comparison to most Haitians, I’m living in veritable luxury. It’s easy to be humbled here.

Haiti is far more than this obvious evidence of under-development. One co-worker told me that most foreigners have trouble understanding Haiti because they don’t understand Haiti’s history. He explained, “Haitians weren’t given independence, we took it… so we aren’t afraid of whites.” Haiti is drenched in foreigners – NGOs, missionaries, UN officials, relief workers, volunteers – so the topic is particularly apt. With deteriorating security, constant political instability, deforestation, and burgeoning population, today’s Haiti is heavily reliant on foreign aid. Foreigners, it seems, have become a necessary evil. Due in part to this reliance, there is a constant battle here between dependence and independence here that can be painful to watch.

Haiti was first “discovered” in 1492 by Christopher Columbus who landed in Santo Domingo (now a city in the Dominican Republic). While Haiti now suffers from massive deforestation and topsoil erosion, because of its fertile soil and agricultural abundance, by the 18th century Haiti had become the most prosperous colony in the New World. Having wiped out the native Arawak population by the 16th century, France imported African slaves to milk Haiti’s natural wealth. By 1789, Haiti’s population had reached 556, 000– of which 500, 000 were slaves, 24, 000 were free Africans, and only 30, 000 were whites.

When the ideas behind the French Revolution came to Haiti, with most of the population forcibly enslaved, they stimulated rebellion among the masses. Led by former slave Toussaint Louverture, in 1791 Haitians began a revolutionary war against France, rallying to cries of “general freedom for all”. While France attempted to maintain control of the island – it abolished slavery in 1794 and imprisoned Louverture in 1802 – the revolutionary forces in Haiti were greater. By 1803, Napoleon and a large part of his army had been defeated and forced to surrender. On January 1, 1804, the island was declared independent, becoming the first independent black republic in the world.

Since the revolution, Haiti has been beset by political upheaval. An 1843 revolution led by Santo Dominican Creoles permanently divided Hispaniola into the Dominican Republic and Haiti. In 1867, a civil war broke out, which lasted until the U.S. invaded in 1915. Between 1843 and 1915, twenty rulers controlled Haiti – sixteen of them were either overthrown or assassinated.

For me, the most vivid demonstration of this history of turmoil came a week before the November 26, 2000 election. In the reception area of my office, we have a poster of all the Haitian presidents and heads of government. From 1940 onwards, mixed in with a few elected presidents, are military government councils, government committees, and military generals. There were almost as many coup d’etats as elections, which even then were rarely democratic. Though the election was in the end relatively uneventful, I had been reading Amy Wilentz’s book The Rainy Season, about Haiti after the fall of the Duvalier regime, so my mind was racing. As bombs went off the Wednesday and Thursday before Election Day , I felt a surge of adrenaline and nervousness. I am not yet a seasoned development worker, so I was scared. But it occurred to me – this is life in Haiti. The gun fire every night, the disruption every time there’s an election, the risk of theft – this is what Haitians have to contend with. I could stay in my room at the guesthouse and not deal with the election. I could fly back to Canada. I could leave. At my most cynical, bitter moments, I think that in Haiti you don’t live so much as survive.

But you see, I love Haiti. For all the challenge she presents, she is also addictive. Among the foreigners I’ve met, more than a few have told me, “well, I meant to come for a few months …” and are well into their second or third year here. The other day a friend who counts herself in the “I only meant to come for a few months” category warned me, “Sarah, it’s happening to you too… you’ve already returned once.” A foreign friend of mine who has been coming to Haiti for 12 or 13 years postulates with me about the difficulty of getting our descriptions of this place just right. We agree that it’s dirty, not really secure, poor, and lacking in what North Americans consider basic amenities. “Even five years ago it was safer,” she tells me. It’s a refrain I keep hearing – how much everything has changed. She and I have both latched onto the Creole proverb, “Deye mon, gen Mon”, Behind the mountain, there is another mountain. It’s the dilemma of Haiti – behind every challenge, there’s another challenge. Perhaps that’s what keeps drawing us back here – the challenge, and how Haitians face it.