A Revolution without Dancing?

[bcholmes]

I forgot my travel guide. I have a Lonely Planet travel guide for the Dominican Republic and Haiti. In fact, I have two different editions of the book. One edition or the other has traveled with me on each of my trips to Haiti. Until this time. This past week, I forgot my book.

Mostly, I like it because it has a map of Pòtoprenz; I know my way around the places I'm familiar with, but when I need to branch out into new territory, I like having the map. I needed to find the Post Office on my trip last November, for example.

Most of the places I've stayed in Haiti are places I've found in my travel book. One place that I knew of, but hadn't stayed at, was the St. Joseph's Home for Boys Guest House. Here's what my book says:

Shared rooms US $30/person, including breakfast and dinner. This guest house run by a former brother with Mother Theresa, supports a program for street children and serves as a home for boys, who help with the day-to-day running of it. The boys also perform music and dance recitals, teach English, act as guides and hug guests on arrival -- it's a truly unique Haitian experience. Most rooms contain two bunk beds, and you may be expected to share depending on availability, although there are also a couple of double rooms. Meals are filling and can be taken with the boys at lunchtime on request -- vegetarians are well catered to. The bathrooms are shared and, in an effort to respect water conservation efforts, you have to fill a bucket from a water tank to flush the toilets. The rambling seven-story house has many indoor and outdoor lounge areas, including a chapel and a roof terrace with a solar- and wind-powered generator and fantastic, panoramic views. It's a good idea to book in advance as it often hosts church groups and can be full.

On Wednesday night, I got invited to a performance at St. Joseph's. Several of the boys were performing dance.

The guest house I stayed at was hosting a small group from the States, including four teenagers. We were just about to head out in the guest house van, when Eric, the guest house night guard, ran over to stop us. Turns out he left the house's shotgun under one of the seats in the vehicle. As he pulled the shotgun out of the vehicle, the teens thought this was the funniest thing ever. As in, "ha ha, he has a shotgun, which he leaves in the car. How bizarre is that?" I made a mental note: first trip to Haiti.

We drove partway up the mountain, not quite to Petyonvil. Michael, who was in charge of the house, framed the performance well. Here were boys who had lived on the streets, who grew up being shunned or viewed with suspicion. For them to perform in front of an audience, to hear appreciative applause, meant a great deal for their self-images.

And initially, my expectations were low: an amateur performance, self-choreographed to pre-recorded music. The first couple of pieces were pleasant, and the performers were having a good time.

But as the evening went on, the dances became more complicated, more involved. Live drummers joined the stage. And I found myself thinking about the odd juxtapositions of Vodou in this fine, Catholic establishment. The drummers were set up in a standard Rada three-drum battarie. The rhythm was immediately recognizable, and I don't have a rhythmic bone in my body. Men, zo li mache li mache li mache.

In one dance -- a farm dance -- two dancers came out dressed in straw hats, and kerchiefs around their necks. They had macoutes -- traditional straw sacks used by peasants -- tied around their waists and they carried hoes and fake, wooden machetes. Sure, they were dressed like traditional Haitian peasants, but how can you see those costumes, and not immediately think of Kousin Azaka? And I first wondered if the Vodou iconography was a problem for the Catholic folk who run the house. But then I started to think: how do you have anything that celebrates Haitian dance and drumming and yet take out all of the Vodou? Those things are so linked.

One dance was hard not to celebrate: Michael told the story of Soni, a boy who was part of one of the other houses, Wings of Hope. Wings of Hope was a house for special needs kids, and it was originally run by a French couple. Soni has cerebral palsy, and spent years confined to a bed. The French couple had burned out and wanted to return to France, and were trying to place each of their 14 children in other homes.

Michael and three of the St. Joseph's boys went to visit to see if they could take one of the kids in. At one point, they came upon Soni, confined in his bed, and the boys felt especially drawn to his story. As Michael told the story, when the group returned to St. Joseph's to decide which of the kids to take in, the St. Joseph's boys rebelled. They recognized that the 14 kids from Wings of Hope were already a family, and they didn't want to see them broken up. They wanted St. Joseph's to take over Wings of Hope. And throwing financial prudence to the wind, that's what they did.

The kids started a physical therapy project to help Soni become at least partially mobile. And as his mobility improved, they decided that Soni needed to join their dance troupe. With that kind of background, when Soni came out and did his dance, it was hard not to allow one's heartstrings to be tugged.

One of the final dances of the evening was a clear reenactment of the Haitian Revolution. One dancer started out mirroring the pose of an iconic revolutionary symbol: the Neg Mawon. A large part of the dance involved the whipping of slaves and the rising up of the slaves to kill their masters.

The Haitian Revolution is such a big part of the Haitian character. Every Haitian I've ever met gets chuffed in the telling of how Haiti fought for its freedom. And not freedom from taxation without representation. I mean freedom.

I don't know at what point the evening stopped being the pageant of school kids and became a powerful performance. But, man.

Comments

[aquaeri.livejournal.com]

Wow. Thank you.