Cap Haitien, Haiti – Yesterday morning we left town for Cap Haitien. After three weeks, it really was time for me to see the real Haiti, the Haiti of before the 12th, the Haiti of the countryside, the Haiti of the past. I wanted to try to get a feel of what this country’s original vibe was, even if that’s impossible to do in a day. A good way to do this would be to go visit the northern regions of Cape Haitien where the history and origins of Voodoo took place.

We took the main road to the north, a road paved for maybe half of its distance.

Even on the paved sections, the car has to slalom between the vicious pot holes densely spread throughout.

For the first hours, we were crossing bare, dry, valleys. There truly is a deforestation problem in Haiti. The joke in the car was “look over there, there is a tree we forgot to cut down”.

To see some green and farming you have to reach the rice fields mid-way to the north. Suddenly things start to look very pretty, the landscapes of rice fields, coco trees and baked soil huts reminded me of southern India.

In the small towns outside of P-A-P the poverty is worse; the difference is that the buildings are standing and there is no food distributions. Donkeys and horses are still a prevalent mode of transport for the farmers.

This is what the rest of the Caribbean must have looked like 40 years ago.

Crossing the mountains was quite a challenge, as our tired car would continuously have its gas filter plugged by the dirty gasoline. Every hour Cyrilien would stop and try to inject fresh gasoline in the filter to unplug it. The worry was getting stuck out there at night, on the bandit-infested roads.

We made it to Bwa Kayiman just before nightfall. This is the most sacred and historical site of the Voodoo faith, where the voodoo ceremony that gave Haiti it’s independence was held on the 14th of August 1791 – the first “official” voodoo ceremony.

The prayer pronounced on that day went like this (translated from Creole)

God who like the sun lights us from above
Who raises the sea, makes the thunders growl
The god of the others is hidden in the clouds, he looks at us
He sees what the white man is doing.
He asks them to commit crimes,
Our god only wants the good.
Please good god of ours, let us avenge ourselves
guide our arms, give us strength
let us get rid of the white god
Let us listen to the freedom growing in our hearts

After Zaza, the high priest of Bwa Kayiman (Bois-Caiman) greeted us warmly, he led us to the historical cave were Brise, the main angel (loi) of the Voodoo faith resides. Brise is the most powerful “loi” after the god almighty (Zaza doesn’t talk about the God of the Bible here). Brise is the loi that gave the Haitiens the power to gain their freedom. Up to this day, government officials come to this cave for advice and guidance.

I’m told that normally a non-initiated foreigner wouldn’t be allowed near or in the cave. But they are so happy to see a foreigner show up, that Zaza makes an exception. With the economy collapsing, the people in the countryside are suffering more than usual. Haitians are used to dealing with aid agencies, and hope that containers of food and help will follow every foreigner they see. Zaza is eager to have the Bwa Kayiman site known: they need all the help they can get to build their community, have roads, power, schools, activities for the youth, and so on.

Zaza explains to me that Brise couldn’t protect Haiti from the earthquake, as this catastrophe came from the god above. Brise only takes care of the mystique of the Haitian people and Haiti itself, not of the stuff that comes from above and outside. If god above wants to judge Haiti, Brise can’t do anything about it. The “lois” are only angels sent by god.

I asked Zaza if he agreed with the idea that god himself made the earth tremble to punish the people. Zaza doesn’t know, but he knows that the “lois” have nothing to do with it; the “lois” are the Haitian’s culture and heritage, and should be respected. He notes that the people affected by the earthquake were Protestants, up to me to make my own conclusions.

I didn’t feel the need to publicize my views on religions, as a world without gods wouldn’t be a sane concept here. They already think I’m half crazy for coming all the way here.

When coming back from the cave to the temple, a big lizard followed us. Zaza told me it was a “loi” checking on what was happening here with this stranger and his camera.

It was time to start the music and dancing. This would last most of the night, until we had to hit the road again.

My lens and recorder had their best time ever, we got to meet the hardcore Haitians. Get a feel for the past and birth of this strong people.

Being exposed to the heart of Haitian mystique even for such a short time was definitely worth the exhausting drive.

The return was safe and smooth. The car worked perfectly and if we had to stop, it was only for me having to run in the bush with dangling toilet paper under the laughter of my friends.

A farewell message for someone lost in the house.

Yesterday I was in Leogane, a small city about an hour’s drive away from Port-au-Prince. People say it lost 90% of its buildings. A man on the street tells me the 10% that are left standing in this town are the trees. He lost everything, but not his humor.

Most of the inhabitants have left the city; it is true, there isn’t much left standing. Compared to P-a-P, Leogane feels like a ghost town. In P-a-P you don’t even have enough room to camp.

On the 12th of January, schoolteacher and Voodoo priest Gérald Eloi was outside of the office he had just rented to start a computer school. On that day Gerald happened to be celebrating his 35th birthday. Friends and family were hanging out, and his young daughter brought Gérald inside the building to bring a treat to his 21/2 year-old son who was busy with his toys.

When the building started to tremble, Gérald only had time to grab his 7 year-old daughter and the woman standing beside him. He ran back in to find his son. As he was about to grab him, the slab fell on him and he passed out.

Gérald woke up in the dark not knowing if he was dead or alive. He couldn’t see anything and started to explore with his hands. He started crying, “Where is my son? What happened?”

“Papa, papa papa”, the boy had grabbed Gérald’s right foot. By holding him on his chest, Gérald could feel the heart of his boy beat so hard that he was afraid it would break.

Gérald started to think of God, asking himself, “how can we still be alive under three slabs of concrete?” To his right, he could feel that there was a bed, and the bed was holding the concrete slab above their heads. “This must be God’s work, a bed cannot hold the weight of 3 slabs”.

So he made a promise: “God if you get me out of here, I will give you the rest of my life”. What Gérald meant is that he would pray to God directly, rather than through the “loi” (spirits that protect and guide) of the Voodoo faith.

Gérald’s son fell asleep on his chest as he was praying and waiting.

A neighbour was also trapped under rubble nearby, and he and Gérald could hear each other call out. They started shouting for help together. Seven hours later, they where freed by the neighbors.

From that moment on, Gérald vowed to live in the service of God. Gérald doesn’t think the Voodoo “loi” (spirits that protect and guide someone) helped him while under the building. Only God could be strong enough to do that, he says; he tells me heard a voice saying to him, “your time hasn’t come yet, I will let you live”.

At the local Voodoo temple there isn’t much activity these days. Gérald tells me that people are now afraid of God’s wrath, and have stopped practicing Voodoo for awhile. I wonder if this is a unique case or if it is the same elsewhere. I will go see an authentic temple this week end to actually film a ceremony and learn more on the origins of Voodoo.

PS: Before I left, Gérald told me to pass a message to the outside world: “Please do not just drop the food from the helicopters, it forces people to fight amongst themselves. It is a terrible thing to see hungry families and neighbors lose their dignity in this way. Please make proper distributions”

Photo by S. Wojtkowiak; from Flickr

Instead there was something else, there was crying, or chanting, or crying as a chorus or praying, it’s hard to describe, it was buried just below the crickets. It must have been the people down the hill mourning or something. I was so tired that I was dreaming awake before finally sinking in this world of voices and pain.

- Blog, January 16th

Port-au-Prince - The other day I asked Emmanuel about the singing. He told me that in the camps they do sing every night; I hadn’t been dreaming.

I want to go there and record this. This would really help us to know and understand the camps better. It is at night that people cry and gather; during the day they are busy surviving.

Emmanuel is staying at a camp that hasn’t had ANY help yet. It’s at Carefour des Brosses, out of town. Emmanuel tells me they sing every night, and that I could come. He would talk to the head of the organization they created (U.D.Ha.C, Belange Ignare) to see if it would be all right. There are 3,500 people in this camp.

The problem is security.  A white guy with a nice camera out at night is a tad risky here.

But I feel the singing would be so beautiful, and would help the donations and bring some attention to these camps. Since this is about music, I remembered my old friend Sarasvati who always protected me and my guitars/sitars while on tour; with the satellite modem pointing at the stars, it was easy to “skype” her to ask for protection.

I had been careful to talk and joke with the guys at the door of the Canadian Embassy so they would get to know me. Today, I asked them to let me out at night and TO LET ME BACK IN when I came back. “Pa ni problem,” they said.

Emmanuel and Johnny picked me up with a driver. We started to cross the city. Things are very busy here at night, there are a lot off people sleeping on the sidewalks.

At one point we had to go back to take another way because a street was full of people sleeping on the ground. There are candles everywhere, and these smoky, busy, streets seem from another world. We also came across a local police road block; teenagers with AK47’s always make me a little nervous.

There were no lights in the camps, but I took out my super duper low light camera and  fast lens. We also bought candles to give to people, so I would have light to film a little.

We walked through the camp, bent under the makeshift “tents” and up to a bigger tent holding about 50 people. The wounded and the sick lie down, while the others stand up. The group had started singing already, so we distribute the candles, and I somehow found my way to the center without walking on anybody.

I didn’t want to shoot a music video, move around, put my lens in peoples faces; I wanted to be as invisible as possible.  The group started to sing, and the magic began:

They sing their souls out, asking that the earth not to tremble again.  They clap their hands so they can heal, shout out their prayers that help will reach them soon. They regain hope from the harmony of their voices melting together as one powerful call. People of Haiti, you are so strong and so beautiful.

Related: Gospel singing in Camp Petionville