Rocks in the Water, Rocks in the Sun: A Memoir from the Heart of Haiti

by Vilmond Joegodson Déralciné

  I went back to see Annie and pick up our plans together.

  I thought about how long it would take me to build my furniture, plan the wedding, and find a place for us to live. We needed to set a date for the wedding. I decided I could get everything done by the first of October.

  Now I could tell my father.

  I went down to Simon. As usual, my dad was thinking about how our family might be able to get out of the mess we were all in. He was very anxious.

  Each time that I opened my mouth to begin to tell Deland, I thought of all the problems that had come tumbling down on him since the earthquake. Christla, my little sister, was pregnant. None of us, perhaps not even Christla, knew who the father was. Roselèn, an even younger sister, had fallen into the same condition a couple of months later. Again, the father was unknown. Next, Suzy, Deland’s niece, made it three. The moment that her boyfriend found out that she was pregnant, he kicked her out of his apartment. Deland took her in. So, under the roof of his half-collapsed two-room home were three pregnant girls with no prospect of marriage. Plus his other children. Then, thieves took advantage of the fact that the walls of his home had collapsed to steal some beautiful suits that he had been contracted to make. He was falling into depression. James, the eldest of his seven kids, had entered a plasaj with the woman who rented the second room in Deland’s house. A plasaj is a common-law union. They had a young daughter together to go along with the tenant’s other three children. Deland was disappointed in James as much as he was in the girls.

  I feared that I could destroy Deland if I wasn’t careful about how I told him the news. On the other hand, this news could uplift him. I knew that he looked to me to protect the reputation of our family. I wanted him to continue to believe in me. I wanted him to be happy.

  “Father, there is a little problem, but not too big. I’m making the necessary preparations. The rings are already made. I am preparing the furniture. In other words, I’m getting married soon … well, the first of October … to be precise … because Annie is pregnant.”

  Dad was surprised. He took a while before saying a word. After a couple of minutes, he said, “Let God’s will be done.”

  chapter twenty-nine

  ONE DAY IN DELMAS 19, I had a surprise visit from Fédrik, who was sweaty and weary from his karate session. He spoke about the difficulties that he and Franchesca were having in the pigsty tent camp. He said the camp was rotten. People smoked marijuana. He couldn’t stand that smell mixed with the lingering pig odour, coal burning, dust blowing, garbage piling, human excrement …

  Worse, there was an air of resignation about the camp, the soil, and the people that depressed him. But he had no means to move. Therefore, he had to find the means. He needed money!

  Franchesca complained. Normally, people who smoke marijuana do so in private. But in the pigsty camp, they smoked openly. It was, she said, a sign that they had withdrawn from society. They were announcing that they didn’t care anymore. Both Fédrik and Franchesca, wretched as they were, continued to see themselves as part of Haitian society. Their status in that society could hardly have been lower.

  The pigsty camp was showing signs of developing into a baz. A baz is a group of people that withdraws from civil society to create a world unto itself. Maybe they just resist being oppressed by the bourgeoisie. But they can also enter into gangsterism. They can be kidnappers or thieves, for instance. The people are exceedingly poor and reject all social rules. They do not apologize to anyone for their criminal actions and they target everyone. But really, they steal from the poorest of the street merchants and kidnap local people who might have more affluent connections.

  They depend on violence. The fear that they instill in others through terror protects them in the neighbourhoods where they live. People are obliged to pretend to accept their authority or else pay the consequences. But they do not endear themselves to their poorest neighbours who can fall victim to their schemes and their violence.

  They used to visit my father from time to time in his tailoring shop. The youths would strike up a conversation, “How are you?” “How are things going?” All very innocuous. Then, they would tell my father that they were hungry. My father used to give them some money to buy food. They wouldn’t overtly menace my father, but the consequences of not “paying” them were clear. It was sad, because my father really did share with people in the neighbourhood who were in need. He never needed to be threatened. In any case, his benevolence never saved him from being robbed from time to time by armed young men charging into his shop wearing masks to protect their identities.

  Walking through Simon to visit my father one day several months after the earthquake, I saw a couple of boys grab what appeared to be a gold necklace from the neck of a young woman. They caused her considerable pain. She screamed for help. No one could do anything to stop the armed youths, who continued on their way normally, with the necklace in hand. That they didn’t run was more disturbing than the theft. They, and others like them, were now so contemptuous of society that they felt no shame. Others noticed the same devolution. The gangs and baz were operating with more open contempt.

  The members of a baz see themselves as revolutionaries; they are anything but. They accept the fundamentals of capitalist society. They are materialist and egoist. They seek all the trappings of status in our material world and want to outdo the bourgeoisie who use legal or untraceable forms of theft to accumulate wealth. The baz does not bother with the distinction. In private, neither do the rich. But they own so much of the culture that they can create fairy tales about their noble intentions and actions. Haitian films, like La Pluie d’Espoir, try to bury the reality of Haitian life under self-serving bourgeois myths. Otherwise, the baz and the bourgeoisie have much in common. Both use violence and both prey on the poor. Prey on the rich too, when possible. They are not looking to change society or the economy. They just want more. The gangsters live close to the violence that they create; the rich live up the mountain where the air is cool.

  Fédrik told me that he was afraid for Franchesca. He knew these people. They were capable of rape. They also had no concerns about cutting through the tarps to pillage the few belongings of the poorest victims of the earthquake. Without walls to protect themselves and their possessions, Fédrik saw no escape from their lives in the pigsty.

  While Fédrik was talking, my cousin Lorès from Bon Repos called. He told me about a friend who had a parcel of land in a place called Canaan. His friend was planning his marriage and could not afford a ring for his fiancée, so he had decided to sell his land. He invited me to come to see it, knowing that I too was planning my marriage and had no place to live.

  I told Fédrik that I was going to see it. I would report back. If it was good for me, maybe it would be good for him too. I took a taptap to Bon Repos and my cousin Lorès and I carried on from there to Canaan. Interest in Canaan was exploding. The taptap drivers had begun to address the demand and had created a new route to Canaan. From all over the capital, people wanted to go to Canaan to explore the possibility of relocating there. In Bon Repos, there was a mad dash for each taptap headed toward Canaan. My cousin Lorès and I fought to get into one.

  The area of Canaan, Corail, and Onaville had long been abandoned by Haitians. During the Lavalas period, Aristide had attempted to build a community there for civil servants. It was now called Onaville. The area was isolated, but there were sand and quarries that could be exploited. The development had a promising beginning. You can see from the superior construction that was completed — minimal though it was — the vision that he had had for the area. It appeared to be a good plan to relieve the overpopulation of the capital with its lack of infrastructure. The government paid for the construction. State employees paid for their homes through deductions from their salaries. The homes were designed to resist seismic activity. They were attractive and well-constructed. They did indeed survive the earthquake intact. The program ended, however, when Aristide was abducte
d in 2004.

  Canaan was a deforested desert. Only scrub that could survive the intense heat grew there. Sometimes, religious people climbed to the tops of the mountains for celebrations and sacrifices. The remote mountaintops assured them of the isolation they sought. Others went there for religious fasts. No one ever considered living there. The religious who went to Canaan to fast, however, were obliged to build a rudimentary church in order to protect themselves from the heat.

  Almost all the poor who were left homeless after the earthquake had been renters. Now, we wanted to own our own homes. The people who used to go to Canaan to pray now put up some tents. When others saw that a few people were going to live there, they started to come in numbers. Before long, there was a flood of people into this desert. They started to plant plants resistant to the heat, like papaya mawon, a kind of papaya that doesn’t give fruit but that grows fast and protects the soil. Olive trees and pwa kongo also were growing and soon producing fruit. The problem was water. There were no wells or springs. In time, they would be built. Meanwhile, water would have to be purchased and carried some distance.

  When it was clear that a large population was coming to Canaan, several people formed a committee to seek aid. NGOs do not give aid to individuals, but to organizations, so they decided to name themselves as representatives of the new inhabitants. Eventually, the committee would be recognized by the state. Each area of Canaan would create its own committee. They got badges to wear on their breasts. You could see how important they were by the way they acted. Others, like the friend of my cousin Lorès, started to mark out plots of land that they would then sell to people like me. They had no claim to the land except that they claimed the land. As the demand increased, they started to raise the prices. But they needed to demonstrate a presence to be able to claim possession of any property. Some people made themselves considerable sums of money by charging the earthquake victims for properties that they literally drew on the soil of Canaan.

  Canaan is a mountainous deforested area. Below it is a large plain, the Plaine de Cul-de-Sac. It all appeared like a very hilly desert of rocks and brush. In the plain was a large area with rows of tents. That was Corail. A rich Haitian businessman, Aby Brun, wanted to establish some assembly factories in cooperation with a South Korean apparel multinational. In Creole, the words “Corail” (coral) and “Korea” sound very similar. As we approached Canaan, the taptap passengers said that Corail was poorly located. The plain was a natural pathway for the flow of water. When the heavy rains came, the plain would flood. I asked them why an NGO would go ahead with the project. They were supposed to be experts. Someone in the taptap snapped at me, “Experts in what?! Don’t imagine that NGOs came here to help us.”

  I said, “They told us that they were responsible for the reconstruction.”

  Another passenger interjected, “Look. If they were experts, they wouldn’t have needed anyone to tell them that this area is a ravine and a flood plain. You are going to see those tents replaced with permanent homes in the future. But those permanent homes will not last the first hurricane. Neither will their occupants. Some experts!”

  A woman told me, “When money gets involved, people aren’t logical. Those NGOs want to keep themselves in business. They depend on crises. If this project floods out, they’ll just have another nice crisis to clean up.”

  While people were considering her argument, she continued, “It’s up to Haitians to decide what they want. Where they want to live and how. Why are people who aren’t going to live here and don’t know us deciding where we should live and how?”

  She had some clear ideas. “What’s happening? Our misery is enriching a lot of people in other countries — that’s what’s happening. Why would they want that to change? Would they work to put themselves out of business? No! What careers would they take up afterwards?”

  Another woman took up the argument, “You — you Haitian men — are like the NGOs. Even when you aren’t available, you never let a pretty woman escape your notice. Instead, you make all kinds of promises, telling her that you will do this and that for her, provide her with all kinds of riches. You even make sure that your conscience doesn’t intervene to spoil a good thing. Instead, you put your conscience aside to offer things that are not in the girl’s interests and can even harm her.”

  As she finished, the taptap arrived at its final destination. The men looked at each other. Each one said, “I’m not like that.… That’s not me.… She was exaggerating.”

  When she descended, she said, “No one ever claims responsibility for malice. But the moment that honours are being distributed, everyone is first in line.”

  As we started to go our separate ways, we saw that a number of people had already started to settle here. But they had used whatever materials were at hand: corrugated iron and cardboard, for instance. My cousin and I started to climb the hills. It was now noon and the sun took up all the sky and burned us little Haitians below. There were no kind trees to offer us a little shade. But we needed to keep going, having come this far.

  When my cousin’s friend saw that we were discouraged, he pointed ahead and said, “There, that’s it. That’s the property.” Having a precise destination, he thought, would keep us from turning around. The mountains were high enough that we could have climbed them all afternoon.

  So we kept going, parched and dusty. When we arrived at the piece of the mountain that he had claimed, we magically forgot the trouble that we had getting there. There was a steady breeze that countered the stifling heat of the sun. We stood on the crest of a hill overlooking the plain. In the distance we could see the sea that was thoughtfully sending us the gentle wind.

  I looked down at Corail in the valley below with the warnings of the taptap passengers buzzing through my mind. Here, I would be far above the plain and protected from downpours and floods. This was rocky land while the plain was sitting on top of water. That was good news. Rocky soil is a natural protection against earthquakes. The rocks absorb the shock. At the same time, there were many crops and fruit trees that would thrive in this soil. Already I could see the pretty yellow blossoms of healthy tall kongo bean bushes that some pioneers had planted.

  My heart had already chosen the plot of land. I now had to negotiate the price. I saw that he had made an effort to mark the four corners of his property with iron pickets. We agreed upon a price of 5,000 gourdes ($124 US).

  The settlers were already reselling the properties that they had marked out for themselves to profit from the heightened demand. I was able to pay 3,000 gourdes($74.50 US). He agreed to wait a month for the rest. I could see that he needed to sell it in order to buy his fiancée a ring, an important custom in Haitian marriages. Ironically, buying his property meant that I was going to have a difficult time affording a ring for Annie.

  We had changed places. He now had a ring and no property. I had a property and no ring.

  My cousin Lorès was happy to have helped me. He himself had not had the chance to buy a plot of land. When he had married, his brother-in-law let him build a couple of rooms on a sliver of land on his courtyard. He was not independent. Worse, he was persecuted by a lwa rasyal.

  A lwa rasyal is a spirit that your ancestors served, sometimes generations in the past. Even if the family breaks off relations with the lwa, it can still find a host among other members of the family, including descendants. The person possessed may have no knowledge that his ancestors served the lwa. But the lwa knows. The lwa came to our country from Africa with the slaves. So, some lwa rasyal may trace their connection to our ancestors in Africa.

  The mother of Lorès was my father’s sister who had been possessed along with him in Saut d’Eau. Both had escaped the lwa when their mother Suzanne agreed to become Christian. But afterwards, the lwa sought out my cousin Lorès.

  While preparing his marriage, Lorès had only enough money to finance the foundation of his two rooms. Things were not going well for him. He was rejected from all the jobs that he app
lied for. He started to think of himself as marked somehow. Sometimes, the lwa can plan their possessions carefully. They can make sure that their victim is in a precarious state. They can arrange his life so that he becomes insecure and unhappy and, therefore, more vulnerable to their machinations.

  One night, Lorès dreamed that a man dressed all in black told him, “I know of all your troubles in finishing your house. Tomorrow morning, when you go to the foundation for your house, you will see a piece of paper. It will contain three numbers. Play those numbers in the lottery as much as possible with as much money as you have. You will win enough to finish your house.” With that, the apparition disappeared.

  The next day, Lorès did indeed find a paper with three numbers. He didn’t play the numbers. Instead, he simply recounted the dream to some neighbours. They played the numbers and won the jackpot, just as the apparition had predicted.

  The next night, he was visited by a serpent who spoke to him, saying, “I’m here to help you again. I want you to finish these two rooms. Tomorrow morning, next to the foundation, you will find a single sandal. Look for the size. Play that number and its reverse. If it is 06, then play that along with 60, and so on.”

  Lorès did see a sandal. Again, he told other people about the dream. They played it and won. Lorès did not play.

  The lwa follow their prey to understand them. This lwa saw that Lorès was going to be a tough nut to crack. So, the following night, he visited Lorès in the form of a member of the family who had died long before. Nervously, the apparition told Lorès, “I am aware that you don’t really know what you want. I have tried to find a way to help you escape your troubles. I am going to offer you a final chance. This time, it will be in Saut d’Eau, where you were born. Go there. Take a backpack. Go to a place called Govri on your mother’s property. Hang the backpack from the orange tree there. Don’t say anything to anyone. At midnight, go out to see what I have left you.”