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

by Vilmond Joegodson Déralciné

James said that there was a man in the neighbourhood who had a hearse. He had organized funerals for people. He told James to find 30,000 gourdes ($755 US). He would take care of everything. James told him that the body would have to be buried in Saut d’Eau, not Simon.

  I had doubts. People sometimes give a price just to get the body. Once they have it, they make the costs grow until the family is ruined. It wasn’t clear that he knew how far Saut d’Eau was. The cost of a coffin alone was usually 15,000 gourdes ($377 US). The wake would also be a large expense. There would need to be chairs, refreshments for many people. The wake was an important ritual and would have to be done properly. Was this a serious offer or a trap?

  I asked James to not give any answer. Our uncle had already taken the body. We’d have to see which was better. Our uncle had already organized funerals. Perhaps he would be a better choice … for once.

  I was counting on the moral support of Jelo. He had been planning a trip to his home community in the mountains above Tigwav, but the moment that he learned of Deland’s death, he told me that he would stay to help me get through the funeral. But when I passed by Delmas 19 after the ambulance had taken Deland, Jelo was already at the gate with his backpack, en route for Tigwav. He was embarrassed to see me.

  “Oh Ti bòs. I decided I had better go after all. Everyone is waiting for me there. I’ll just go and explain to them and then return right away.”

  That was the last I saw of Jelo until the funeral was over.

  This would be a challenge. Would I be able to do this? What was I capable of?

  I carried on to meet my uncle to go to the morgue at the General Hospital where his friend worked. He said to me, “I know that you don’t have much money. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure it doesn’t cost more than 30,000 gourdes ($755 US).”

  My uncle negotiated with his friend. “Here is my young nephew. It is his father’s body that we’re talking about. There is no mother and so he is responsible. But he has very little money. So, we want you to prepare the body and take it to the church for the funeral, and then the body will be interred in Saut d’Eau.” The undertaker agreed to do this for 5,000 gourdes ($126 US).

  “You see,” said my uncle as we left the morgue. “Just leave things to me. I get things done. Everything’s going to be fine. I have some coffins in the workshop and, since Deland was a good brother-in-law, I don’t want anyone to exploit the situation.”

  When he said that Deland was his “good brother-in-law,” I thought that maybe something was changing. Deland had indeed been a good brother-in-law, as opposed to my uncle. Perhaps he wanted to take this last opportunity to make things right, to reconcile with Deland and to make peace with his past. Maybe I wanted to believe that.

  I went to tell James the good news. All that was left was to find the money.

  As soon as the people in Saut d’Eau received the message that Deland was dead, my aunt called me. She was Deland’s sister who, three decades earlier, had been victim of our family’s lwa along with him.

  “What will we do? How are you going to pay for the funeral?” she asked. “Your father still has a couple of plots of land in Saut d’Eau. Maybe we could find a buyer for them.”

  She knew that we had nothing in Simon. She also knew that my father’s sickness would have eaten whatever money we may have had. Deland had stayed with her son Lorès and her daughter Christina. She was well aware that he and his family were broke.

  Two days later, our aunt called to say that an agronomist had agreed to buy the land. Without having seen it, but on the assurances of the koutche, he agreed to pay 70,000 gourdes ($1,740 US). James met the agronomist in Port-au-Prince who made a down payment of 45,000 gourdes ($1,118 US) for the land. He would pay the rest after the funeral, once he had seen it in person.

  When my aunt knew that we had money from the sale of Deland’s land, she told us that we would have to send some of it to Saut d’Eau to receive the visitors and pay for the burial. Normally, as in this case, the wake and the funeral take place where the person died. As a matter of choice, Deland had not lived his life in Saut d’Eau. His church, his friends, his clients, his neighbours, and his family were all in Simon. So James asked what our aunt was planning for the countryside and how much money she needed.

  Our aunt had the advantage of knowing how much money the sale would put in our hands. She said, “Well, we understand the situation. You don’t have much money and you have lots of responsibilities.… Well, just try to send a little something for us to prepare for Deland the way we would have liked and in a way that would honour him.… There will be a lot of people who will want to pay their respects.… Well, let’s see.… Just do your best and try to send about 25,000 gourdes ($621 US).”

  James and I were amazed to hear a peasant pronounce such a figure. It used to be that a funeral in the countryside would cost 500 gourdes, altogether. We wondered if even our aunt might have been shocked to hear herself ask for 25,000 gourdes. We heard others whispering in the background. Our cousins. Were they all wondering whether they would get away with this or not?

  James and I were thinking. That money could buy ten cows. If my father had had that money, he would never have come to the capital three decades earlier. He would have raised livestock as had once been his dream. If we passed all this money to the relations in Saut d’Eau, would we be able to have a proper funeral here in Simon, where it was needed?

  We understood immediately that Deland’s relations had one idea in mind and it was money. In Deland’s youth, when there was a death, the relations got together, like a konbit, to plan the funeral. It was shared among all those concerned. But now, no one from Saut d’Eau offered to come to the capital to help with the plans and the organization. They simply wanted money. They would take care of the rest.

  Deland had always cared about his larger family. He worried not only about us, but he wondered how he might be able to help his relations in Saut d’Eau.

  Finally, we decided to make our relations aware of our expenses for the funeral in Simon. Beyond the funeral expenses, none of the children had decent clothes or shoes. We told her that we would send 15,000 gourdes ($373 US) to Saut d’Eau.

  Our aunt started to complain. “No, no, no. That won’t be enough. We’ll have to buy rice, pwa nwa, meat, soft drinks.”

  James and I were both on the phone. We replied, “We understand. Since it won’t be enough to do anything properly, maybe it would be better to forget about any ceremony at Saut d’Eau. We’ll just plan for the capital and you can come down.”

  “Okay, okay, we’ll just have to do what we can with 15,000 gourdes. It’ll be tough.”

  We now had only 5,000 gourdes ($124 US) left from the sale of the land. With that, we needed to clothe all of the seven children. Not one of us had black clothes. But at least the costs of the funeral had been assured. All that remained was to confirm the date with the pastor of Deland’s church. Once that was done, we announced the date of the funeral ceremony. But what people in Simon were really interested in was the wake that was always the night before the funeral. We would have to make a little money go a long way. There would be gossip. But there would be a wake.

  A neighbour who used to use Deland’s sewing machine found some black fabric in his workshop and made dresses for Christla and Gloria. Then, I bought whatever black pèpè I could find and managed to clothe the rest of us for the funeral.

  A couple of days before the funeral, Deland’s cousin Claude came by to ask if I needed any help. It was heart-warming. He was a painter and offered to help with the coffin if it was necessary. We told him that my uncle was taking care of the casket. He knew my uncle and didn’t trust that he was atoning for his life of greed toward everyone. He suggested that we go to the workshop and make sure that it was acceptable.

  Claude and I went to my uncle’s house. I handed him the 25,000 gourdes ($621 US) for the morgue fees, including the casket. He took us to his workshop so that we could see it. He had moved from D
elmas 19, where I used to work for him, to Titanyen, between Port-au-Prince and Saut d’Eau. When we arrived, we saw that he had made a few coffins years earlier. Insects had been gnawing at the wood. Around his shop were other craftsmen who made coffins of quality. Next to them, these of my uncle were unsaleable. They were painted white with sky blue borders. The colours were inconsistent with funerals. Worse, they were not well crafted. They were made to bury paupers.

  Claude pointed to the one that was placed apart, as if ready to go. “Is that the casket?”

  “Yes,” said my uncle, “that’s a good coffin.”

  “Okay,” said Claude. He said no more. He hired a taptap to take it to Simon. There, he paid someone to rebuild the casket. He used his own money to buy the materials, including two tones of brown paint. He saved us from making a shameful mistake.

  When it was finished, my uncle came by to see the renovated casket, “Look at it. Isn’t that a beautiful coffin?” He took total credit for it in its renovated state, as if that was how he had offered it to us. “If I’d known it would be that nice, I would have brought a camera with me.”

  He continued, “Since the funeral is in two days, I’d better go to the morgue to pay the undertaker.”

  A short while later, he called from the morgue, with his voice full of outrage. “Joegodson! You know that this undertaker is a real bastard!? He’s telling me that the 5,000 gourdes that we negotiated was just to keep the body in the morgue and prepare it for the funeral! He says that it was not to transport it anywhere! He says that we have to pay even more because the time in the morgue has been so long! I’m so angry I’m ready to leave this hospital. I don’t want anything more to do with this vakabon!”

  I tried to find out how bad the situation was, “And so, what have you concluded?”

  “I don’t want to be involved anymore. We have to bring the casket here, but I’m ready to wash my hands of the whole affair rather than deal with this bastard!”

  “Haven’t you negotiated to have the casket taken to the church?” I asked.

  “That’s what’s making me so angry! He’s not only refusing to go to Saut d’Eau, but to take the body to the church! … I’ll get a taptap to take the casket to the morgue, but I won’t enter. I don’t want anything more to do with it.”

  I now could see no other options but to accept that plan. The body was in the morgue and my uncle had all the money for the funeral.

  Before long, my uncle showed up with a taptap. A few friends came with us to the morgue to help carry the casket.

  When we arrived at the General Hospital, my uncle handed me 1,500 gourdes ($37 US) — of the 25,000 gourdes ($621 US) that we had given him — to get from his “friend” in the morgue an official pass to transport the body. When I encountered the undertaker, he immediately took up his end of the argument.

  “I won’t have anything to do with that vakabon! What an arrogant bastard! He treats everyone as if they were kokorats! Who does he think he is? … Your uncle expects me to prepare the body, pay for its time in the morgue, take it to the church — which is already far enough — and then to Saut d’Eau! All that for 5,000 gourdes. Even my best price for a friend in need for all that is 30,000 gourdes. But your uncle is far from a friend and far from ever being one!”

  “Okay,” I tried to calm him. “I understand. I myself had been doubtful about the price of 5,000 gourdes. Just try to forget what’s happened. I have 1,500 gourdes. Could you give me a pass for the body? Just forget about my uncle and deal with me.”

  He explained that he had sent the body to a private morgue. With the cholera epidemic, they were thoroughly cleaning the morgue in the General Hospital every few days. During the cleanings, they get rid of all the bodies in a common grave. “Your uncle wanted the body left here, but it would have been lost. The private morgue was more expensive. You have to pay for each day.”

  Finally, he gave me the pass and sent someone to show me the location of the private morgue. He warned me that, without that pass, I would not be able to transport the body anywhere.

  As we exited the General Hospital, my uncle was engaged in a heated shouting match with the taptap driver who still had the casket in the back of his vehicle. My uncle had hired him principally to transport some corrugated iron to his workshop. After that job, my uncle offered to add another fifty gourdes ($1.24 US) to his fee if he would transport the coffin to a morgue. He had told the taptap driver that the morgue was close by, which was far from honest. Now, the driver was complaining. My uncle was calling him a vakabon and a cheat. The taptap driver was calling him an old bastard. There were lots of spectators. It was the travelling show that my uncle took with him wherever he went.

  I approached the taptap driver with my job cut out for me. I began by saying that he was right. I didn’t need to know the details. I threw myself at his mercy and asked if he wouldn’t find it in his heart to carry the coffin for my father just a couple of blocks further. His blood pressure lowered and he agreed to help me out. But then he turned one last time to my uncle to holler that he would never deal with that old bastard again.

  When we arrived at the morgue, the taptap driver helped the rest of us take the casket down. We arranged the time to pick up the casket and the body the morning of the funeral, the day after the next.

  The day of the wake arrived. Everyone would be expecting something important. We had 2,000 gourdes ($50 US) left. I mulled over what I could do with that. James and I used 1,000 gourdes to buy soft drinks, chocolate, bread, and sugar to make tea with ginger, orange, and lemon leaves.

  That would not be enough. I would have to do something to cut their appetites so they wouldn’t start complaining. What could keep them so occupied that they wouldn’t start looking for food? A couple of months earlier, I had been looking in a second-hand computer store when I found a DVD projector for a good price. I bought it, with the idea of showing documentaries and films. I didn’t yet have the other equipment I would need to continue with my plan, but the projector waited in my room.

  I borrowed a computer that could play DVDs and hooked my projector up to it.

  The wake always starts after sunset of the night before the funeral and continues until sunrise. As usual, there were different groups. The Protestants came with their prayer and song books to pray and sing all night. Since Deland was Protestant, they naturally took the main place and set the tone for the wake. When adherents of the other religious sects pass away, their co-religionists likewise set the tone of the wake. Deland was also a tailor and his clients were as diverse as Haitian society. Some had been Vodouist and would ask Deland to make costumes for their rituals. The base of his business had been the Catholic school children who needed uniforms every year. They all came, and many others.

  A wake is an occasion for anybody to say or do whatever he or she pleases. Some people take advantage of a wake to be foolish, to shout out nonsense, and even to insult the deceased and his family. Others come to pay their respects to the family. In any case, a wake is always a gathering together of all parts of Haitian society. There were the vakabons, for instance.

  Among the vakabons could be people with some jealousy or resentment toward the deceased. They can use the wake to call out gossip or to denounce the family. When the house is open and the body on display, as was Deland the day of his death, anyone can enter. During the wake, people can yell out that they had seen a bucket of pee-pee in the corner, that Deland had never fixed his broken chair, or that the family never swept the floor. Sometimes, vakabon simply yell stupidities, “Deland used to steal his fabric from my shop.” The vakabon section does not intend to comfort the family. But they are always there, as they were for Deland. I had to put up with them.

  The earthquake had prepared the stage for Deland’s wake. When the front wall of his house collapsed, Deland hung a sheet where the wall had been, to separate his home from the street. We took the sheet down, so that there was no division between inside and outside. We borrowed a few b
enches and chairs and placed them in the alleyway.

  After the participants had all grouped themselves together, they played out their parts. While the Protestants chanted their songs, the vakabons tried to throw them off tune. They stood next to them, clapping and singing along but changing the tempo, the pitch, the lyrics, and the rhythm. They would sing “Where is the tea? Where’s the food?” They would say, “It’s a poor man who died. We can’t smell the tea.” “We want beer, not tea!” said others.

  I knew that the tea and coffee and soft drinks would not stretch. There was not enough to even begin to calm the growing crowd. We brought out some small cups to serve everyone the tea and chocolate along with some bread. Some started to complain about the size of the cups. “No thanks. No tea! I’ll wait for the beer!” “What kind of a wake is this without beer!? There’s no respect for us here!”

  When I heard this starting, I decided that the films would have to tranquilize the vakabons. While they continued to yell, I opened up a white sheet that I had placed in advance to hang from the wall inside the home and then began to project the first film.

  As soon as they saw the Haitian film starting, they zipped their mouths shut and looked for a good spot to watch it. They immediately entered into the film. They shut up! No longer was there any distinction between the vakabons and the citizens. Even better, the film projected on a large screen quenched their appetites. As long as the film played, they were as quiet as mice and more polite.

  As the night continued, and I played film after film, I passed out a few soft drinks. No one asked for anything. No one complained.

  I had never seen a wake so quiet and so well-behaved.

  When the sun rose, I was less proud of myself for having tranquilized the vakabons and satisfied the mourners than worried about how I was going to recuperate the body of Deland and get it to the church by seven-thirty in the morning. I confided in a neighbour who offered to take responsibility for finding a taptap to pick up the body at the morgue and take it to the church.