Hold Tight, Don't Let Go

by Laura Rose Wagner

  Now there are no more camps. All the people who lived in them have had the choice of whether to stay in the capital (where new, anti-seismic housing projects were built out in La Plaine and in some of the places where the camps used to be) or move to the provinces. And many people chose to leave Port-au-Prince, because now there are good secondary schools and hospitals everywhere, in all the ten departments of Haiti, and because the state started a huge reforestation campaign and then made a law that gave people subsidies to buy Haitian rice and Haitian vegetables. They built a system of railroads to bring produce from the countryside to the cities—not only Port-au-Prince but to the other cities, too. When Haitian products became cheaper than Dominican and American ones, farmers started to make a living, and everyone was happy, because they could afford to buy Haitian rice all the time. And once people started leaving the capital and going to the provinces, the congested, teeming urban quarters started to thin out and become livable neighborhoods again, and people didn’t have to live ten to a room, the houses all on top of one another, anymore.

  All the buildings in the country are earthquake-proof now, just like in Japan. No one is afraid to be under a concrete roof anymore. People don’t have to jump whenever a truck rumbles by anymore. People don’t have to sleep with one eye open anymore.

  Once people started to become happy and hopeful again, they started to believe that change could keep happening. And because they believed, they started to be able to put their heads together again to make sound plans. And they found honest leaders, because finally they knew that things could get better and that the future didn’t have to contain only hopelessness, lies, and corruption.

  Tonton Élie got a loan to set up his own small electronics shop on Lalue. And Safira’s family made enough money farming rice and lalo out in the Artibonite that they sent Edensky to a good Catholic school in St. Marc. And little Yolène grew from a baby into a little girl in Port-au-Prince, and she was never very sick, and when she did get sick, it was never a problem to take her to the doctor. And Mackenson was right, he was right all along: he stayed in Jérémie and became an agronomist—he got an education and kept working the land.

  In the end, they all were saved, everyone Magdalie had known, everyone she had ever worried about. They were saved; they were delivered.

  And the bones of the unknown dead—the nameless slaves killed in passage and in captivity, the unremembered victims of dictatorships and coups, the never-found earthquake dead buried in the ruins of the old city—ceased to be ground to dust beneath their feet.

  Who knew that Port-au-Prince could be so beautiful? When they were children, Magdalie and Nadine had only seen it that way in history books, frozen images in sepia or black-and-white. Now, living and breathing, it glistens like a pearl in the sun.

  Two sisters, so different and so alike, separated for so long but never more than a soul’s width apart. The sun sets over the gleaming, reborn city and blinks nearly green as it drops below the sparkling bay, and the sisters set off down the dustless road together, arm in arm, into the future, as they speak, in hushed voices, about everything good that has ever happened in their lives.

  Glossary

  A general note on Haitian Creole pronunciation: Haitian Creole (Kreyòl) is a phonetic language. With a few guidelines, it’s easy to learn how to pronounce. The r is something like a French guttural “r,” pronounced in the back of the throat, though sometimes in Creole the r sound becomes more like an English “w” sound. Ch sounds like the English “sh.” J sounds like a French “j,” while dj sounds more like an English “j.” The vowels a, e, i, and o are long vowels. Ou sounds like the English “oo.” Ay makes the sound of English “eye.” An, en, on, and oun are nasal vowels: the “n” is not pronounced but rather denotes that the vowel should be pronounced in the nose. Vowels with accents (è and ò) are more open than the accentless versions of those vowels.

  Ala traka (AH-la TRAH-ka) — “What a problem!”

  Anmwèy (ahnm-WAY) — an exclamation or interjection, literally meaning “Help me!” but often used jokingly or in exaggerated fashion

  asòsi (ah-soh-SEE) — a bitter leaf, often boiled into a tea and used to treat fevers and other illnesses

  banann bouyi (bah-NAHN bou-YEE) — boiled plantains

  Bay piti pa chich (bye pee-TEE pah SHEESH) — “To give just a little isn’t stingy.”

  bidonville (French) (bee-don-VEEL) — poor, overcrowded urban neighborhood

  boubou (boo-boo) — a term of endearment

  bounda (boon-DAH) — bottom, booty, butt

  cheri (shay-REE) — a term of endearment

  chouchou (shoo-shoo) — a term of endearment

  chouchoun (shoo-SHOON) — a sweet, motherly way of referring to female genitalia

  degaje (deh-gah-ZHAY) — to get by, to manage somehow

  djolè (joh-LEH) — a big-mouth, a show-off

  dlo (dlo) — water

  doudou (doo-doo) — a term of endearment

  dous makòs (DOOS mah-KOHS) — a kind of candy, similar to a stiff caramel or dulce de leche, with distinctive beige and pink stripes

  Ezili Dantò (EH-zee-lee dahn-TOH) — One incarnation of the spirit Ezili. Ezili Dantò is a dark-skinned woman with scars on her face who holds a child. She can be both vengeful and protective.

  fritay (free-TIE) — fried snacks, often sold as street food

  Gede (geh-deh) — the often raucous spirit of the underworld

  gòl (gohl) — a long stick used to knock fruit out of trees

  goudougoudou (goo-DOO-goo-DOO) — the sound of the earthquake; one way to refer to the earthquake

  Jezi (jheh-ZEE) — Jesus

  kamyonèt (kahm-yo-NEHT) — a pick-up truck, often elaborately painted, used as public transport

  kenèp (keh-NEHP) — a small green fruit resembling a lime, with sweet-sour pink-orange flesh (quenepa or limoncillo in Spanish)

  Kirikou (kee-ree-KOO) — French animated film, based on West African folktales, which has considerable international distribution, including regular broadcasts on Haitian television. It concerns a tiny, brave little boy named Kirikou who rescues his village from a sorceress.

  kivèt (kee-VEHT) — a metal or plastic basin in which to bathe, do laundry, etc.

  kleren (kleh-REN) — undistilled homemade sugar cane liquor

  kokòt (ko-KOHT) — a term of endearment

  kolè (koh-LEH) — anger, fury

  konparèt (kon-pah-REHT) — a kind of sweet dry cake from Jérémie, containing coconut and spices, often eaten with fresh avocado

  kowosòl (ko-wo-SOHL) — soursop, a large green-skinned, bumpy fruit with creamy, sweet white flesh

  Krik? Krak! (kreek? krahk!) — the call-and-answer that begins Haitian folktales and jokes

  kriz (kreez) — literally “crisis”; refers to a physical seizure-like condition resulting from grief, emotional shock, etc.

  lakou (la-KOO) — A traditional courtyard around which many buildings may be clustered and where extended family members live together, socialize, and pool resources. In rural Haiti, the lakou is also where the dead are buried. The term also refers to the space in which vodou ceremonies take place.

  lalo (la-LO) — jute leaves, generally cooked with meat or shellfish and eaten with rice, particularly in the Artibonite region

  lam veritab (lahm vay-ree-TAH) — breadfruit

  Legba (lehg-bah) — one of the main Vodou spirits, who opens the gates for people to make contact with the other spirits

  lòt bò dlo (loht boh dlo) — literally, “the other side of the water”; generally refers to any faraway place where people have gone (particularly, Miami, New York, and other places with large Haitian immigrant populations)

  lwa (lwa) — Vodou spirit

  machann (mah-SHAHN) — street merchant

  Maggi (mah-gee) — Maggi brand bouillon cubes

  maladi mistik (mah-lah-DEE mees-TEEK) — a spiritual disease or affliction; a curse

  manbo (MAH
N-bo) — Vodou priestess

  marasa (mah-rah-SAH) — twins; also refers to the twin Marasa spirits in Vodou

  maskrèti (mahs-kreh-TEE) — castor oil

  mayi moulen (ma-YEE moo-LEHN) — cornmeal porridge

  Mezanmi (meh-zahn-MEE) — “Oh my goodness!”

  MINUSTAH [Mission des Nations Unies pour la stabilisation en Haïti] (mee-nee-STAH) — the UN armed peacekeeping mission, which has been on the ground in Haiti since 2004 and is viewed by many Haitians as an occupation force

  monchè (mohn-SHEH) — “my dear,” meant affectionately, collegially, or occasionally sardonically

  naje pou sòti (nah-JHAY poo soh-TEE) — literally, “swim to escape,” a platitude that assumes that one’s fate is in one’s own control, despite oppressive circumstances

  oslè (ohs-LEH) — a game like jacks, played with goat bones

  pèpè (peh-PEH) — secondhand clothing and other items, generally sent from North America

  pòdyab (poh-JAB) — “poor thing!”

  rara (rah-rah) — music and performance of Kanaval (Carnaval) parades, featuring bamboo trumpets and percussion

  remèd (reh-MED) — a remedy

  restavèk (rest-ah-VEK) — children who are sent to live with others because their families cannot afford to take care of them; in exchange, the children are expected to do household labor—which is sometimes excessive, exploitative, and abusive

  salòp (sah-LOHP) — a slob or pig; also sometimes a promiscuous woman

  sezisman (say-zees-MAHN) — emotional shock, often understood to be a medical and perhaps spiritual problem

  sòs pwa (sohs pwa) — bean sauce, generally eaten with rice or cornmeal porridge

  taptap (tahp-tahp) — elaborately painted public bus

  tèt chaje (tet chah-JHAY) — literally, “charged or overwhelmed head”—problem, trouble, or affliction; generally used as an exclamation or interjection in the face of any kind of problem or inconvenience, both minor and major

  tèt grenn (tet grehn) — kinky-haired

  ti granmoun (tee grahn-MOON) — little old person

  ti kouri (tee koo-REE) — cornrows

  tonmtonm (tohnm-TOHNM) — traditional food of Jérémie and other parts of southern Haiti, made of pounded breadfruit and swallowed with okra sauce

  vèvè (veh-VEH) — Vodou symbol usually traced on the ground with chalk powder during ceremonies (and in other contexts as well). Each spirit has his or her corresponding vèvè.

  zozo (zo zo) — dick

  A Brief History of Haiti

  If you have ever seen anything about Haiti on TV or in a newspaper, you probably already have some ideas about what kind of a place it is and what kind of people live there. According to those news stories and fundraising appeals, Haiti is a poor country, populated mostly by dark-skinned people. It is a place of suffering, violence, and disaster. It is a place that needs help.

  One problem with those kinds of stories is that they often don’t explain how Haiti came to be that way: they depict the suffering, the violence, and the sadness but do not depict the history.

  Before independence, Haiti was known as Saint-Domingue, and was a colony of France. Hundreds of thousands of black people, brought to the island from Africa, were enslaved and subjected to unthinkably brutal conditions to produce the sugar that made France very wealthy. So many people died of disease, injury, and overwork that the French had to keep bringing new slaves from Africa every year.

  In spite of these conditions, which sought to systematically break their bodies, their minds, their families, and their communities, the enslaved people of Saint-Domingue managed to maintain a sense of identity, community, and self-determination, in part due to the powerful influences of the Creole language and the Vodou religion. Both Creole and Vodou came about because of oppression and loss: torn from their homelands and families, brought to a new world and deprived of basic rights, the ancestors of today’s Haitian people formed a new language and a new religion, thus preserving their own humanity and social worlds, and to confront the injustice of their lives. These cultural forms are part of what made the Haitian Revolution possible.

  Haiti came into being on January 1, 1804, and it became the first independent black republic, and the only country in history to emerge from a successful, years-long slave rebellion. How remarkable and extraordinary this was cannot be overstated—in 1804, African people and their descendants remained enslaved throughout the Americas. In the United States, slavery would continue for another sixty years.

  Much of the rest of the world—particularly the United States and Europe, which still profited hugely from exploited slave labor—refused to recognize the new country of Haiti. The idea of Haiti—of a free black country, a country of slaves who had demanded and fought for their right to be considered human—was economically, socially, and morally threatening to the existing world. And so Haiti was, for the most part, politically ignored and economically stifled.

  Over the next two hundred years, Haiti would endure long periods of political instability, increasing socioeconomic inequality, a nearly twenty-year occupation by U.S. Marines, a nearly thirty-year dictatorship, several coups and military juntas, and an unremitting series of foreign military, political, economic, religious, and humanitarian interventions. Historically disadvantaged and often at the whim of more powerful nations, Haiti and its people have struggled for stability, sovereignty, and democracy, while holding on to the memory of the 1804 revolution and the rights and freedom it promised. And, in spite of all this, so many Haitian people retain their sense of community and cooperation, and remain generous, kind, decent, and indisputably, defiantly alive.

  It is important to remember that the 2010 earthquake did not occur in isolation. It occurred in a long context of poverty, political strife, and inequality—much of which was produced by Haiti’s relationship with other, more powerful countries, including ours.

  Suggestions for Further Reading

  FICTION

  Edwidge Danticat

  Breath, Eyes, Memory (1994)

  Krik? Krak! (1996)

  The Farming of Bones (1998)

  Behind the Mountains (2002)

  The Dew Breaker (2004)

  Brother, I’m Dying (2007)

  Marie Vieux-Chauvet

  Love, Anger, Madness (1968/2009)

  (originally in French, publication suppressed, rereleased in 2005, translated in 2009)

  Jacques Stephen Alexis

  General Sun, My Brother (1955)

  In the Flicker of an Eyelid (1959)

  Évelyne Trouillot

  The Infamous Rosalie (2003)

  NONFICTION

  Jonathan Katz

  The Big Truck That Went By: How the World Came to Save Haiti and Left Behind a Disaster (2013)

  Karen McCarthy Brown

  Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn (1991)

  Paul Farmer

  AIDS and Accusation: Haiti and the Geography of Blame (1992)

  Haiti After the Earthquake (2011)

  Laurent Dubois

  Avengers of the New World: The Story of the Haitian Revolution (2004)

  Haiti: The Aftershocks of History (2012)

  Kathie Klarreich

  Madame Dread: A Tale of Love, Vodou, and Civil Strife in Haiti (2005)

  SUGGESTED VIEWING

  The Agronomist (2004)

  Assistance Mortelle (2013)

  Acknowledgments

  This is a story about kinship—about the people who become part of your world when you least expect it yet most need it. In Haiti, people traditionally live together in homesteads called lakou, where they rely on one another, share resources, and form communities. Hold Tight, Don’t Let Go would not exist without my own community and family, biological and nonbiological alike—without the people who have unstintingly, inconceivably brought me into their lives and become part of mine. Over the past five years, I have received an embarrassment of support, love, and belief from the people
who have become my transnational lakou.

  Prenel Michel and John Ornélus saved my life on January 12 and demonstrate all that is decent and courageous in ordinary people in a moment of disaster. Martha, Bradley, and Adah King (as well as Ruby Lou, still inchoate) gave me a home to go to when I did not know what the next steps would be; my time as part of their family remains, however unlikely, one of the sweetest periods of my life. Jacques Bartoli, in all his loving tetchiness, always gives me a place to land. Peter Redfield has encouraged my writing in all its forms; his own luminous prose remains a model for me.

  Susan Van Metre at Abrams has long left “editor” behind and by now qualifies as “fairy godmother”—having plucked me from obscurity, for reasons that still seem unthinkable to me. Maria Middleton is vying for beatification. Sarah Hepola at Salon gave me my first shot. Without Laurent Dubois, none of this would have begun.

  It would fill another book to thank everyone as deeply, thoroughly, and individually as I wish to. With gratitude for kindnesses large, small, and larger than they realize, and with apologies for the inadequacy of these words: Sa’ed Atshan, Pooja Bhatia, Jocelyn Chua, Wesline Ciceron, Joëlle Coupaud, Sarah Cussler, Kéthia Édouard, Lauren Fordyce, Jessica Hsu, Josiane Hudicourt-Barnes (a true manman poul), Jenn Goheen Golobic and her students, Alicia Gonzalez, Damilove Gorguette, Jenny Greenburg, Saydia Gulrukh, Maryse Jean-Jacques, Besita and Bencille Jeune (without whom my apartment in Port-au-Prince would never have been a home), Kathie Klarreich (for one very necessary kick in the behind), Michel Lafleur, Dragana, Michael, and Jana Lassiter, Mónica, Raúl, Lázaro, and Julieta López, Monica Louis, Alissa Nazaire, Caela O’Connell, Lorien Olive, Erin Parish, Jeremy Popkin, Charles Price, Rachana Rao Umashankar, Fredo “Preciosa” Rivera, Jeannette Acevedo Rivera, Michele Rivkin-Fish, Andrew Ruoss, Merrill Singer, Karla Slocum, Bazelet St. Louis, Silvia Tomášková, Katharine Weber, and Kristien Zenkov. The Rivien and St. Fleur families, and everyone in Degerme, showed incredible generosity and warmth. I am grateful to Cindy Flinn for her unflagging support and candid and enthusiastic feedback on early drafts; I am sorry that she did not see the final version. To the members of the Konbit des Jeunes Penseurs in Port-au-Prince, for your bravery, humor, and heart—no more marvelous inspiration exists in this world.