A Haitian Celebration

The school community of St. Etienne threw a party to welcome us last night, and let me tell you, Haitians can party with the best of them.

But a Haitian party (at least, this party) looked different from an American one: no drink, no food, no small talk. Instead, there were four walls, a four piece band with the generator humming for electricity, and maybe 150 singing, bouncing, dancing, clapping, laughing Haitians, two-thirds of them children.

Before the gathering, our eleven group members were in the little room off the church building preparing our party favors (glow sticks), when the music started.

Haitian singing is unlike any other I've heard in person. It's loud, for one thing, and the songs are long, with endless repetition, all the better to shout with happiness and join in whenever you want. The air was thrumming with energy, and at about the fifteenth verse and tenth minute of the song, we left our little room and walked into an explosion of Haitian sound.

After the exuberant song ended, Mon Pere (my Father--a reference to Walin) warmed up the crowd, making comments in Kreyol, then Johnny made remarks, with Walin translating. The room broke into enthusiastic applause when Johnny announced that the school would soon have money to begin construction on a seven-classsroom facility with an office and a restroom. (Right now, St. Etienne as a school operates out of the church building, with two extra rooms used as classrooms, office, storage and anything else needed. The current school also has a cooking shed for school meals and a latrine.) The new facility will greatly enhance the education of its 240 children and teenagers.

After having each of us introduce ourselves (mwen rele Vicki), the party resumed. Various musical groups performed prepared pieces and everyone--from the smallest children to the oldest grandmother or grandfathe--joined the remaining songs..

All of our St. Stephen's kids danced and clapped and boogied with little Haitian kids vying for their attention. Julian had a throng of children clamoring to hold his hand while he danced at the front of the crowd, Philip danced away with Haitian boys and girls, Ursula taught a little girl to swing dance, and Kelly was swarmed by small admirers. One little girl fell asleep in Lydia's lap for at least an hour; Lydia patiently held her, while other children nestled against her. Adam had the attention of the whole crowd in a wild, very funny impromptu jumping dance he invented with a little girl. The Haitians laughed and clapped as he slap-sticked his way around the dance floor.

One little guy in a red plaid shirt, who was maybe ten, came up and grabbed me by both hands and yanked me onto the dance floor. He was my best guy and dance partner for the next three rousing songs, never letting go of me and jerking and pushing me around if I wasn't doing what he wanted me to do. When I was on the verge of a stroke, he finally nodded while I snuck away to a bench to slow my heart palpitations, observe the scene, and further enjoy the festivities.

I guess if I were to discribe what I have experienced of life in Haiti in one word, it would be this:  color.

There is a vibrant literal color to the buildings, signs, clothing, and crafts. The Kreyol accent itself is lilting and lovely, and if it had a hue, it might be purple or fuschia or maybe turquoise. But Haitian parties? Oh, my.  Color. What divine color.