(PDF Download) Teaching Haiti Strategies For Creating New Narratives Cécile Accilien Fulll Chapter

Full download test bank at ebookmeta.
com
Teaching Haiti Strategies for Creating New

Narratives Cécile Accilien
For dowload this book click LINK or Button below
https://ebookmeta.com/product/teaching-haiti-
strategies-for-creating-new-narratives-cecile-
accilien/
OR CLICK BUTTON
DOWLOAD EBOOK
Download More ebooks from https://ebookmeta.com

More products digital (pdf, epub, mobi) instant
download maybe you interests ...
The New Digital Storytelling The Creating Narratives

with New Media Bryan Alexander
https://ebookmeta.com/product/the-new-digital-storytelling-the-
creating-narratives-with-new-media-bryan-alexander/
New Art and Science of Teaching Writing Research Based

Instructional Strategies for Teaching and Assessing
Writing Skills 1st Edition Kathy Tuchman Glass
https://ebookmeta.com/product/new-art-and-science-of-teaching-
writing-research-based-instructional-strategies-for-teaching-and-
assessing-writing-skills-1st-edition-kathy-tuchman-glass/
Teaching and Learning Strategies for Sustainable

Development 1st Edition Enakshi Sengupta
https://ebookmeta.com/product/teaching-and-learning-strategies-
for-sustainable-development-1st-edition-enakshi-sengupta/
Creative teaching strategies for the nurse educator 3rd

Edition Judith W. Herrman
https://ebookmeta.com/product/creative-teaching-strategies-for-
the-nurse-educator-3rd-edition-judith-w-herrman/
50 Strategies for Teaching English Language Learners
Adrienne L Herrell Michael Jordan
https://ebookmeta.com/product/50-strategies-for-teaching-english-
language-learners-adrienne-l-herrell-michael-jordan/
Instructional Strategies for Effective Teaching 1st

Edition James H Stronge Xianxuan Xu
https://ebookmeta.com/product/instructional-strategies-for-
effective-teaching-1st-edition-james-h-stronge-xianxuan-xu/
Learning and Teaching Writing Online Strategies for

Success 1st Edition Mary Deane
https://ebookmeta.com/product/learning-and-teaching-writing-
online-strategies-for-success-1st-edition-mary-deane/
Digital Customer Experience Engineering: Strategies for

Creating Effective Digital Experiences 1st Edition Lars
Wiedenhoefer
https://ebookmeta.com/product/digital-customer-experience-
engineering-strategies-for-creating-effective-digital-
experiences-1st-edition-lars-wiedenhoefer/
Health Education Creating Strategies for School and

Community Health 4th Edition Glen G. Gilbert
https://ebookmeta.com/product/health-education-creating-
strategies-for-school-and-community-health-4th-edition-glen-g-
gilbert/
Teaching Haiti
This page intentionally left blank
T E AC H I N G
HAITI
Strategies for Creating New Narratives
Edited by Cécile Accilien and Valérie K. Orlando
University of Florida Press

Gainesville
Copyright 2021 by Cécile Accilien and Valérie K. Orlando
All rights reserved
Published in the United States of America.
26 25 24 23 22 21 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Accilien, Cécile, 1973– editor. | Orlando, Valérie, 1963– editor.
Title: Teaching Haiti : strategies for creating new narratives / edited by
Cécile Accilien and Valérie K. Orlando.
Description: 1. | Gainesville : University of Florida Press, 2021. |
Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “This volume
provides guidance on teaching about Haiti’s history and culture from a
multidisciplinary perspective, offering ways of reshaping old narratives
through women’s and gender studies, poetry, theater, art, religion,
language, politics, history, and popular culture”— Provided by
publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021007606 (print) | LCCN 2021007607 (ebook) | ISBN
9781683402107 (cloth) | ISBN 9781683402442 (pdf)
Subjects: LCSH: Haiti—Social life and customs—History. | Haiti—History.
Classification: LCC F1916 .T43 2021 (print) | LCC F1916 (ebook) | DDC
972.94—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021007606
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021007607
University of Florida Press

2046 NE Waldo Road
Suite 2100
Gainesville, FL 32609
http://upress.ufl.edu
In memory of Carolyn Clarke Nuite (1933–2019)
In memory of Margaret Armand (1950–2016)
To Ulrick Jean-Pierre, twoubadou, artist, and guardian of memory,

for always teaching about Haiti through his artistic wisdom
And to Zahir and Francis Accilien. May you always be curious

to understand Haiti’s history, which is a part of your history!
Contents
List of Illustrations ix
Ayiti se tè glise: Intersectionalities of History, Politics, and Culture 1

Cécile Accilien and Valérie K. Orlando
I . T E A C H I N G A B O U T H A I T I A N A R T, L I T E R AT U R E , A N D L A N G U A G E
1. Getting around the Poto Mitan: Reconstructing Haitian Womanhood in

the Classroom 15
Régine Jean-Charles
2. Teaching Haiti through the Work of Rodney Saint-Éloi, écrivain

engagé 34
Bonnie Thomas
3. Teaching Haitian Theater: Franck Fouché’s Bouqui au Paradis 51

Joubert Satyre
4. Engaging Haiti through Art and Religion 68

Cécile Accilien
5. Creating Interdisciplinary Knowledge about Haiti’s Creole Language 92

Don E. Walicek
II. TEACHING ABOUT HAITIAN HISTORY AND POLITICS
6. Haiti in the Presidencies of John Adams and John Quincy Adams: Lesson
Plans and Course Modules 119
Darren Staloff and Alessandra Benedicty-Kokken
7. Teaching the 2004 Coup in Haiti from a French Perspective: Insights into
France’s Neocolonial Culture and Practices 137
Sophie Watt
8. Peck’s Fatal Assistance: A Filmic Lesson on the Failures of Aid 166

Agnès Peysson-Zeiss
III. T E A C H I N G A B O U T H A I T I I N A M E R I C A N S T U D I E S , L AT I N
AMERICAN STUDIES, AND GENERAL STUDIES CONTEXTS
9. Rendering Haiti Visible in an Introductory American Studies Course

183
Elizabeth Langley
10. Race and Culture on the Thrift Store Shift: Teaching about Haiti Inside
and Outside the Academy 201
Jessica Adams
11. Rethinking Latinx Studies from Hispaniola’s Borderlands 221

John Ribó
12. Teaching Haiti and the Dominican Republic: Cultural Representations of

Haitian Immigrant Experiences 239
Anne M. François
List of Contributors 249

Index 255
Illustrations
Figures
0.1. Pre-Columbian map of Haiti 3
4.1. Malcolm X is Ogoun X, the warrior god 78
4.2. Image of the Vodou lwa Grann Brigitte 79
4.3. “Marassa Separé,” who represents two Èzili 81
4.4. Abstract art by Colette Brésilla 82
4.5. Crucified Liberty, a painting by Ulrick Jean-Pierre 84
5.1. Idea map to be used for essay writing 114
6.1. Colonial-era map of Saint-Domingue and Louisiana 121
Tables
6.1. Sources readily available to instructors 132
9.1. American Studies or American Cultural Studies 196
Ayiti se tè glise
Intersectionalities of History, Politics, and Culture
C É C I L E ACC I L I E N A N D VA L É R I E K . O R L A N D O
Ayiti se tè glise. “Haiti is a slippery land.” This proverb is often used to refer to
Haiti’s complexity in terms of its historic and present challenges. It also invites
those who think they know the country on the surface to search deeper in order
to discover the complexities inherent in its culture, history, and geography. Our
experience of teaching about Haiti is that many students come to class with the
baggage of Western mediatized images that associate the country with disaster,
poverty, and negative concepts of Vodou. Therefore, in response, the contribut-
ing scholars to this volume recommend various concrete ways for instructors
and students to extend their inquiry beyond simplistic representations that re-
peatedly cast Haiti as “the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.”
This volume seeks to contextualize Haiti outside the stereotypes that have la-
beled it for over a century. We envision this island nation “in relation,” as Martini-
can theorist Edouard Glissant would say, to the rest of the Caribbean and, more
broadly, to the extensive hemisphere of the Americas, and to the globe. As these
chapters demonstrate, Haiti in relation with and to others—their histories and
their cultures—is part of the “Tout-Monde,” which Glissant defines as “un monde
qui [fait] bouger choses et gens” (a world that makes people and things move)
(Glissant, Tout-Monde 35). Glissant’s conception of “relation” is understood as
“à l’opposé” (in opposition) to “enfermement” (closed; literally, imprisonment).
“Relation est ici entendue comme la quantité réalisée de toutes les différences du
monde, sans qu’on puisse en excepter une seule” [Relation is here understood as
the sum quality of all the differences of the world, without a single exception] (Glis-
sant, Philosophie 42).1 Haiti, part of Glissant’s Tout-Monde, is a dynamic place
2 Cécile Accilien and Valérie K. Orlando
in a world in motion that promotes fruitful encounters among “les cultures hu-
maines . . . mises en contact et en effervescence de réaction les unes avec les
autres” [human cultures . . . put in contact with the effervescent reactions of one
another] (Glissant, Traité du Tout-Monde 23). Recognizing the importance of
relationships and encounters with others as contributing to Haitian identity today
is an essential goal in this volume. As Guadeloupean author Simone Schwarz-
Bart notes, “encounters,” even the most painful, are the reasons for today’s vibrant
creole cultures across the Caribbean: “Nous sommes le fruit de la rencontre des
mondes, géographiquement et historiquement. Des rencontres violentes, mais des
rencontres tout de même. Nous sommes le monde en marche.” [We are the fruit of
the encounter of worlds, geographically and historically. Violent encounters, but
encounters all the same. We are the world in motion.]2
Positioning Haiti in the vibrant Tout-Monde, “le monde en marche,” our con-
tributors reveal a country whose artistic and literary creators are contributing to
a multi-faceted culture with a rich literary tradition in multiple languages. Also
demonstrated is Haiti’s captivating cinematic oeuvre, promoted by filmmakers
from the island nation and its diaspora. Haiti is not obscured in a void of silence,
but is rather part of the world’s stage. To contextualize the country’s contributions
and challenges, our contributors’ syllabi and classroom experiences offer valuable
lessons about Haiti’s past and present as they relate to immigration, migration,
locality, and globality. These are subjects that are pertinent not only to Haiti, but
also to our common humanity in an era in which scholars and teachers are increas-
ingly called upon to find ways to address the defining challenges of our age. These
include neoliberalist views and practices, fascist rhetoric, and isolationist politics.
In order to place Haiti “in relation” to numerous sociocultural, political, and
linguistic facets of today’s world, each chapter is comparable to a well-traveled
proverb. Our goal in this format is to encourage the instructor and the student
to explore Haiti through a particular topic or lens. Proverbs play a fundamental
role in Haitian culture and daily life, and it seems as if there is one for every
situation. Proverbs are utilized to encourage people as they face struggles and
difficult situations as well as the joys and celebrations of daily life. They are also
a way to teach lessons and offer wisdom from one generation to the next.
With the multiple Haitian spaces of relation in mind, we emphasize that
the main objective of this volume is to map pathways for instructors to teach
about Haiti and to help create new windows through which to see it because,
as scholar and activist Gina Athena Ulysse affirms, “Haiti needs new narra-
tives.”3 Many of our contributors take up this challenge explicitly, pointing the
way to new narratives that challenge and go beyond stereotypical, neocolonial,
imperialist, racist, and simplistic discourses about Haiti and Haitian culture.
Figure 0.1. Pre-Columbian map of Haiti. Ulrick Jean-Pierre, Precolumbian Map of Haiti. 1984. Oil
on canvas. 36 × 36 inches. Collection of the late Dr. and Mrs. Yves Jérôme.
Over the past two decades, we have seen a wealth of research and scholar-
ship centered on teaching and learning, as well as a focus on the importance
of intellectual exchange across disciplines through critical pedagogy. Scholars
in the field of Caribbean Studies have worked assiduously to defend the idea
that teaching is “significant intellectual work in the academy” (121).4 If we un-
derstand how our intellectual work informs teaching “in relation,” it becomes
a means of helping students develop critical thinking in order to express their
passions and goals for the world in which they live. Such inquiry helps students
engage in their communities, understand others, and recognize that they are
also “other” as they consider their own privilege, power, and positionality. Rela-
tional pedagogy reinforces what bell hooks notes in Teaching to Transgress: Ed-
ucation as the Practice of Freedom must happen in the classroom space: that is,
it must become “the most radical space of possibility . . . a communal place that
enhances the likelihood of collective effort in creating and sustaining a learning
community” (8). In our effort to create “the most radical space of possibility,”
celebrating the relations among disciplines, points of view, geographical loca-
tions, and philosophical treatises and theories that are evoked when studying
Haiti, this volume contains work by some of the most forward-thinking schol-
ars of Haitian, Latin American, American, and Caribbean Studies.
One of our contributors’ primary goals is to dispel Haiti’s contemporary
stereotype as the “poorest country in the Western Hemisphere,” a subject ex-
plicitly evoked and challenged in poet Danielle Legros Georges’s “Poem for
the Poorest Country in the Western Hemisphere”: “Oh poorest country, this is
not your name/You should be called beacon, and flame” (Georges). Therefore,
chapters in this volume depict a multi-faceted Haiti and provide spaces for
students and instructors to hold engaging dialogues about the island nation,
from its birth in 1804 to the present. As our scholars note, often Haiti is either
venerated as the first Black Republic, or pitied for the current challenges it
faces in terms of poverty and geographical catastrophes. When its history does
surface in texts, it is often mythologized, taking on aspects of the surreal. Ex-
pressing this idea, historian Philippe Zacaïr notes that Haiti is “only respected
in books as opposed to real life.”5 In response, the chapters in this volume
focus on how to teach about Haiti and its complex history and culture from
transdisciplinary perspectives that are grounded in “real life.” They provide
best practices and practical suggestions for teaching about Haiti from mul-
tiple angles, including art, theater, linguistics, literature, cultural studies, film,
gender, and history, with the goal of offering students more nuanced views of
the nation as a whole.
This volume is geared toward students and instructors in Caribbean Studies,
Francophone Studies, Cultural Studies, literature, history, and art who are seek-
ing new, transnational, multidisciplinary ways to engage with Haiti. The growing
interest in Haiti is reflected in the large number of books published over the
last decade, particularly since the 2010 earthquake. These include, but are by no
means limited to, Haiti and the Haitian Diaspora in the Wider Caribbean, edited
by Philippe Zacaïr (2010); Tropics of Haiti: Race and the Literary History of the
Haitian Revolution in the Atlantic World, 1789–1865, by Marlene Daut (2015); Hu-
manitarian Aftershocks in Haiti, by Mark Schuller (2016); Istwa across the Water:
Haitian History, Memory, and the Cultural Imagination, by Toni Pressley-Sanon
(2017); Contrary Destinies: A Century of America’s Occupation, Deoccupation,
and Reoccupation of Haiti, by Léon Pamphile (2017); Between Two Worlds: Jean-
Price Mars, Haiti and Africa, edited by Celucien L. Joseph, Jean-Eddy Saint Paul,
and Glodel Mezilas (2018); and Who Owns Haiti? People, Power, and Sovereignty,
edited by Robert Maguire and Scott Freeman (2017). Our volume—the first to
focus on teaching about Haiti—builds on works such as these, giving instructors
across a spectrum of departments who are interested in teaching about Haiti the
resources, methodologies, and strategies to do so.
We hope this collection will impart to students in the US in particular a

sense of the US’s role in shaping the history of Haiti, as well as that of nations
across Latin America and the Caribbean. American imperialism is often chal-
lenging for US students to confront because it pushes them to problematize
capitalism, globalism, and neocolonialism in ways that may become very per-
sonal. For example, encouraging students to question service learning abroad
and to understand the complexity of voluntourism and disaster tourism can
lead to fraught discussions. However, as our contributors note, many stu-
dents appreciate a classroom that is a transformative, “radical” space, in bell
hooks’s terms, one that allows them to share their questions, confront as-
sumptions, and work together to create new knowledge. This volume reflects
hooks’s challenge to instructors to create an environment in which all learn-
ers can be pedagogically engaged. As hooks stresses, these learners can also
be teachers: “Engaged pedagogy does not seek simply to empower students.
Any classroom that employs a holistic model of learning will also be a place
where teachers grow, and are empowered in the process” (21). These skills
help students to build a sense of community in their classrooms, and to feel
that they are an integral part of the learning process. This volume therefore
actively supports the creation of such spaces of interactive and peer-based
learning.
Because many instructors who will use this book are teaching in predomi-
nantly white institutions (PWI), their students may be unfamiliar with, or even
resistant to, recognizing the US’s imperial mission in Haiti. However, it is our
feeling that we must find ways to engage them in this kind of learning, even if it
can, on some level, be painful and uncomfortable to expose positions of privi-
lege and power that students might not be aware they possess. As institutions
of higher learning become more profit-driven and caught in the yoke of terms
such as “buy-ins,” “profit margin,” “deliverables,” and “clients/consumers,” and
as the bottom line is linked to class size, keeping our students interested and
engaged while helping them to be critical thinkers is more difficult than ever. In
response, these chapters provide avenues to address these challenges, to enable
students to think critically about issues of power, privilege, and positionality,
and the ways in which their identities are layered in terms of class, culture,
gender, religion, sexual orientation, and race, for example. We draw readers’
attention to the importance of focusing on ways that we “can begin as teachers,
scholars and critical thinkers to cross boundaries, the barriers that may or may
not be erected by race, gender, class, professional standing, and a host of other
differences” (hooks 130).
A central theme across these chapters is the mythologization of the Haitian
Revolution, which remains a constant trope for contemporary Haitian writ-

ers and critics in the Americas. Yet as several contributors note, paradoxically,
Latin American and American Studies curricula in US universities often side-
line Haiti altogether. These curricular anomalies confirm what anthropologist
Michel-Rolph Trouillot argues in his seminal work Silencing the Past—that the
“production of . . . historical narrative” affects our understanding and percep-
tion of history and culture (26).
The volume is divided into three sections, based on the general pedagogical
focus of the chapters they contain. Each chapter includes practical teaching
suggestions in the form of sample syllabi and/or lesson plans. Section I consid-
ers innovative ways of “Teaching about Haitian Art, Literature, and Language.”
In “Getting around the Poto Mitan: Reconstructing Haitian Womanhood in the
Classroom,” Régine Jean-Charles proposes a perspective that moves beyond the
poto mitan (center pole) image often used to represent the social role of Haitian
women. A poto mitan is “a central pillar in the middle of a room around which
the majority of the action of a Vodou ceremony unfolds,” and Jean-Charles
discusses ways in which her literature-focused course on Haitian women con-
siders and complicates this image. She uses a range of texts that accommodate
strikingly divergent representations, including Yanick Lahens’s Guillaume et
Nathalie, Edwidge Danticat’s Claire of the Sea Light, Roxane Gay’s An Untamed
State, and Myriam Chancy’s Framing Silence: Revolutionary Novels by Haitian
Women.
Bonnie Thomas’s “Teaching Haiti through the Work of Rodney Saint-Éloi,
écrivain engagé” focuses on a lesser-known writer from Haiti whose work beau-
tifully encapsulates the complexities of Haiti. Rodney Saint-Éloi (b. 1963) is a
distinguished Haitian poet and writer as well as the founder of two publishing
houses, Les Éditions Mémoire (founded in Port-au-Prince in 1991), and Mé-
moire d’encrier (founded in Montreal in 2003). Through a study of Saint-Éloi’s
recent texts, including Haïti kenbe la (2010), Jacques Roche, je t’écris cette lettre
(2013), and Je suis la fille du baobab brûlé (2015), this chapter provides insights
into the politics and poetics of one of Haiti’s most important writers.
Joubert Satyre emphasizes theater as an extremely effective yet underappre-
ciated way to teach about Haiti in “Teaching Haitian Theater: Franck Fouché’s
Bouqui au Paradis.” “For the sake of mimesis,” he writes, “Haitian theater has
always been interested in all aspects of Haitian society in order to unveil its
foundations. While staging the Haitian world, plays offer a journey of discovery
into Haitian imagination and culture.” After reviewing the history of theater in
Haiti, Satyre considers its renewal, “thanks to the use of Creole as a language
of expression and the dramatization of the myths of Vodou and of folklore.” He
then examines Fouché’s play Bouqui au Paradis and offers suggestions for how
to teach the work in undergraduate settings.
In “Engaging Haiti through Art and Religion,” Cécile Accilien proposes con-
crete methods for teaching about Haiti through the combined lenses of art and
Vodou religious practices, two fundamental aspects of Haitian culture. Accil-
ien shows how popular misconceptions of Haitian art as non-threatening, and
Vodou as terrifying, are both misguided as she looks at how the two go hand
in hand in Haitian culture. As she demonstrates, “considering the relationships
between them can generate creative and transformative avenues through which
students gain more profound understandings of Haitian society and culture.”
For the benefit of instructors who may be unfamiliar with these topics, she
provides overviews of Haitian Vodou and Haitian painting (focusing on its
connections to religion) as well as analyzing the works of contemporary Haitian
artists for whom Vodou is central.
Don E. Walicek concentrates on language in Haiti in “Creating Interdisci-
plinary Knowledge about Haiti’s Creole Language.” Walicek shows how impor-
tant it is to understand issues of language from an interdisciplinary perspective
as he explores the structure of the Haitian language itself, the sociopolitical
context from which it emerged, and its significance in contemporary Haitian
life. He offers information and strategies that instructors who are not special-
ists in linguistics can use to help their students understand the relationship
between language and social life in Haiti.
Section II focuses on “Teaching about Haitian History and Politics,” includ-
ing Haiti’s connections with hemispheric political issues beginning in the era
of the Haitian Revolution. Darren Staloff and Alessandra Benedicty-Kokken’s
chapter, “Haiti in the Presidencies of John Adams and John Quincy Adams:
Lesson Plans and Course Modules,” argues that it is impossible to fully un-
derstand the political careers of these men without understanding their rela-
tionships to the Haitian struggle for independence. This chapter serves as the
historical foundation for a lesson plan whose primary learning outcome is to
underscore how specific political decisions by individual US leaders came to
define not only political realities, but also the political imaginaries that still
dominate the histories told about Haiti.
Furthering the study of Haitian history and politics in this section, Sophie
Watt’s “Teaching the 2004 Coup in Haiti from a French Perspective: Insight
into France’s Neocolonial Culture and Practices” presents a module on teach-
ing Haiti entitled “Haiti: Tragedy, History, Politics, and Literature from the
Colonial Period until Today.” Watt emphasizes that it is essential to discuss the
coup within the framework of French history and politics. She explores Jean-
Bertrand Aristide’s demands to France for reparations and retribution for the
financial impact of colonial slavery, and shows how after these official demands
were made, clear changes of tone occurred in French press coverage of Aris-
tide’s government.
Agnès Peysson-Zeiss’s “Peck’s Fatal Assistance: A Filmic Lesson on the Fail-
ures of Aid” analyzes Peck’s post-earthquake film depicting the pitfalls of aid. As
Peysson-Zeiss describes, Peck probes the different stakeholders—states, NGOs,
non-profit organizations, and individuals who went to “rescue” Haiti—coalesc-
ing after January 12, 2010. Through interviews, footage, and voice-overs, Peck
shows why, “despite the billions of dollars flushed into [Haiti],” the help was
chaotic, disorganized, and disproportionate. Peysson-Zeiss emphasizes Peck’s
desire to depart from traditional victims’ perspectives in order to “reverse” the
gaze.
Section III, “Teaching about Haiti in American Studies, Latin American
Studies, and General Studies Contexts,” foregrounds interdisciplinary ap-
proaches. In “Rendering Haiti Visible in an Introductory American Studies
Course,” Elizabeth Langley explains how a “keyword approach” to analyzing
particular texts pertinent to the Haitian/Haitian American experience can help
students develop a richer understanding of the transnational relationship be-
tween Haiti and the United States. She analyses three texts that address dif-
ferent Haitian experiences: Edouard Duval-Carrié’s Imagined Landscapes (an
art exhibit that treats the broad Caribbean and its relationship to imperialism,
expansion and tourism); Alex Stepick’s “Just Comes and Cover-Ups: Haitians in
High School,” an academic article that explores the Haitian/Haitian American
experience in Miami in the 80s and 90s; and excerpts from Edwidge Danticat’s
Create Dangerously.
Jessica Adams’s “Race and Culture on the Thrift Store Shift: Teaching about
Haiti Inside and Outside the Academy” describes her observations of anti-
haitianismo and racism toward Haitians in the Dominican Republic and St.
Thomas and meditates on ways to shift pervasive objectification and devalu-
ation with respect to Haiti. Through a pedagogy that blends the personal and
the academic, including strategies from Performance Studies, she encourages
students in her General Studies writing courses to become aware of the labels
and wider racism that persist with respect to Haitians, both on the island and
in the larger diaspora.
John Ribó’s “Rethinking Latinx Studies from Hispaniola’s Borderlands” ar-
gues for the inclusion of Haiti and its history as part of the global histories of
empire, race, slavery, and abolition. “Despite [the] groundswell of Dominican
Studies scholarship approaching Hispaniola transnationally and arguing for the
island’s centrality in global histories of empire, race, slavery, and abolition,” he

writes, “Latinx Studies has been slow to include Haiti.” Ribó aims to correct this
in his chapter focusing on the “Power Suit” episode of Orange Is the New Black
(2016), and Forget (2010) the first album by the Dominican American rock
musician George Lewis, Jr., a.k.a. Twin Shadow. Ribó uses descriptions of his
innovative, student-centered pedagogy to help demonstrate how transnational
approaches to Hispaniola encourage us to rethink Latinx Studies.
In the final chapter, “Teaching Haiti and the Dominican Republic: Cultural
Representations of Haitian Immigrant Experiences,” Anne François also con-
siders relationships between Haiti and the Dominican Republic to describe a
course that complicates the often one-dimensional portrayal of Haitian im/
migrants in popular media. François focuses on fiction and visual art by Do-
minican and Haitian writers and artists, as well as music, as she describes a
pedagogical approach that promotes empathy, understanding, and a sense of
shared humanity in the face of ever more rigid borders.
As walls are built and national boundaries are redefined, we must seek ways to
construct our own counter-narratives and spaces for rational learning so that new
Glissantian relations can be forged to bolster students’ knowledge of Haiti, and
the Caribbean more broadly, in an era of global capitalism and hyper-connectiv-
ity. It is up to us as teachers to insist on the importance of the “world of relation”
as one in constant motion and flux, a Tout-Monde of multilingualism, explora-
tion, and travel across borders in and from nations where all are welcomed to
deterritorialize and reterritorialize. We must “[é]coutons le cri du monde” [listen
to the cry of the world] in order to “tisser [un] réseau . . . dans le Tout-Monde”
[braid a network . . . in the Tout-Monde] (Traité du Tout-Monde 251).
Dèyè mòn gen mòn. “Behind the mountains are more mountains.” As this
proverb vividly expresses, there is always more to learn about Haiti. We hope
this volume will inspire instructors and students alike to think in new and ever-
evolving ways about a place that is fundamental not only to the history of the
west, but to the history of the world.
Acknowledgments
Writing a book is a journey that includes several destinations. Jessica Gerschultz
and Anne François initially encouraged the idea for this collection when Cécile
lamented not finding materials to teach her Haitian culture course, compiling
articles from books and other sources to be able to present a complex image
of Haiti. This is the lacuna we hope this book will fill. Our heartfelt thanks to
the contributors to this volume, who have undertaken this journey with us. We
appreciate their patience, and their generosity in sharing their wonderful and
wide-ranging strategies for teaching about Haiti. We thank Caesar Akuetey for
his long-standing support, which included traveling to Cap-Haïtien in 2016 to
help spread the word about this project. Many thanks also to Stephanye Hunter,
our editor at the University of Florida Press, who believed in this project from
the beginning. Jessica Adams’s skills as a developmental editor are superb. She
is very much a birthing editor of this book, and we say Ayibobo to her!
We will always be grateful for the support of artists Colette Bresilla, Vladimir
Cybil Charlier, and Ulrick Jean-Pierre, who have generously shared their work
with us and with the world.
To the anonymous readers who gave us essential feedback and helped us to
achieve our vision of a book in which instructors will find new ways to help
their students listen to and engage with the “new narratives” of Haiti, we say
mèsi!
Valérie Orlando would like to thank Carolyn Clarke Nuite and Philipe
Orlando.
Cécile Accilien would like to thank colleagues at the University of Kansas
with whom she had the pleasure of working in different settings, and especially
via writing groups and seminars from 2015–2020: Giselle Anatol, Santa Arias,
Tony Bolden, Anne Dotter, Betsy Esch, Angela Gist-Mackey, Maryemma Gra-
ham, Sara Gregg, Jennifer Hamer, Ayesha Hardison, Randal M. Jelks, Joo Ok
Kim, Jowel Laguerre, Clarence Lang, Cassandra Messick Braun, Anna Neill, Pe-
ter Ojiambo, Chris Perreira, Betsaida Reyes, Celka Straughn, Brenda Wawire,
and Antje Ziethen. Thank you also to friends and family members Paulette
Cezil Pogue, Véronique Accilien, and Zahir Accilien for their ongoing support.
Mèsi anpil!!!
Notes
1. The italics are Glissant’s.
2. https://la1ere.francetvinfo.fr/8-mars-nous-sommes-fruit-rencontre-mondes-dit
-romanciere-guadeloupeenne-simone-schwarz-bart-450583.html
3. For more information, see Why Haiti Needs New Narratives: A Post-Quake Chronicle.
4. For more information on the scholarship of teaching and learning, see Peter Felten’s
“Principles of Good Practice in SoTL.”
5. This is an issue that Philippe Zacaïr has often mentioned in personal conversations with
Cécile Accilien focused on Haiti and how it is represented in the larger Caribbean. Zacaïr is
the editor of Haiti and the Haitian Diaspora in the Wider Caribbean.
Works Cited
Daut, Marlene. Tropics of Haiti: Race and the Literary History of the Haitian Revolution in the
Atlantic World, 1789–1865. Liverpool University Press, 2015.
Felten, Peter. “Principles of Good Practice in SoTL.” Teaching & Learning Inquiry, vol. 1, no.
1, 2013, pp. 121-125.
Georges, Danielle Legros. “Poem for the Poorest Country in the Western Hemisphere.” poets.
org/poem/poem-poorest-country-western-hemisphere. Accessed on 1 July 2019.
Glissant, Edouard. Tout-Monde. Gallimard, 1993.
———. Traité du Tout-Monde. Gallimard, 1997.
———. Philosophie de la relation. Gallimard, 2009.
hooks, bell. Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom. Routledge, 1994.
Joseph, Celucien L., Jean-Eddy Saint Paul, and Glodel Mezilas, editors. Between Two Worlds:
Jean-Price Mars, Haiti and Africa. Lexington Books, 2018.
Maguire, Robert, and Scott Freeman, editors. Who Owns Haiti? People, Power and Sover-
eignty. University Press of Florida, 2017.
Pamphile, Léon. Contrary Destinies: A Century of America’s Occupation, Deoccupation and
Reoccupation of Haiti. University Press of Florida, 2015.
Pressley-Sanon, Toni. Istwa Across the Water: Haitian History, Memory, and the Cultural Imag-
ination. University Press of Florida, 2017.
Schuller, Mark. Humanitarian Aftershocks in Haiti. Rutgers University Press, 2016.
Trouillot, Michel-Rolph. Silencing the Past. Penguin, 1995.
Ulysse, Gina Athena. Why Haiti Needs New Narratives: A Post-Quake Chronicle. Wesleyan
University Press, 2015.
Zacaïr, Philippe. Haiti and the Haitian Diaspora in the Wider Caribbean. University Press of
Florida, 2010.
I
Teaching about Haitian Art, Literature, and Language
1
Getting around the Poto Mitan
Reconstructing Haitian Womanhood in the Classroom
RÉGINE JEAN-CHARLES
Fanm se poto mitan. This Kreyòl expression is well known throughout Haiti
and the diaspora; it means that the woman is the pillar or pole in the middle
of a room that holds it up. The term poto mitan translates literally to “post in
the middle,” a central pillar in the middle of a room around which the major-
ity of the action of a Vodou ceremony unfolds. Equating Haitian women with
the poto mitan is another way to indicate their centrality in society; it points
to the indispensable role they occupy in the family. The title of poto mitan also
suggests a number of character traits, like strength, tenacity, and resilience, with
which Haitian women are often associated. In her essay “Papa, Patriarchy, and
Power: Snapshots of a Good Haitian Girl, Feminism, & Dyasporic Dreams,”
feminist anthropologist and performance artist Gina Ulysse writes, “I grew up
with the knowledge that women in my culture were the poto-mitan of their
families. I was choosing another way” (35). Ulysse’s anti–poto mitan stance can
be understood as longing for a de-essentialization of Haitian womanhood that
nuances the fixed idea of the central pillar. The alternative to the poto mitan
that Ulysse would favor is a model of Black feminism that is deeply intersec-
tional and constantly in negotiation. Ulysse’s discomfort with the poto mitan
can be attributed to its fixity—a rigid central pillar that speaks to the ways in
which women shoulder various burdens in society, the pillar is intransigent, set
in stone, and firmly entrenched.
This essay proposes one path for teaching Haitian womanhood from a per-
spective that moves beyond the poto mitan model, or, rather, around it, which
is to acknowledge its centrality but also account for its limitations. To do so I
16 Régine Jean-Charles
propose my class entitled “Reconstructing Haitian Womanhood” as a teach-

ing model that incorporates a range of texts accommodating strikingly diver-
gent representations: Marie Chauvet’s Dance on the Volcano (La Danse sur le
volcan 1957, 2016), Evelyne Trouillot’s The Infamous Rosalie (Rosalie l’infâme
2003, 2013), Kettly Mars’s Savage Seasons (Saisons sauvages 2010, 2015), Edwidge
Danticat’s Claire of the Sea Light (2013); the films Woch Nan Soley (2012) and
Poto Mitan: Haitian Women, Pillars of the Global Economy (2009); and essays
by feminist scholars in the fields of anthropology, literary studies, media stud-
ies, and sociology.1 (See the sample syllabus at the end of this chapter.) Taken
together, these novels, films, and essays help to create a more dynamic picture
of Haitian womanhood that allows students to seriously interrogate rigid no-
tions of what it means to be a Haitian woman.
My approach to this class is born out of three important teaching encoun-
ters I have had with students and scholars. The first was a teaching moment in
which I played the role of student. During a conversation with feminist scholar
Carolle Charles about studies of women in tent cities after the earthquake, she
stated emphatically, “Haitian women cannot be reduced to their status as rape
victims.” Having just published a book on rape representation in which I argue
for more complex ways of understanding rape as a cultural trope as well as
rape victim-survivors themselves, I was especially struck by Professor Charles’s
words.2 That our conversation took place a few years after the earthquake in
2010 was also important because in the aftermath of the earthquake a number
of reports about the rape of Haitian women in tent cities surfaced, some of
which took on astonishingly reductive and essentialist approaches to rape rep-
resentation. Perhaps the best example of this tendency was the journalist Mac
McClelland’s deeply disturbing coverage for the popular news magazine Mother
Jones in which she deployed myths of Haitian culture as synonymous with rape
culture to animate her reflections on post-earthquake Haiti. Often visual, spo-
ken, and written representations of sexual violence exploit both the spectacle
of suffering and the spectacular nature of suffering in post-earthquake Haiti.
The combined lexicon of suffering and the spectacular mirrors neo-imperial,
neoliberal, and humanitarian scripts of subject formation that have character-
ized the relationship between the United States and Haiti since as early as the
Haitian Revolution. Rape plays an operative role in the iconography of Haitian
suffering, not necessarily because of the urgency of the crisis and the people
subjected to it, but rather because it reaffirms a set of dominant narratives
that reflect the long-standing use of gendered ideologies to signify national
and international agendas.3 Instances such as these underscore the necessity of
narrative autonomy because, as anthropologist Erica Caple James explains in
Getting around the Poto Mitan: Reconstructing Haitian Womanhood in the Classroom 17
Democratic Insecurities: Violence, Trauma, and Intervention in Haiti, Haitian ac-

tivists can also deploy the logics of the spectacular to advance their own human
rights claims and appeals for recognition in the context of international human
rights advocacy. So the idea of the spectacular can serve multiple functions,
but what matters as much as how the story is told, then, is who tells the story.
Following this logic, an important part of the poto mitan construction is how
it further underscores the idea of the strong Black woman who can endure all
things. When suffering only operates as spectacle it can point to the resilience
of Haitian women, which too often reduces their subjecthood to a single frame.
The second teaching moment was when I taught the documentary Poto Mi-
tan: Haitian Women, Pillars of the Global Economy in an interdisciplinary semi-
nar entitled “Haiti and Globalization” several years ago. The day before class
discussion, a student born in Haiti who had attended two years of high school
in the United States prior to coming to university came to my office hours to
share her concerns about the film. She was apprehensive about discussing the
film in class because the people “lived in such squalor,” and she was afraid
that her classmates would make assumptions about how all Haitians live as a
result. As a Haitian student she was worried that the film would simply rein-
force the stereotypical image of Haiti as “the poorest country in the Western
Hemisphere,” what Joel Dreyfuss has aptly called “the phrase in a box” and “a
metaphorical prison” (Dreyfuss 57). What followed was a lengthy discussion
with my student in which I explained the importance of presenting multiple
stories about class in Haiti—not ignoring poverty altogether but not making it
the only story.
The third teaching moment was during an oral presentation by students in
my advanced seminar on Francophone women writers in which the students
juxtaposed two images: one of a run-down shack on a dirt road and the other
of the Montreal skyline. For this presentation on Marie-Célie Agnant’s La dot
de Sara they focused on the idea of ici (here) versus là-bas (there). In the novel,
the author uses the ici versus là-bas construction to describe how the protago-
nist experiences the differences between her two countries. For example, the
protagonist contrasts the bitter cold in Montreal while she is here (ici) to the all-
encompassing heat she remembers from her life in Haiti (là-bas). Throughout
the novel these comparisons help the reader to perceive the differences between
the two places through the eyes of a woman longing to return to her home in
Haiti. Again the visual images that the students used in their presentation high-
lighted the persistence of the poverty trope, despite the fact that in the book
the comparisons were structured around weather, language, food, and social
norms. Their use of a broken-down shack in an unspecified location to serve
as the sign for Haiti was problematic, reductive, and alarming. These moments
highlight a need for vigilance on the part of the scholar and the teacher.
One of the main objectives of this proposed course is to utilize an interdisci-
plinary approach that draws from scholarship in different fields as well as cul-
tural production in different forms (including fiction, poetry, and film) to offer
a critical perspective on the construction of Haitian womanhood. In addition
to being interdisciplinary, this kind of multidimensional view is grounded in
an intersectional (feminist) framework. An intersectional approach to study-
ing Haitian womanhood should account for how the various locations of race,
class, gender, and sexuality, as well as citizenship status, influence the lived
experiences of Haitian women. Ultimately my goal is to provide a pedagogical
tool for teaching Haitian womanhood that will simultaneously interrogate why
certain narratives have developed and explore how scholars and cultural work-
ers have responded to these discourses.
Perhaps the first question to consider is: What is the problem with the title of
poto mitan? My view is that when the poto mitan serves as shorthand for every-
thing that Haitian womanhood represents in its entirety, it quickly becomes a
stereotype that can flatten the human aspects of Haitian women’s lives. Like the
resilience trope, the poto mitan can empty women of their humanity by focus-
ing on their strength and their ability to overcome rather than on the different
registers of emotion that texture their daily lives. In order to avoid perpetuating
this view with students, it is important to teach works about Haitian women
that prominently feature different kinds of experiences across class, privilege,
and emotional modalities. Of utmost importance in this practice is showing
Haitian women from different class backgrounds, with varying degrees of edu-
cation, access, and relationships to the diaspora.
At the beginning of the semester, students view the TED talk by Nigerian
writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie entitled The Danger of a Single Story. Fol-
lowing Adichie, I use “the single story” as a framing device to inform the study
of Haitian women because they too have been assigned a stereotypical desig-
nation. As such, another way to consider the main objective of this course is
that we are to teach about Haitian women beyond “the single story.” Doing so
requires asking students: What is the single story, or dominant narrative, of
Haiti that we have seen in the US-dominated media? Students should be asked
to interrogate the images of Haiti and Haitians that circulate most prominently
in the United States context. First, what are the images of Haiti with which
they are most familiar? For many these will relate to the ubiquitous poverty
trope. The question to consider after reflecting on those images is: How does
gender play into our view of Haiti? How are Haitian women configured within
this framework? These questions serve as a point of departure for some of the
questions we will ask throughout the course of the semester.
The TED talk serves as a primer for students when they read the article “De-
constructing Portrayals of Haitian Women in the Media” by María José Rendón
and Guerda Nicolas, which falls within the field of Media Studies. Based on a
study that these authors conducted in which they examined photographs of
Haitian women between the years 1994 and 2009, this article provides ample
evidence for the kinds of images of Haitian women that dominate mainstream
media. What this article helps to demonstrate is that images of Haitian women
have been fraught since long before the earthquake of 2010.
Rendón and Nicolas’s “Deconstructing the Portrayals of Haitian Women in
the Media” highlights the different ways in which Haitian women are identi-
fied according to a set of dominant images that flatten their subjectivities. The
authors’ focus on how the media portrays women is an important pedagogical
tool because students can be asked to do their own research into images of
Haitian women and then bring those to class to add to the discussion. Using
the article as a framework, students will be asked to group the images that
they bring to class according to the broader categories of poverty, disaster, dis-
ease, and political instability. The images that students find on their own serve
to complement and underscore the arguments of the authors. As the authors
point out, “media coverage that includes Haitian women seems to interweave
an invisible discourse about this group as the media recycle old narratives about
Haiti as a ‘failed state’” (Rendón and Nicolas 228). The article is also instruc-
tive because it helps students to think through the significance of narrative
construction (how stories are told) in relation to power dynamics.
Poto Mitan: Definition and Foundational Texts

A course on Haitian women beyond the poto mitan would necessarily begin
with an introduction to the term itself. By way of introducing the idea and defi-
nition of the poto mitan, I pair the documentary Poto Mitan: Haitian Women,
Pillars of the Global Economy by René Bergan and Mark Schuller alongside the
article “Fanm Se Poto Mitan: Haitian Woman, the Pillar of Society” by literary
scholar Marie-José N’Zengou-Tayo. The latter traces a social history of Haitian
women in which the author explains how they operate according to this role,
whereas the former exposes the negative effects of globalization on the lives of
poor urban Haitian women. In her article, N’Zengou-Tayo affirms a number
of dominant images of Haitian women that are in circulation; for example, “the
black peasant woman represents the nation’s resilience” (134). The article is
divided into two parts as N’Zengou-Tayo first provides an overview of Haitian

womanhood from the nineteenth century to the present day. In the article she
draws on historic, contemporary, and literary sources, reflecting a methodology
similar to the pedagogy for developing this class. The social history of Haitian
women that N’Zengou-Tayo provides draws from historical and anthropologi-
cal sources as well as testimonies by Haitian women in their own words. In the
second half of the article she focuses on how these themes emerge in literature.
By turning to the literary representation of Haitian women by both male and
female writers, N’Zengou-Tayo is able to demonstrate how literature reflects
history and society. This will allow for a discussion of what theorists such as Er-
ich Auerbach have long observed to be the crisis of representation, the fraught
relationship between reality and representation: the inability of texts to fully
convey the social realities they depict, also referred to as mimesis. A discus-
sion of this question of the relationship between representation and reality will
allow students to think critically about the social role of literature. The article
also provides an opportunity for students to begin considering how narratives
are constructed prior to reading the first work of fiction. N’Zengou-Tayo ends
her article with an analysis of Haitian women writers in which she concludes,
Coming from a tradition in which women always had to summon their
forces in silence and hold firm in the face of adversity, they have devel-
oped narrative strategies intertwining double discourse, double entendre,
silence and words. They have tried to redefine themselves, subverting the
dominant male discourse that sought to silence them. The new narrative
strategies they crafted have enriched the body of Haitian literature. (138)
While the course is interdisciplinary, it is structured around four novels that
serve as key anchor texts, which is why it is important for students to reflect
on what it means to study literature in the context of constructions of Haitian
womanhood. To this end, essays on women’s writing such as those in Myriam
Chancy’s Framing Silence: Revolutionary Novels by Haitian Women and Marie-
Denise Shelton’s article “Haitian Women’s Fiction” are also useful. As Shelton
pointed out in her article, published over 20 years ago,
The woman writer in Haiti has cracked open the doors of literature and
is searching for her voice. While she, too often, speaks through alienating
ideologies and fails to capture the common experiences of most Haitian
women, she can question the culture in some fundamental ways. (776)
What I am calling “getting around the poto mitan” requires this kind of at-
tention to voice and critique. How can we construct Haitian womanhood in
relation to social realities and nonetheless account for how women throughout
history as well as in literature have resisted these norms? Furthermore, how do
we avoid stories that focus only on marginalization and degradation as a point
of departure for Haitian women?
Another key text for definitions of poto mitan is the documentary of the
same name, Poto Mitan: Haitian Women, Pillars of the Global Economy. The
documentary focuses on five different Haitian women living in Port-au-Prince
in order to take on themes such as poverty, hardship, struggle, and injustice.
Throughout the film, topics such as the rampant abuse of factory workers, the
political repression following the first coup against Aristide, the enormous
chasm between Haiti’s rich and poor, and the United States’ negative role in
Haitian agriculture from rice production to pig farming reveal the structural
and social inequalities faced by poor women. As a counterpoint to this grim
reality, the film scatters the natural beauty of the landscape and the richness
of Haitian culture throughout. For example, in each section the storytelling
of Edwidge Danticat is featured along with a woman braiding her daughter’s
hair, which is meant to underscore the importance of different generations of
women. The music of Emeline Michel and Boukman Eksperyans also helps to
introduce viewers to different aspects of Haitian culture. Students should be
asked to identify other ways in which Haitian culture is made visible through-
out the film and reflect on the point that, as many scholars have noted, Haiti
is economically poor, but culturally rich. Additionally, asking students to look
for such examples does the work of focusing their minds on the narrative
and counter-narrative structure of the class. There are also interviews with
public figures such as the former Minister of Women’s Rights Marie-Laurence
Lassègue. The film describes Solange, Marie-Jeanne, Frisline, Hélène, and
Thérèse as the “five brave poto mitan who requested to have their stories told”
(Poto Mitan), and their stories reveal how women do more than struggle.
Throughout the film, we witness how these women resolve their problems, of-
fer political critique and analysis, lead their families, and empower the young
women of their communities. Thus, despite difficult images and sad stories,
the film’s message is that Haitian women are agents of transformation. Histori-
cal figures such as Anacaona, Defilée, and Catherine Flon demonstrate this
salient fact. Such agents of positive transformation also exist in the present, as
the documentary’s protagonists attest, and they will be in the future despite the
immeasurable losses caused by the earthquake’s devastation. “Women used to
think that they were second-class people. But women are important. Women
are the bouillon, without them there would be no taste. We are an essential
ingredient,” remarks Thérèse at one moment in the film. Poto Mitan ensures
that the importance of Haitian women’s contributions to the world economy

will not be forgotten. It is also a critical visual example of the different ways
Haitian women contribute to society as well as the social factors that constrain
them.
Gina Ulysse, Why Haiti Needs New Narratives

Immediately after teaching students the concept of the poto mitan through
the articles and the film, the syllabus moves on to Gina Ulysse’s Why Haiti
Needs New Narratives: A Post-Earthquake Chronicle as a theoretical fram-
ing for the idea of moving beyond dominant discourses surrounding Haiti.
Like the TED talk by Adichie, Why Haiti Needs New Narratives presents the
idea of a single story about Haiti and carefully explains why moving beyond
it is essential not only in terms of epistemology but also in terms of policy.
These essays will constantly be referred to throughout the course in order to
help students interrogate what the traditional narrative is and which counter-
narratives are being constructed in response to those. Structuring the class
in this way (narrative/counter-narrative) encourages more critical thinking
as students are asked to develop an analysis as to why prevailing narratives
exist and then are pushed to move beyond those.
Why Haiti Needs New Narratives takes an intersectional approach to chron-
icling the aftermath of the earthquake, and is especially useful for teaching
students what Black feminism looks like in the Haitian context. In the essays
Ulysse pays meticulous attention to how race, class, gender, nationality, reli-
gious practice, sexuality, and language influence responses to and reactions to
the earthquake. In terms of race, she describes how the mainstream media cov-
erage of Haiti is usually informed by its position as a Black nation. She writes,
in media coverage of the quake and its aftermath [a] dehumanization nar-
rative—portraying traumatized Haitians as indifferent and even callous—
took off on what I call the sub-humanity strand, which was particularly
trendy. It stems from the dominant idea that Haitians are irrational, devil
worshipping, progress-resistant, uneducated accursed black natives over-
populating their godforsaken island. There is of course here a subtext
about race. Haiti and Haitians remain a manifestation of blackness in its
worst form because, simply put, the unruly enfant terrible of the Ameri-
cans defied all European odds and created a disorder of things colonial.
Haiti had to become colonialism’s bête noire if the sanctity of whiteness
were to remain unquestioned. (28)
The above quote highlights how race and religious practice in particular com-
bine to determine how Haiti gets inscribed into a dominant narrative that is
unabashedly dehumanizing.
Ulysse further explores the dynamics of such invisibility at length, and
writes,
The world has watched Haiti’s most vulnerable women survive quake,
flood, cholera and homelessness in the last year—yet those women still
feel invisible. What will it take for them to be seen and heard? “Nou pa
gen visibilite.” We don’t have visibility, Mary-Kettley Jean said to me. (53)
The author continues, describing this visibility in further detail by explaining,
Her words are ironic, considering the ubiquitous images of Haitian
women covered with concrete dust after the devastating earthquake a
year ago. Or considering how the global media was plastered with photos
of Haiti’s women six months later as they remained in tent camps that
replaced their broken homes. (53)
This tension between visibility and invisibility is also an important part of how
to teach Haitian womanhood because it returns to the key concept of subject
formation—how women are permitted to tell their own stories as subjects in
control of their own narratives, rather than objects to be studied.
Ulysse’s focus on gender is especially evident in the second section of Why
Haiti Needs New Narratives, “Reassessing My Response,” in which she fore-
grounds the stories, lives, and work of several different women: Myrlande
Constant, who is a self-taught maker of Vodou flags (77); Yolette Jeanty, advo-
cate and supporter of Haitian women and girls and executive director for Kay
Fanm; and the Haitian feminist Paulette Poujol-Oriol (1926–2011). This section
is helpful for elaborating a version of Haitian womanhood that accommodates
a range of differences. In the case of Myrlande Constant, who was less known
than some of the other women mentioned, Ulysse emphasizes what is unique
about Constant’s creative work: her innovation in using a new technique to
make Vodou flags. But even this example can be linked to the Black feminist
imperative of social justice because it is contextualized by the social percep-
tion of Vodou. As Ulysse notes, “Given the historic ways that vodou has been
demonized and remains a scapegoat for Haiti’s problems, Myrlande Constant’s
artistry and communion with the spirits through her flags is [sic] an education
unto itself ” (79). Overall, Haiti Needs New Narratives is an essential book for
the class in terms of both how it actively questions perceptions of Haiti and the
analyses it offers of Haitian women writers, activists, and organizers.
The Infamous Rosalie by Evelyne Trouillot

The first novel taught in the course, Rosalie l’infâme/The Infamous Rosalie by
Evelyne Trouillot, is a fitting point of departure for literature about Haitian
women because it begins prior to the Haitian Revolution. The novel is set in
1789 Saint-Domingue on the Fayot Plantation. The title refers to the name of
the transatlantic slave ship that transported the ancestors of the novel’s pro-
tagonist, Lisette. The Infamous Rosalie charts Lisette’s story as a young woman
on the plantation living in the midst of unrelenting violence, constant death,
and maroon plots of resistance. Storytelling is central to the novel as Lisette
implores her grandmother and godmother to tell her about life before she was
born. These stories are crucial as they begin Lisette’s radicalization.
Introducing a novel that takes place before the Revolution allows us to move
away from some of the grand master narratives of Haitian history by thinking
carefully about what preceded the Revolution. Furthermore, emphasis on the
period prior to the Haitian Revolution places the focus on slavery and what
enslaved people endured during this time. The setting and the time are im-
portant because while many Haitian novels are set during the Revolution, very
few focus on the time period beforehand. As Edwidge Danticat explains in her
introduction to the English translation of Rosalie l’infâme,
. . . when discussing Haitian history, we tend to linger more on the battles
we’ve won, rather than the ones we lost, the ones where we lost our peo-
ple, our humanity, ourselves . . . few people know what it meant for these
eventual victors, or their parents and grandparents, to have survived the
specific route of the Middle Passage. (Danticat in Trouillot ii)
The diverse experiences of the enslaved women lay the groundwork of the
course by providing a textured representation of Haitian womanhood. For ex-
ample, in the novel we see the different ways that women responded to their
enslavement through diverse acts of resistance. A discussion about the different
strategies that these enslaved women deployed to survive life on the planta-
tion is a necessary part of recognizing their subjectivity, as they had disparate
responses to their experiences. Of particular focus will be the relationship be-
tween the protagonist Lisette and the generations of women before her as well
as how gender impacted the experience of slavery. As one of these women tells
the protagonist,
You see Lisette, watching you grow up on this island is to open yourself
to so much misfortune, to hold your stomach so firmly it takes the layers
of pain and accepts them with less indignity. It’s always keeping an eye
turned inwards so misfortune doesn’t take us by storm. It’s praying, hop-

ing, cursing, and often being afraid to smile. (70)
The range of women, some who die and some who live, also gives students
access to thinking about women’s vulnerable positions on the plantation and
how they devised ways to respond to it. This is the beginning of destabilizing
the idea of Haitian women as capable of enduring all things, as the poto mitan
suggests. At the same time, because the protagonist Lisette runs away to be-
come a maroon, the novel demonstrates that even enslaved women cannot be
reduced to the status of victims only, because they found ways to exercise their
own forms of agency and resistance.
Dance on the Volcano by Marie Chauvet

In order to establish an immediate connection and counterpoint to the Trouil-
lot novel, I then teach Marie Chauvet’s novel Dance on the Volcano. This novel
also serves as an introduction to the different roles women played during the
Haitian Revolution, but it focuses much more on how these are again calibrated
by color and class. This novel presents an unconventional heroine who is dras-
tically different from the women in the documentary and in Trouillot’s novel.
The story about two sisters whose lives end up on very different paths further
underscores the point of the diversity in women’s lives, even in the same fam-
ily. The protagonist, Minette, is a creole, or mixed-race, woman. The inclusion
of this detail is important for a study of how racial hierarchies functioned in
gendered ways in eighteenth-century Haiti.
Dance on the Volcano is also significant for how it incorporates a repre-
sentation of theater in Haiti during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.
The novel provides helpful exposure to how intertextuality occurs across disci-
plines, since Chauvet bases her plot on the book Le Théâtre à Saint-Domingue
by Jean Fouchard, which was published two years prior to the original publi-
cation of La Danse sur le volcan. Students can read excerpts from Fouchard’s
history alongside the novel as a way to better understand how historical fiction
is written. A consideration of nineteenth-century theater will also provide an
opportunity for students to conduct their own theatrical readings and mini-
performances. As a revolutionary historical novel that focuses on the lives of
two affranchi women, Dance on the Volcano is the perfect text to read after
The Infamous Rosalie not only chronologically but also thematically. Pairing
the novels helps to create a more robust picture of the Haitian Revolution that
imagines the events through the eyes of women characters. Furthermore, in its
attention to how gender, class, and sexuality come together in the revolution-
ary context, this novel helps to foreground the importance of an intersectional
approach to studying Haitian womanhood.4 Another compelling element of
the novel is its incorporation and use of Vodou, the religion practiced by the
majority of Haitians, and which should be approached as an essential compo-
nent of Haitian culture.
Kettly Mars, Savage Seasons

Savage Seasons by Kettly Mars is set during another historical period of great
significance—that of the Duvalier dictatorship. Teaching this novel in a course
about Haitian women also serves the purpose of introducing students to the
Duvalier period (1957–1986) so that they can begin to understand how women
were affected by, and responded to, the dictatorship. The novel focuses on the
life of the protagonist Nirvah Leroy, whose husband Daniel has been jailed by
the dictatorship for his suspected dissident activities. Nirvah’s unconventional
choices make her a fascinating point of departure for the question of right
and wrong when faced with difficult choices in the context of the dictatorship.
Nirvah Leroy’s background is important as well because she comes from the
middle class, a fact that will allow students again to consider the importance
of the multiple locations of identity and how those impact individuals who
are forced to live in terror (Charles 136). In order to provide more historical
background about this novel, I would include several readings from Elizabeth
Abbott’s Haiti: The Duvaliers and Their Legacy as well. Kettly Mars’s novel is
especially instructive because of the author’s embrace of an ambiguous ending,
which calls upon students to ask hard questions about the role and function of
narrative as a way to think about the dictatorship. The book explores Nirvah’s
actions in response to her husband’s imprisonment, the effects of which also
extend to her entire household. Like the other two novels taught in the course,
Savage Seasons takes a sexualized and gendered approach to examining a spe-
cific historic period under the terror of Duvalier.
Film: Woch Nan Soley

Following Savage Seasons students will view the film Woch Nan Soley (2012),
directed by Patricia Benoit, which is also about the Duvalier dictatorship al-
though it is set in the 1980s, to explore the question of memory in relation
to the regime. By delving into how the past is apparent in the present, Woch
Nan Soley serves as a reminder that history is never simply left behind. Like
each of the works selected for this class, the film presents three different kinds
of women who have been affected by Duvalier, each of whom not only has
different experiences, but chooses to interact with those experiences differ-
ently. There are women like Vita, a rape survivor who experienced the terror of
the regime in her body firsthand. The example of the two sisters, Yannick and
Shelley, is especially helpful in demonstrating how in one family two women
can have very different relationships to their Haitian identities. For Yannick,
a professor and political activist, Haiti must live on in the diaspora, whereas
for Shelley—who vividly recalls the execution of her father—the past must be
left behind. Woch Nan Soley continues the project of reminding students that
Haitian women must not be viewed as monolithic.
Claire of the Sea Light (2013) by Edwidge Danticat

The final work included on the syllabus offers multiple perspectives on Hai-
tian women through the form of the short story cycle—a series of stories
with related characters. Edwidge Danticat’s book Claire of the Sea Light will
introduce students to life in Haiti today as opposed to during a historical pe-
riod. It is also helpful in showing the different class considerations of Haitian
women. In this novel, we meet a host of different characters from the same
town, Limye. There are rich women, middle-class women, and poor women
in these stories. There are women with children and women who have never
conceived, women who are highly visible in society and those who seem
to be unseen. Throughout Claire of the Sea Light, students are introduced
to multiple women from different class backgrounds and with a range of
life experiences. By featuring a diverse set of characters from different age
groups, the book highlights the idea that there is no one single story of Hai-
tian womanhood.
Danticat is also the most well-known author publishing in English on the
syllabus, so it will be helpful to provide students with a view of the scope and
the impact of her work, especially on the topic of Haitian women. To do so, we
will read two of her essays: the chapter on Marie Chauvet from Create Dan-
gerously: The Immigrant Artist at Work and “We Are Ugly, but We Are Here”
from The Caribbean Writer. These articles are also helpful in that they point to
a distinct, more public way of engaging points of comparison and conjunction
between Haitian Studies and Women’s Studies and will allow students to think
about the implications of this work outside of the classroom.
Conclusion: Getting around the Poto Mitan
A feminist approach to Haitian Studies reveals the ways in which fixed ideas
about gender and gender inequality surface in creative expression and scholar-
ship. Black feminist scholarship pays close attention to the articulation of race,
class, gender, and sexuality, and how they intersect and inform identity in ways
that are multiplicative. In the case of Haitian womanhood, a feminist approach
is compelling because it allows us to consider the ways that race, gender, sexual-
ity, language, and nationality form the core of women’s experiences. By shifting
the focus from only examining these negative, stereotypical, or dominant im-
ages of Haitian women to the idea of “reconstructing” Haitian womanhood in-
spired by texts created by Haitian women, I am purposefully echoing the work
of Black feminist scholar Hazel Carby. In her book Reconstructing Womanhood:
The Emergence of the Afro-American Woman Novelist, Carby argues that Black
women novelists had to do the work of “reconstruction” because of the ways
that their identities were constructed in opposition to Southern white woman-
hood. To reconstruct womanhood means to create and search for explorations
of Black women that not only expose the negative images that ensnare them,
but also posit new narratives that point to alternative directions. Throughout
this chapter, and with the creation of this course, I have tried to construct such
a narrative—first, considering the poto mitan as one of the most prevailing im-
ages of Haitian women, then presenting a series of readings that counter this
image. Or, as the title of this essay reflects, getting around the poto mitan so
as to not do away with the construction altogether, but rather to acknowledge
that it is important and look for ways to teach Haitian womanhood beyond
this single story.
Syllabus
Course Description
As the first independent Black Republic in the world, born from a historic revo-
lution, Haiti occupies a prominent place in the African diaspora. The Kreyòl
expression Fanm se poto mitan is well known throughout Haiti and the dias-
pora; it means that the woman is the pillar or pole in the middle of a room that
holds it up. The term poto mitan translates literally as “post in the middle,” a
central pillar in the middle of a room around which the majority of the action
of a Vodou ceremony unfolds. The title of poto mitan also suggests a number
of character traits like strength, tenacity, and resilience with which Haitian
women are often associated. In this class, “Reconstructing Haitian Woman-

hood,” we will explore Haitian womanhood from a perspective that moves be-
yond the poto mitan model, or, rather, around it, which is to acknowledge its
centrality but also account for its significant limitations.
One of the main objectives of this class is to utilize an interdisciplinary ap-
proach that draws on historical documents, political theories, poetry, novels,
memoir, and film to obtain a critical perspective on the Haitian past, present,
and future. Taken together, these novels, films, and essays help to create a more
dynamic picture of Haitian womanhood that allows students to seriously inter-
rogate rigid notions of what it means to be a Haitian woman.
Required Readings
Books
1. Marie Chauvet, Dance on the Volcano (La Danse sur le volcan 1957,
2016)
2. Evelyne Trouillot, The Infamous Rosalie (Rosalie l’infâme 2003, 2013)
3. Kettly Mars, Savage Seasons (Saisons sauvages 2010, 2015)
4. Edwidge Danticat, Claire of the Sea Light (2013)
Articles/Book Chapters
• Lenelle Moïse, “Quaking Conversation”

• Claudine Michel, “Unequal Distribution”
• Nadève Ménard, “The Myth of the Monolingual Haitian”
• Régine Jean-Charles, “The Myth of Dyaspora Exceptionalism”
• María José Rendón and Guerda Nicolas, “Deconstructing Portrayals
of Haitian Women in the Media”
• Edwidge Danticat, Create Dangerously: The Immigrant Artist at Work
• Claudine Michel (ed.), Brassage: An Anthology of Poetry by Haitian
Women [selections]
• “To Haitian Womanhood” by Florence Bellandre-Robertson
• “Workshop, 1987” by Myriam Chancy
• Beverly Bell, Walking on Fire: Haitian Women’s Stories of Survival and

Resistance
• Chapter 4, “Resistance for Gender Justice,” pp. 149–62
• Erica Caple James, Democratic Insecurities: Violence, Trauma, and

Intervention in Haiti
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
and a range of grotesque promontories towards the left, the slope of
which was broken into a variety of terraces, with several cones rising
from them. At length, turning round the edge of the mountain range,
we entered the broad valley of Tánesof, having before us the
isolated and castellated crest of Mount Ídinen, or Kasr Jenún, and on
our left the long range of the Akakús, beautifully illuminated by the
setting sun, and forming a sort of relief in various colours, the highest
precipitous crest, with its castles and towers, being white, while the
lower slope, which was more gradual and rugged, disclosed regular
strata of red marl. Towards the west the valley, about five miles
broad, was bordered by sand-hills, whence the sand was carried by
the wind over its whole surface. We ourselves encamped at length
on sandy soil without the least herbage, while at the distance of
about two miles a strip of green was seen running along the valley.
SKETCH OF THE IDINEN.
Starting at an early hour the next day, we kept along the broad
barren valley straight for the Enchanted Castle, which the fanciful
reports of our companions had invested with great interest.
Notwithstanding, or perhaps in consequence of, the warnings of the
Tuarek not to risk our lives in so irreligious and perilous an
undertaking as a visit to this dwelling of the demons, I made up my
mind to visit it, convinced as I was that it was an ancient place of
worship, and that it might probably contain some curious sculptures
or inscriptions. Just at noon the naked bottom of the valley began to
be covered with a little herbage, when, after another mile, beyond a
depression in the ground which had evidently at one time formed a
considerable water-pond, talha-trees and ethel-bushes broke the
monotony of the landscape, while between the sand-hills on our right
a broad strip of green was seen, coming from the westernmost
corner of the Ídinen. Keeping still on for about five miles, we
encamped in the midst of a shallow concavity of circular shape,
surrounded by herbage, and near a large mound crowned by an
ethel-tree. At some distance south-east we had the well Táhala, the
water of which proved very good. As it was too late to visit the Ídinen
to-day, I sat down in the shade of a fine talha, and made the
subjoined sketch of it. In the evening we received a visit from two
men belonging to a caravan laden with merchandise of Ghadamsíyin
(people of Ghadámes), which was said to have come, by the direct
road through the wady, in thirty days from Tripoli.
July 15.—This was a dies ater for me. Overweg and I had
determined to start early in the morning for the remarkable mountain;
but we had not been able to obtain from the Tuarek a guide to
conduct us from thence to the next well, whither the caravan was to
proceed by the direct road. Hatíta and Utaeti having again resisted
all our solicitations for a guide, I at length, determined as I was to
visit the mountain at any cost, started off in the confidence of being
able to make out the well in the direction indicated to me. By ill-luck,
our provision of zummíta (a cool and refreshing paste on which we
were accustomed to breakfast) was exhausted the day before, so
that I was obliged to take with me dry biscuit and dates, the worst
possible food in the desert when water is scarce.
But as yet I needed no stimulus, and vigorously pushed my way
through the sand-hills, which afforded no very pleasant passage. I
then entered a wide, bare, desolate-looking plain, covered with black
pebbles, from which arose a few black mounds. Here I crossed the
beginning of a fiumara richly overgrown with herbage, which wound
along through the sand-hills towards the large valley-plain. It was the
abode of a beautiful pair of maraiya (Antelope Soemmeringii), which,
probably anxious for their young ones, did not make off when roused
by my approach, but stopped at a short distance, gazing at me and
wagging their tails. Pursuing my way over the pebbly ground, which
gradually rose till it was broken up by a considerable ravine
descending from the western part of the mount, I disturbed another
party of three antelopes, which were quietly lying down under the
cover of some large blocks. At last I began to feel fatigued from
walking over the sharp-pointed pebbles, as the distance proved to be
greater than I had originally imagined, and I did not seem to have got
much nearer to the foot of the Enchanted Mountain. In fact it proved
that the crest of the mount formed a sort of horseshoe, so that its
middle part, for which I had been steering all the time, in order to
gain a depression which seemed to afford an easy ascent, was by
far the remotest. I therefore changed my course and turned more
eastward, but only met with more annoyance, for, ascending the
slope which I hoped would soon convey me to the summit, I
suddenly came to the steep precipice of a deep ravine, which
separated me from the crest.
Being already fatigued, the disappointment, of course, depressed
my spirits, and I had to summon all my resolution and energy in
order to descend into the ravine and climb the other side. It was now
past ten o’clock; the sun began to put forth its full power, and there
was not the slightest shade around me. In a state of the utmost
exhaustion I at length reached the narrow pinnacled crest, which
was only a few feet broad, and exhibited neither inscriptions nor
sculptures. I had a fine prospect towards the south-west and north-
east, but I looked around in vain for any traces of our caravan.
Though exposed to the full rays of the sun, I lay down on my high
barbacan to seek repose; but my dry biscuit or a date was quite
unpalatable, and being anxious about my little provision of water, I
could only sip an insufficient draught from my small water-skin. As
the day advanced I feared that our little band, thinking that I was
already in advance, might continue their march in the afternoon, and,
in spite of my weakness, determined to try to reach the
encampment. I therefore descended the ravine, in order to follow its
course, which, according to Hatíta’s indications, would lead me in the
direction of the well. It was very hot, and being thirsty, I swallowed at
once the little water that remained. This was about noon, and I soon
found that the draught of mere water, taken upon an empty stomach,
had not at all restored my strength.
At length I reached the bottom of the valley. Hatíta had always
talked as if they were to encamp at no great distance from the
mountain; yet, as far as I could strain my view, no living being was to
be seen. At length I became puzzled as to my direction, and hurrying
on as fast as my failing strength would allow, I ascended a mound
crowned with an ethel-bush, and fired my pistols; but I waited in vain
for an answer: a strong east wind was blowing dead against me.
Reflecting a moment on my situation, I then crossed the small sand-
hills, and, ascending another mound, fired again. Convinced that
there could be nobody in this direction, at least at a moderate
distance, I bethought myself that our party might be still behind, and,
very unluckily, I kept more directly eastward.
The valley was here very richly overgrown with sebót, and to my
great delight I saw at a distance some small huts attached to
branches of the ethel-tree, covered on the top with sebót, and open
in front. With joy in my heart I hastened on towards them, but found
them empty; and not a living being was to be seen, nor was there a
drop of water to be got. My strength being now exhausted, I sat
down on the naked plain, with a full view before me of the whole
breadth of the wady, and with some confidence expected the
caravan. I even thought, for a moment, that I beheld a string of
camels passing in the distance. But it was an illusion; and when the
sun was about to set, not being able to muster strength enough to
walk a few paces without sitting down, I had only to choose for my
night’s quarters between the deserted huts and an ethel-tree which I
saw at a little distance. I chose the latter, as being on a more
elevated spot, and therefore scrambled to the tree, which was of a
respectable old age, with thick tall branches, but almost leafless. It
was my intention to light a fire, which promised almost certain
deliverance; but I could not muster sufficient strength to gather a little
wood. I was broken down and in a feverish state.
Having lain down for an hour or two, after it became quite dark I
arose from the ground, and, looking around me, descried, to my
great joy, a large fire south-west down the valley, and, hoping that it
might be that of my companions, I fired a pistol, as the only means of
communicating with them, and listened as the sound rolled along,
feeling sure that it would reach their ears; but no answer was
returned. All remained silent. Still I saw the flame rising towards the
sky, and telling where deliverance was to be found, without my being
able to avail myself of the signal. Having waited long in vain, I fired a
second time—yet no answer. I lay down in resignation, committing
my life to the care of the Merciful One; but it was in vain that I tried to
sleep, and, restless and in a high fever, I tossed about on the
ground, looking with anxiety and fear for the dawn of the next day.
At length the long night wore away, and dawn was drawing nigh.
All was repose and silence, and I was sure I could not choose a
better time for trying to inform my friends, by signal, of my
whereabouts. I therefore collected all my strength, loaded my pistol
with a heavy charge, and fired—once—twice. I thought the sound
ought to awaken the dead from their tombs, so powerfully did it
reverberate from the opposite range and roll along the wady; yet no
answer. I was at a loss to account for the great distance apparently
separating me from my companions, who seemed not to have heard
my firing.
The sun that I had half longed for, half looked forward to with
terror, at last rose. My condition, as the heat went on increasing,
became more dreadful; and I crawled around, changing every
moment my position, in order to enjoy the little shade afforded by the
leafless branches of the tree. About noon there was of course
scarcely a spot of shade left—only enough for my head—and I
suffered greatly from the pangs of thirst, although I sucked a little of
my blood till I became senseless, and fell into a sort of delirium, from
which I only recovered when the sun went down behind the
mountains. I then regained some consciousness, and crawled out of
the shade of the tree, throwing a melancholy glance over the plain,
when suddenly I heard the cry of a camel. It was the most delightful
music I ever heard in my life; and raising myself a little from the
ground, I saw a mounted Tarki passing at some distance from me,
and looking eagerly around. He had found my footsteps in the sandy
ground, and losing them again on the pebbles, was anxiously
seeking traces of the direction I had taken. I opened my parched
mouth, and crying, as loud as my faint strength allowed, “Áman,
áman” (Water, water), I was rejoiced to get for answer “Íwah! íwah!”
and in a few moments he sat at my side, washing and sprinkling my
head, while I broke out involuntarily into an uninterrupted strain of “El
hamdu lilláhi! el hamdu lilláhi!”
Having thus first refreshed me, and then allowed me a draught,
which, however, I was not able to enjoy, my throat being so dry, and
my fever still continuing, my deliverer, whose name was Musa,
placed me upon his camel, mounted himself in front of me, and
brought me to the tents. They were a good way off. The joy of
meeting again, after I had been already despaired of, was great; and
I had to express my sincere thanks to my companions, who had
given themselves so much trouble to find me. But I could speak but
little at first, and could scarcely eat anything for the next three days,
after which I gradually recovered my strength. It is, indeed, very
remarkable how quickly the strength of a European is broken in
these climes, if for a single day he be prevented from taking his
usual food. Nevertheless I was able to proceed the next day (the
17th), when we kept more towards the slope of the Akakús, and here
passed a broad lateral valley, rich in herbage, called Ádar-n-jelkum,
after which we descended about a hundred feet, from the pebbly
ground into sandy soil forming a sort of valley called Ighelfannís, and
full of ethel-trees and sebót. In such a locality we encamped two
hours after noon, near splendid ethel-trees; but the strong north-
easterly wind, enveloping ourselves and baggage in thick clouds of
sand, banished all enjoyment.
July 18.—We continued our march with the sure expectation of
soon reaching Ghát, the second great station on our journey. The
valley after some time became free from ethel-trees, and opened a
view of the little town, situated at the north-western foot of a rocky
eminence jutting out into the valley, and girt by sand-hills on the
west. Its plantation extends in a long strip towards south-south-west,
while another group, formed by the plantation and by the noble-
looking mansion of Háj Ahmed, appears towards the west. Here we
were joined by Mohammed Sheríf, a nephew of Háj Ahmed, in a
showy dress, and well mounted on a horse; and we separated from
Hatíta in order to take our way round the north side of the hill, so as
to avoid exciting the curiosity and importunity of the townspeople.
But a good many boys came out of the town, and exhibited quite an
interesting scene as they recognized Yakúb (Mr. Richardson), who
had visited this place on his former journey. Many people came out
to see us, some offering us their welcome, others remaining
indifferent spectators.
Thus we reached the new plantation of Háj Ahmed, the Governor,
as he is called, of Ghát, and found, at the entrance of the
outbuilding, which had been destined for our use, the principal men
of the town, who received us with great kindness and politeness. The
most interesting among them was Háj Ahmed himself, a man of
grave and dignified manners, who, although a stranger to the place,
and a native of Tawát, has succeeded, through his address and his
mercantile prosperity, in obtaining for himself here an almost princely
position, and has founded in reality a new town, with large and
splendid improvements, by the side of the old city. His situation as
Governor of Ghát, in reference, and in some degree in opposition, to
the Tuarek chiefs, is a very peculiar one, and requires, on his part, a
good deal of address, patience, and forbearance. I am convinced
that when we first arrived he did not view us with displeasure, but, on
the contrary, was greatly pleased to receive under his roof a mission
of Her Britannic Majesty’s Government, with whose immense
influence and power, and the noble purpose of whose policy, he was
not entirely unacquainted; but his extraordinary and precarious
situation did not allow him to act freely, and besides I cannot say that
he received from us so warm an acknowledgment as his conduct in
the first instance seemed to deserve.
Besides him, the chief parties in our first conversation were his
nephew Ahmed Mohammed Sheríf (the man who came to meet us),
a clever but forward lad, of pleasant manners—whom in the course
of my travels I met several times in Sudán—and Mohammed Káfa, a
cheerful, good-humoured man. Our quarters, of which the
accompanying woodcut gives the ground-plan, were certainly neither
airy nor agreeable, but the hot sand wind which blew without made
them appear to us quite tolerable.
CHAPTER X.
THE INDIGENOUS BERBER POPULATION.
There can be no doubt that even Fezzán, in ancient times, had a

population entirely different from that dwelling near the coast; but the
original black inhabitants of that country have been swept away, or
mixed up entirely with the Arabs, who seem to have invaded this
country not earlier than the fifteenth century of our era, for in
Makrizi’s time Fezzán was still a Berber country. But few names now
remain which evidently bespeak a Central African origin, such as
those terminating in awa, as Tasáwa or Tessáwa (a town already
mentioned by Edrísi), Portukawa, and others. But in the country of
Ghát, which we have now entered, the case is very different; for here
the former state of things has not been so entirely altered as not to
leave some unmistakable testimonies behind it.
All the original population of North Africa appear to have been a
race of the Semitic stock, who, by intermarriage with tribes which
came from Egypt, or by way of it, had received a certain admixture.
The consequence was that several distinct tribes were produced,
designated by the ancients as Libyans, Moors, Numidians,
Libyphœnicians, Getulians, and others, and traced by the native
historians to two different families, the Beránes and the Abtar, who,
however, diverge from one common source, Mazigh or Madaghs.
The native widespread African race, either from the name of their
supposed ancestor, Ber, which we recognize in the name Afer, or in
consequence of the Roman term barbari, has been generally called
Berber, and in some regions Shawi and Shelluh. The general
character and language of these people seem to have been the
same, while the complexion alone was the distinguishing point of
difference.
How far southward the settlements of this North African race
originally extended, it is difficult to say; but it may be gathered, even
from ancient writers, that they did not extend to the very border of
the naked desert, and that they were bounded on the south by a
region occupied by Æthiopian races,—an observation which is
confirmed by the present state of things. Wárgela evidently belonged
originally to the dominion of the Blacks, as well as Tawát. The
Berbers seem in general to have kept within their borders till driven
from their native seats by the Arabs; for they had been mildly treated
by the former conquerors of the country (the Phœnicians, the
Romans, Vandals, and Byzantines), and they appear even to have
partly embraced Christianity.
In the central part of Barbary the flight of the Berbers seems to
have been connected with that numerous immigration of Arab
families into North Africa which took place in the first half of the
eleventh century, in the time and at the instigation of Ahmed ben ʿAli
el Jerjeráni, who died in a.h. 436, or 1044-5 of our era. The fugitives
pushed forward in several great divisions, which it is not essential
here to enumerate, as, with a few exceptions, they have become
extinct. It seems only necessary to advert here to the fact that of all
the reports handed down to us by the ancient Arab historians and
geographers respecting the different Berber nations existing in the
desert, the name of Tarki, or Tuarek, by which they are at present
generally designated, occurs only in Ebn Khaldún, under the form
Tarká or Táriká; and after him Leo Africanus is the first who, in
mentioning the five great tribes, names one of them Terga. This
name, which has been given to the Berber inhabitants of the desert,
and which Hodgson erroneously supposed to mean “tribe,” is quite
foreign to them. The truly indigenous name by which these people
call themselves is the same by which they were already known to the
Greeks and Romans, and which was given to their ancestors by Ebn
Khaldún and other Arabic writers, viz. Amázigh, Mázigh, Mazix,
Masix, Mazys, Mazax, and even Maxitanus in the singular form. The
general form now used in these regions is Amóshagh in the singular,
Imóshagh in the plural, and Temáshight in the neutral form. This is
the native name by which the so-called Tawárek designate their
whole nation, which is divided into several great families. And if the
reader inquires who gave them the other name, I answer, with full
confidence, the Arabs; and the reason why they called them so was
probably from their having left or abandoned their religion, from the
verb “tereku dinihum;” for, from evidence which I have collected
elsewhere, it seems clear that a great part of the Berbers of the
desert were once Christians (they are still called by some Arabs “the
Christians of the desert”), and that they afterwards changed their
religion and adopted Islam; notwithstanding which they still call God
“Mesí,” and an angel “anyelús,” and have preserved many curious
customs which bear testimony to their ancient creed.
The tribe which now possesses the country, the Imóshagh or
Tuarek of Ghát, are generally called Azkár or Azgar; but they are
named also Hogár or Hágara, though the latter name is very often
employed to denote another tribe. Upon this point, also, we have
received full and credible information from Ebn Khaldún, who tells us
that the name Hogár was formed from that of Hauwára, and served
to designate that section of the great Berber tribe which had retired
into the desert about Gógó; and it is very remarkable that the Hogár
were described just about the same time, in those same regions, by
the traveller Ebn Batúta. Hogár therefore seems to be the more
general name, while Azkár serves to designate a section of this tribe.
However, this name also appears to be an ancient one, being
mentioned already by Edrísi (a.h. 453) as the name of a tribe
evidently identical with that of which we are speaking, the
settlements of which he indicates as being distant twelve days’
journey from Tasáwa, and eighteen from Ghadámes. It is mentioned
about a century later by Ebn Sáid as dwelling in the same place. The
Tinýlkum Ibrahim was of opinion that Azkár means that section of the
Hogár who had remained (at some period unknown to us) “faithful to
the established authority.” But this interpretation of the name, if we
consider the early period at which it occurs, does not seem quite
probable, and I suspect that those may be right who give to the
name a more general meaning.
At present the Azkár form but a small part of the population of the
country which they rule, namely, the region enclosed between the
desert bordered by Wady Talíya in the east, the valleys Zerzúwa and
Áfara in the west, the well of Asïu towards the south, and Nijbertín
towards the north, and are not able to furnish more than about five
hundred armed men. In fact, they form a warlike aristocracy of five
families, divided into thirty divisions or fayas, each of which has an
independent chief. The names of the five families are Urághen,
Ímanang, Ífogas, Hadánarang, and Manghássatang. The Urághen or
Aurághen, meaning the “Yellows,” or “golden” (in colour), who
seemed to have once formed a very powerful family, and have given
their name to one of the principal dialects of the Tarkíye or
Temáshight, are at present much dispersed, many of them living
among the Awelímmiden, on the northern shore of the Isa or Niger,
where I shall have more to say about them. Even among the Azkár
they still form the most important division, and count at least a
hundred and fifty full-grown men. A large body of them is settled in
and about the valley of Arikím, on the direct road from Múrzuk to
Sudán, and about fifty miles to the south of Ghát. Their original
abode is said to have been at a place called Asáwa, to the south of
Irálghawen. But the tribe that formerly possessed the greatest
authority, and which on this account is still called Amanókalen, or the
Sultan tribe, is that of the Ímanang, who are at present reduced to
extreme poverty, and to a very small number, said not even to reach
ten families. But they have still a very large number of Imghád under
their command. Their women are celebrated for their beauty. They
are most of them settled in the valley of Díder. The third division of
the Azkár, to which Hatíta, the friend of the English, belongs, are the
Manghássatang, or Imaghássaten, whose leather tents are generally
pitched in the valley of Zerzúwa, on the road from Ghát to Tawát,
about six days’ journey from the former.
The three clans, or “Tiyúsi,” which I have mentioned, constitute at
present, strictly speaking, the family of the Azkár, the other two
divisions, viz. the Ífogas and the Hadánarang, having separated from
the rest, and broken in some way the national bond which formerly
united them with the others. One of them, the Ífogas, are scattered
over the whole desert, some having settled among the Kél-owí at a
place called Tórit, on the road to Damerghú; another section dwells
in the more favoured valleys to the east of Mabrúk; while a small
portion of this tribe remains in the territory of the Azkár, where they
have their abode in the valley of Áfara, about half-way between Ghát
and Tawát. The second of these tribes, viz. the Hadánarang, is
settled in a place called Ádemar, not far from the southern frontier of
the territory of the Azkár, in the midst of the Imghád. They are, to
some extent at least, migratory freebooters; and to them belonged
those robbers who, soon after we had fortunately got out of their
clutches, murdered two Tébu merchants on the road from Aïr to
Ghát, carrying away their whole caravan, with no less than thirty-
three slaves.
I was assured by Hatíta that there were not less than thirty
subdivisions of the larger clans, called “faya,” in Temáshight; but I
could only ascertain the names of four of them; viz. the Izóban and
the Okéren, living in the Wady Irárarén, and probably belonging to
one and the same family (I believe the Ímanang); the Degárrab,
probably a section of the Hadánarang, living in a place called Tárat,
together with some Imghád; and finally the Ihiyáwen or Ihéwan, a
portion of whom dwell in Titarsén, while another section has settled
near Tasáwa in Fezzán, forming the last link of the chain which
connects the Imghád and the Azkár. Another link is formed by the
Makéresang, who, like the former, submit to the authority of the chief
Nakhnúkhen; then follows the Ifélelen, who are settled in Tasíl with
the Imghád. The least degenerate of these half-caste tribes, who
hold a middle place between the Imóshagh and the Imghád, or
between the free and the servile, is said to be the section of the
Mateghílelen, now settled in the Wady el Gharbi, in Fezzán, while
their kindred certainly belong to the Imghád. This is the best proof
that the name Ámghi does not express national descent, but social
condition. Another section or tribe loosely connected with the Azkár,
but not regarded as noble, although as strict ascetics they are much
respected, and are enabled to carry on almost undisturbed the
commerce between Fezzán and Negroland, are the Tinýlkum, of
whom I have already had occasion to speak repeatedly. At present
they are settled partly in the valley Tigger-odé, where their chief the
Háj ʿAli resides, partly in Wady el Gharbi and around Tasáwa; but
their ancient seats were to the south of Ghát, and even in the town of
Ghát itself, they having been called in to decide the quarrel between
the former inhabitants of that place, the Kél-tellek and the
Makamúmmasen.
As I said above, the ruling class of the Azkár constitutes by far the
smaller part of the population of the country, while the great mass of
the population of these regions consists of a subject or degraded
tribe called Imghád, or, in the Arabic form, Merátha, or even
Metáthra. This I formerly considered to be a Gentile name; but I
found afterwards that it is a general epithet, used by all the different
tribes of the Imóshagh to denote degraded tribes. The singular form
of the name is Ámghi, which is the counterpart of Amóshagh, as it
means “servile,” while the latter means “free.” The Imghád of the
Azkár differ a great deal from the ruling tribe, particularly the women;
for while the Imóshagh are tolerably fair, a great many of the former
are almost black, but nevertheless well made, and not only without
negro features, but generally with a very regular physiognomy, while
the women, at least in their forms, approach more to the type of the
negro races. But as for their language, I must confess that I am not
able to decide with confidence whether it sprang originally from a
Berber dialect or the Háusa language:[7] many of the people, indeed,
seem to be bilingual; but by far the greater part of the men do not
even understand the Háusa language. I am persuaded that they
were originally Berbers who have become degraded by intermixture
with the black natives.
The Imghád of the Azkár, who altogether form a numerous body,
being able to furnish about five thousand armed men, are divided
into four sections—the Batánatang or Ibétnaten, the Fárkana or
Aférkenén, Segígatang, and Wárwaren, which latter name, I think,
very naturally calls to mind the Latin “Barbari,” a name which,
according to some ancient authors, belonged to certain tribes of
Northern Africa, and may fairly explain the origin of the name Berber,
though it is to be remarked that “war,” a syllable with which a great
number of Berber names begin, seems to signify “man.” Of these
four divisions the last three seem to live principally in and around the
small town of Bárakat, a few miles south of Ghát, and in and around
Jánet or Yánet, about thirty miles south-south-west from Égeri.
Neither the population of the town of Ghát nor that of the town of
Bárakat is at present formed by these Imghád; but I should suppose
that in former times they were also the privileged inhabitants of Ghát
itself, which at present is occupied by a very mixed race, so well
described by the late Mr. Richardson. These two favoured spots of
the desert seem to be left entirely to these people as tenants, on
condition that they take care of the plantations and of the gardens,
and gather the fruit, of which they are bound to give a portion to their
masters. Some of the noble Imóshagh, indeed, seem to have a great
many of these people at their disposal. The Batánatang or Ibétnaten
reside principally in a valley called Tesíli, while another section of
them have their abode amongst the Hogár, in a district called
Tehellahóhet, on the road from Asïu to Tawát. A portion of the last
tribe (viz. the Fárkana or Aférkenén) dwell in a valley called Tarát,
about a day’s journey north-west from Nghákeli.
Besides these four great divisions, there are many other sections
of the Imghád. The names of these, as far as they became known to
me, are as follows: the Dik-Surki, settled in the territory of the Azkár,
in a place called Édehi; the Kél-n-tunín, living in Aderár; the
Amatghílelen, who have their abode in the same spot; the Kél-
áhenet, living in Hágara; the Akeshemáden, in the valley called Atúl;
the Íkelan, who have their dwelling-places in Zerzer; the Kélghafsa,
in Ífak; the Kél-ífis, in Temághaset; and finally, the Ijrán.
The ruling race of the Imóshagh subsist entirely on the labour of
this depressed class, but still more upon the tribute or gheráma
which, as I mentioned above, they raise from the caravans—a
custom already mentioned by Leo Africanus. Without some such
revenue they could not trick themselves out so well as they do,
though when at home in their “tekábber” they live at a very little
expense, particularly as they are not polygamists. The Imghád are
not allowed to carry an iron spear nor to wear a sword, which is the
distinction of the free man, nor any very showy dress. Most of them
may be regarded as settled, or as “Kél,” that is to say as the
constant, or at least as the ordinary, inhabitants of a given place; and
this indeed, it seems, is even to be said of a great many of the Azkár
themselves, who seem to hold a middle place between the nomadic
and the settled tribes. The consequence is that many of them do not
live in leather tents, or “éhe,” but in round conical huts called
tekábber, made of bushes and dry grass.
The town of Ghát (the favoured locality of which might be
presumed to have attracted a settlement at a very early age) is not
mentioned by any Arabic author except the traveller Ebn Batúta, in
the fourteenth century, and seems never to have been a large place.
Even now it is a small town of about two hundred and fifty houses,
but nevertheless of considerable commercial importance, which
would become infinitely greater if the jealousy of the Tawáti would
allow the opening of the direct road from Timbúktu, which seems to
be under the special protection of the powerful chief Gemáma.
The view from the rocky hill which reaches its greatest elevation
just over the town, and, together with a cistern, offers a few Berber
and Arabic inscriptions to the curious traveller, proved far less
extensive and picturesque than that from a sand-hill a little distance
westward from the house of Háj Ahmed. I ascended this little hill in
the afternoon of the 22nd, and, screened by an ethel-bush, sketched
the whole oasis—the separate strips of palm-trees, the wide
desolate valley, bordered by the steep slope of the Akakús-range,
with its regular strata of marly slate and its pinnacled crest of
sandstone; the little town on the left, at the foot of the rocky hill,
contrasting with the few and frail huts of palm-branches scattered
about here and there; the noble and spacious mansion of the
industrious Háj Ahmed in the foreground, on the northern side of
which was the flat dwelling assigned to us. When descending from
this hill towards the south, I was greatly pleased with the new
improvements added by Háj Ahmed to his plantation. The example
of this man shows how much may be achieved by a little industry in
these favoured spots, where cultivation might be infinitely increased.
In the southernmost and most recent part of the plantation a large
basin, about 100 feet long and 60 feet broad, had been formed,
receiving a full supply of water from the northern side of the sand-
hills, and irrigating kitchen-gardens of considerable extent. Thus the
wealthy Governor makes some advance every year; but,
unfortunately, he seems not to find many imitators.
Our negotiation with the Tuarek chiefs might have been conducted
with more success if a letter written by Her Majesty’s Government to
the chief Jabúr had not been produced at the very moment when all
the chiefs present were ready to subscribe the treaty. But their
attention was entirely distracted from the object in view. This letter
made direct mention of the abolition of the slave-trade; hence it
became a very difficult and delicate matter, especially as Mr.
Richardson’s supplies of merchandise and presents at that moment
were entirely in the hands of the merchant Háj Ibrahim, who, even if
liberal enough to abstain from intrigue against admitting the
competition of English merchants, would be sure to do all in his
power to prevent the abolition of the slave-trade.
It was a serious undertaking to enter into direct negotiation with
these Tuarek chiefs, the absolute masters of several of the most
important routes to Central Africa. It required great skill, entire
confidence, and no inconsiderable amount of means, of which we
were extremely deficient. To this vexation let there be added the
petulant and indiscreet behaviour of our servants, who were
exasperated by the sufferings of the Rámadán during the hottest
season of the year, and were too well aware of the insufficiency of
our means to carry out the objects of our mission, and the reader will
easily understand that we were extremely glad when, after repeated
delays, we were at length able to leave this place in the pursuance of
our journey.
CHAPTER XI.
CROSSING A LARGE MOUNTAIN RIDGE, AND
ENTERING ON THE OPEN GRAVELLY DESERT.
On the morning of the 26th of July I once more found myself on

the back of my camel, and from my elevated seat threw a last glance
over the pleasant picture of the oasis of Ghát. There is an advanced
spur of the plantation about two miles south from the town, called
Timéggawé, with a few scattered cottages at its southern end.
Having left this behind us, we came to the considerable plantation of
Íberké, separated into two groups, one on the west, and the other on
the east side, and kept along the border of the western group, which
forms dense clusters, while that to the east is rather thin and loosely
scattered. The town of Bárakat, lying at the foot of a sandy eminence
stretching north and south, became now and then visible on our
right, glittering through the thinner parts of the plantation.
Being prepared for a good day’s march, as not only the Tinýlkum
were reported to have left Arikim several days ago, but as even the
little caravan of Kél-owí, with whom we had made arrangements for
protection and company on the road, was a considerable way in
advance, we were greatly astonished when ordered to encamp near
the scattered palm-trees at the extreme eastern end of the
plantation. Utaeti, who had accompanied us all the way from Ghát on
foot, chose the camping-ground. Mr. Richardson, who had been
behind, was not less astonished when he found us encamped at so
early an hour. But our camels, which seemed to have been worked
during our stay at Ghát, instead of being allowed to recover their
strength by rest and pasture, were in great want of some good
feeding, and there was much aghúl (Hedysarum Alhajji) about our
encampment. Towards noon we were visited by several Hogár, or
rather Azkár, who proved a little troublesome, but not so much so as
the townspeople, who caused us a great deal of annoyance, both
during the evening and on the following morning, and gave us some
idea of what might await us further on.
Being annoyed at our delay here, I accompanied two of Mr.
Richardson’s people and the young son of Yusuf Mukni, who wished
to go into the town to buy a fowl. We were followed by two men from
among the townspeople, who wanted to extort a present from me,
and one of whom, by bawling out the characteristic phrase of his
creed, made me fear lest he might succeed in exciting all the people
against me. The town was distant from our encampment a mile and
a quarter; and having once reached its wall, I determined to enter it.
The town, or ágherim, forms a tolerably regular quadrangle, on an
open piece of ground at the eastern foot of the sandy eminence, and
is enclosed by a wall (agadór), built of clay, about five-and-twenty
feet high, and provided with quadrangular towers. We entered it by
the eastern gate, which, being defended by a tower, has its entrance
from the side, and leads first to a small court with a well, from which
another arched passage leads into the streets. Here several women,
of good figure and decently dressed, were seated tranquilly, as it
seemed, enjoying the cool air of the afternoon, for they had no
occupation, nor were they selling anything. Although I was dressed
in a common blue Sudán shirt, and tolerably sunburnt, my fairer
complexion seemed to alarm them, and some of them withdrew into
the interior of the houses crying “Lá ilah.” Still I was not molested nor
insulted by the people passing by, and I was pleased that several of
them courteously answered my salute. They were apparently not of
pure Berber blood. It appeared that a good many of the inhabitants
had gone to their date-groves to look after the harvest, as the fruit
was just about to ripen; hence the place, though in good repair and
very clean, had a rather solitary appearance. There is no commerce
in this place as in Ghát, the whole wealth of the inhabitants
consisting in their plantations. Yet they are said to be better off than
the population of Ghát, who are exposed to great and continual
extortions from the Tuarek on account of their origin, while the
people of Bárakat enjoy certain privileges. The houses were all two
or three storeys high, and well built, the clay being nicely polished. A
few palm-trees decorate the interior of the town. It is of still more
diminutive size than Ghát, containing about two hundred houses; but
it is built with great regularity. Having stuck fast awhile in a lane
which had no thoroughfare, we at length got safely out of the little
town of Bárakat by the south gate. It has, I believe, four gates, like
Ghát. On this side of the town, inside of the walls, stands the
mosque, a building of considerable size for so small a place, neatly
whitewashed, and provided with a lofty minaret.
Leaving the town, we took a more southern and circuitous road
than that by which we had come, so that I saw a good deal of the
plantation. The soil is for the most part impregnated with salt, and
the wells have generally brackish water. There was much industry to
be seen, and most of the gardens were well kept; but the wells might
easily be more numerous, and only a small quantity of corn is
cultivated. The great extent to which dukhn, or Guinea corn (“éneli”
in Temáshight), or Pennisetum typhoïdeum, is cultivated here, as
well as near Ghát, in proportion to wheat or barley, seems to indicate
the closer and more intimate connection of this region with
Negroland. Some culinary vegetables also were cultivated, and
some, but not many, of the gardens were carefully fenced with the
leaves of the palm-tree. The grove was animated by numbers of wild
pigeons and turtle-doves, bending the branches of the palm-trees
with their wanton play; and a good many asses were to be seen.
Cattle I did not observe.
But far more interesting were the scenes of human life that met my
eyes. Happiness seemed to reign, with every necessary comfort, in
this delightful little grove. There was a great number of cottages, or
tekábber, built of palm-branches and palm-leaves, most of them of
considerable size, and containing several apartments; all of them
had flat roofs. They are inhabited by the Imghád, or Merátha. A great
many of the men seemed at present to be busy elsewhere; but these
lightly built, straggling suburbs were full of children, and almost every
woman carried an infant at her back. They were all black, but well
formed, and infinitely superior to the mixed race of Fezzán. The men
wore in general blue shirts, and a black shawl round the face; the
women were only dressed in the túrkedi, or Sudán-cloth, wound
round their body, and leaving the upper part, including the breasts,
uncovered. They understood generally nothing but Temáshight, and
only a few of them spoke the Háusa language. The men were nearly
all smoking.
Having returned to our tent from this pleasant ramble, I did not
stay long in it, but stealing off as secretly as possible, I walked to the
eastern side of the valley, which is here locked up by the steep slope
of the Akakús range. The plain on this side, being much interrupted
by hills crowned with ethel-trees, does not afford a distant prospect.
In this quarter, too, there are a few scattered gardens, with melons
and vegetables, but no palm-trees.
In the evening we were greatly annoyed by some Imghád, and
between one of them and our fiery and inconsiderate Tunisian
shushán a violent dispute arose, which threatened to assume a very
serious character. We were on the watch the whole night.
Having waited a long time for Utaeti, we at length started without
him, passing on our right a beautiful palm-grove, with as many as ten
thousand trees, while our left was bordered by scattered gardens,
where the people were busy, in the cool of the morning, irrigating the
corn and vegetables, with the assistance of Sudán oxen. They came
out to see us pass by, but without expressing any feeling, hostile or
otherwise. After a mile and a half the plantation ceased, at the bed of
a torrent which contained a pond of rain-water collected from the
higher rocky ground, which here terminates. Further on we passed
another small channel, overgrown with bushes, and remarkable for
nothing but its name, which seems plainly to indicate that this
country originally belonged to the Góber or Háusa nation, for it is still
called Korámma, a word which in the Háusa language denotes the
bed of a torrent. To this watercourse particularly the general
designation was most probably assigned, because in its further
progress it widens very considerably, and in some degree appears
as the head of the green bottom of the Valley of Ghát.
But a more luxuriant valley, from three to four miles broad, begins
further on, rich in herbage, and full of ethel-trees, all crowning the
tops of small mounds. Here we encamped, near a pond of dirty rain-
water, frequented by great flocks of doves and waterfowl, and a well
called Ízayen, in order to wait for Utaeti. The well was only about

(PDF Download) Teaching Haiti Strategies For Creating New Narratives Cécile Accilien Fulll Chapter

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

(PDF Download) Teaching Haiti Strategies For Creating New Narratives Cécile Accilien Fulll Chapter

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

(PDF Download) Teaching Haiti Strategies For Creating New Narratives Cécile Accilien Fulll Chapter

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Full download test bank at ebookmeta.

Teaching Haiti Strategies for Creating New

For dowload this book click LINK or Button below

Download More ebooks from https://ebookmeta.com

The New Digital Storytelling The Creating Narratives

New Art and Science of Teaching Writing Research Based

Teaching and Learning Strategies for Sustainable

Creative teaching strategies for the nurse educator 3rd

Instructional Strategies for Effective Teaching 1st

Learning and Teaching Writing Online Strategies for

Digital Customer Experience Engineering: Strategies for

Health Education Creating Strategies for School and

Edited by Cécile Accilien and Valérie K. Orlando

University of Florida Press

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

University of Florida Press

In memory of Margaret Armand (1950–2016)

To Ulrick Jean-Pierre, twoubadou, artist, and guardian of memory,

And to Zahir and Francis Accilien. May you always be curious

Ayiti se tè glise: Intersectionalities of History, Politics, and Culture 1

1. Getting around the Poto Mitan: Reconstructing Haitian Womanhood in

2. Teaching Haiti through the Work of Rodney Saint-Éloi, écrivain

3. Teaching Haitian Theater: Franck Fouché’s Bouqui au Paradis 51

4. Engaging Haiti through Art and Religion 68

5. Creating Interdisciplinary Knowledge about Haiti’s Creole Language 92

II. TEACHING ABOUT HAITIAN HISTORY AND POLITICS

8. Peck’s Fatal Assistance: A Filmic Lesson on the Failures of Aid 166

9. Rendering Haiti Visible in an Introductory American Studies Course

11. Rethinking Latinx Studies from Hispaniola’s Borderlands 221

12. Teaching Haiti and the Dominican Republic: Cultural Representations of

List of Contributors 249

Intersectionalities of History, Politics, and Culture

We hope this collection will impart to students in the US in particular a

Revolution, which remains a constant trope for contemporary Haitian writ-

island’s centrality in global histories of empire, race, slavery, and abolition,” he

Reconstructing Haitian Womanhood in the Classroom

propose my class entitled “Reconstructing Haitian Womanhood” as a teach-

Democratic Insecurities: Violence, Trauma, and Intervention in Haiti, Haitian ac-

Poto Mitan: Definition and Foundational Texts

divided into two parts as N’Zengou-Tayo first provides an overview of Haitian

that the importance of Haitian women’s contributions to the world economy

Gina Ulysse, Why Haiti Needs New Narratives

The Infamous Rosalie by Evelyne Trouillot

turned inwards so misfortune doesn’t take us by storm. It’s praying, hop-

Dance on the Volcano by Marie Chauvet

Kettly Mars, Savage Seasons

Film: Woch Nan Soley

Claire of the Sea Light (2013) by Edwidge Danticat

Conclusion: Getting around the Poto Mitan

women are often associated. In this class, “Reconstructing Haitian Woman-

• Lenelle Moïse, “Quaking Conversation”

• Beverly Bell, Walking on Fire: Haitian Women’s Stories of Survival and

• Erica Caple James, Democratic Insecurities: Violence, Trauma, and

SKETCH OF THE IDINEN.

There can be no doubt that even Fezzán, in ancient times, had a

On the morning of the 26th of July I once more found myself on

You might also like