Ayiti!
When I landed, tears brimmed my eyes and I began to shiver within as I stared at the trees and the mountainous land of Ayiti through the airplane window. I was finally there, the land my family has lived upon since having been taken from Africa. A place so close and so distant to me that I wondered if what I was experiencing was reality. As we drove through the streets of Port-au-Prince, I was wide eyed as I took in all the cars, the people, the colorful buses blasting music and those expressing love of Jesus, packed with people and the countless mangos, yucca, plantains, shrimp, coconut, and other foods sold on the street.
one of the many colorful busesa scene on the drive to Okay
I was greeted at my aunt’s house with a big plate of rice and beans, chicken, and plantains. Afterwards we sat around outside as does everyone else, chatting it up, swatting away mosquitoes as dusk fell. That night we’d eventually head out into town, go to a grocery market that was disturbingly expensive, and drive around for what felt like hours to eventually end up at a upscale hotel with a live kompa band.
The next day we headed to Les Cayes (O’kay in Kreyol), the place where my Aunt Rose is from. It was a long car ride and the heat was almost unbearable at times. But I enjoyed driving through various towns, happy to see my people but sad to see the lack of infrastructure. When we arrived I found O’kay lovely…Aunt Rose’s mother, Dodo, lives on a farm with many mango trees, lam, coconut trees, etc. Dodo is a beautiful, youthful woman in her late 70s that takes care of many, heals, and does other work for people in her community. She’d take my hand and speak to me, try to teach me vodou songs and would even show me some dance moves.
I’d wake up early to the roosters and would almost immediately take a shower due to the heat. There was no running water but there were nearby streams from which buckets of water were brought over to bathe with and eventually where I’d do my bathing. (My) country life was lovely and relaxing…I’d sit in the shade most of the day talking to whoever was around or taking a break from their daily chores on the farm. A few times I went to the beach to have a beer and to see what was around. I fell in love with the landscape as we drove on our motos.
on our way to the beach
My second night in O’kay is when the joy of being in Ayiti truly hit me. I was at Grann Dodo’s other house, in the darkness except for lit candles, and I came upon my aunt’s shrine. Pictures of saints, food offerings to the lwa (gods), Haitian flags, and other objects filled the tables of this room, which created a beautiful glow of something sacred. There I was, witnessing the beauty of this culture as I stood amongst family, under a sky filled with stars, the music of the Kreyol language filling my ears. I couldn’t help the tears flowing from me, tears that came from a place of deep longing for this country, this culture, the language, the people…tears that flowed from a place that told my story of how and where I came to be, who I was and why.
I’d experience other emotional moments like when I was sitting in the galleria with Grann Dodo, trying to explain to her the feeling of being grateful for all that my mother has done for me in terms of working diligently in the U.S. to provide for me, but the sadness I felt having lost so much. I hadn’t realized there was so much I didn’t know and I thought of my story and other stories of those who have left their countries and what had been left behind, the children they would have and what they would leave behind too. I know many people who have lost their tongues whether they are first generation American or have been in America for generations and that is our story of assimilation and the power of the West. I’ll have moments where I hear myself and I think, who is this person?? What would I have sounded like with my original voice, my original tongue? I’m not even sure what my original tongue is, but the closest I have is Kreyol with its mixture of French and African languages. Slowly I can hear myself as I began to speak the language…and though my grip on it is still not strong, what a feeling to touch down again and hold this piece of myself that I thought I had lost and would never find!
Kreyol is an amazingly beautiful language. I love everything about it! Though when I first got there I was a tiny bit timid, I quickly brushed it off and tried my best to communicate well…informing everyone that I was learning and not being ashamed of it one bit. I just wished I had been there for a longer period of time, but next time I most definitely will be because there’s nothing quite like immersing yourself in a language in order to learn it. Plus I have to get used to the various accents; some people were difficult for me to understand and I was taken aback by that.
One of the most beautiful parts of the trip had to have been the beginning of the celebration of the ancestors the day before I left. We woke up early for a special mass, then went to where relatives were buried to offer bread, drinks, and pour libation…to drum, to sing, to dance. After a while, my aunt was taken by a lwa. Never before I had I seen her in such a state; rolling around on the ground, eyes wide, completely taken over by the spirit. She eventually rolled over to her grandfather’s grave, rose and began a dance, shook hands, gave hugs, smoked a cigarette, and talked and sang. I, too, eventually began to feel strange…I had been feeling somewhat weak since early morning, but after a while of listening to the drums, the singing, the wafts of alcohol in the air due to the many libations, I began to feel somewhat nauseated. I nearly fainted as I was sitting on the ground when my uncle got me up and escorted me to our car. My head was spinning, my teeth chattering, and tears filled my eyes. I believe two things were going on; indeed, I was somewhat ill from something or other which would explain the nausea and the subsequent issues I had later that day. But I also was spiritually moved (those around me would say I was taken by the lwa) which explains the tears, the teeth chattering. The funny feeling in my head may have been somewhere in between the two.
my Aunt Rose
That night the drumming and singing was at our house on the farm. A few people came through and danced the congo and rada (dances I’m trying to learn). I did some dancing too along with my cousin…we had no idea what we were doing but we didn’t care. We danced vigorously and enthusiastically, making it all up as we went along. I straight up laugh when I think about us that night. It was great seeing Dodo dance the rada, eventually needing assistance in a James Brown sort of way and was taken off somewhere else. Prior to all this were some animal sacrifices of chickens and a pig. Through it all I was fascinated and grateful to see it all unfold before my eyes. I thought of Ghana and all the dots I was able to connect between the motherland and Ayiti.
a lovely sis who'd help cook for us sometimes
I didn’t want to leave, especially given that the celebration had just begun and would last for days, growing bigger and bigger with tons of people, food, and music. I hardly slept that night, partly because I couldn’t believe my trip was pretty much over and partly because of the heat and the bugs and the rats. However, I was also at peace knowing that this was just the beginning of my reconnection to this country. I am already making plans to go back next year and also want to do some type of humanitarian work as well. This the beginning of a new point in my life in which I am reaching back as I way to reach forward, and I have never felt more grounded.
- Jr and I had just arrived and I couldn’t believe it
M’renmen Ayiti!
Hatshepsut
Though there had been female rulers of Egypt as Queens, Hatshepsut stands out for proclaiming herself Pharaoh of Egypt with a rule spanning across 21 years. Pharaohs were typically men and therefore Hatshepsut had to legitimize her thrown in numerous ways such as creating mythology of her birth between a god and her mother. She slowly came into power as regent to co-ruler to eventually pharaoh upon which she took on masculine dress, adorning herself with a fake beard, changing her name to drop the female gender identifiers, and wearing male gender clothing as seen in statues. (There’s a deity piece in here- that of Osiris/Horus. The King becomes male god Horus, when he dies, he then becomes Osiris and the new King is Horus). Hatshepsut had also been preparing his daughter to become prince, unfortunately his daughter died at a young age. (Could have dialogue for DAYS on this)
During his reign as pharaoh, a war ended and Egypt remained peaceful for many years, amazing architecture was built and he improved trading relations by ordering his army on a long expedition to the Land of Punt by the Red Sea in which they brought back incense, grand obelisks, and other goods.
Unfortunately after she passed away, many of her images were defaced and her name practically erased from history ensuing kingships. It wasn’t until a few years ago that her remains were discovered and she got a tiny bit of recognition for her leadership.
So I’m taking a moment to give respect to King Hatshepsut for making way in a male dominated world. It’s pretty dope to see that over 3,500 years ago this woman took power into her own hands and paved a path specifically her own. (I bounced back between gender pronouns, as yet another example of the non-rigidity of gender and paying respect to Hatshepsut’s strides to become who s/he was.) And to think, I never heard of Hatshepsut in any history class…
Lalin
i am songstress
Ok. So the good thing is that I’ve been making a ton of music lately. The bad thing is that I don’t want to do anything else…except eat. For the first time in a long while I’m creating without regard, allowing the words and melodies to flow effortlessly from my being, trusting that they are beautiful because they are parts of who I am, regardless of how these songs fare with others. I find it unacceptable that I’ve never put out more than uploaded songs on myspace having now realized that my insecurity has held me back for way too long. The songs were never real enough…I was comparing and thinking, no, this just isn’t good enough. But here I am, tired of hiding in the shadows of self-doubt and eagerly embracing myself as a songstress, reaching for the power that dwells inside me, and trying to finally develop the potential I know many see in me.
Fear is indubitably paralyzing when we allow it to be and the fear of not reaching the high standards I’ve set for myself have been stifling. But I’ve been slowly chipping away the layers in all areas of my life. Having internalized shyness and quietness in the build of my character, I’m pushing against these characteristics, pushing against who I think I am, and making room for myself to grow beyond what I see myself as or how others see me as well. It feels good to finally start to feel more comfortable in my own skin no matter who I’m around. It feels good to branch out musically whether it works or not, whether it sounds good or not. I’m just singing my song, singing loudly, letting my voice resonate inside of me and without, sensing my strength, knowing my power, looking forward to the future. There is no doubt that music will always be a part of my life… I’m just finally at a point where I can take it more sacredly and put myself ‘out there’. I give thanks to this awakening and to this ripening of my soul. It’s pretty dope.
~Lalin~
To a Sista in The System
There was something in those eyes that moved me. I fell deeply into them seeing the stories and paths that have led you here behind bars with impending homelessness and papers and applications and benefits/no benefits, etc.
It wasn’t the tears. It was the depth of those dark pools of eyes, the pain centuries-in-the-making. Feels as old as earth, doesn’t it? When you feel that recollection it is overwhelming. I don’t think we can even fathom the whole thing; the vastness and the depth of our history. From time to time I feel it so sharply in a moment that I’m taken aback, I may even gasp…because every day it seems to be the same and then it becomes normal, awful but normal, and sometimes I’m complacent and other times angry, active and sorrowful. Like in that moment when I met you and I saw deeply into you and I wanted to look away, I didn’t want to see your pain, my pain, our pain… because what do we do with all of it? I wanted to hold your hand but I couldn’t. Glass separated us because you are caged in for your transgressions against the law which are all part of a bigger, deeper picture but it’s the picture so many of us block out, cross out, color in, fade out. These systems interlock and
fuck
us
UP.
We then operate from places of confusion, hurts, and loss and what do we do with all this? How can we resist when many of us don’t even know what we’re resisting? When ideologies, patterns of behavior and thought, operated from the aforementioned places of confusion, hurts, and loss, derived from various oppressions to create a legacy of historical trauma, are so deeply embedded around us and within us that we know of nothing else?
But I digress.
Beautiful, powerful Black woman I see you. I hear you. And though life may seem not worth living, though you’ve tried to exit this world to exit your pain and have recently tried again, keep holding on even though it seems like there’s nothing to hold on to. Never mind the image of the “strong Black woman,” that, at times, can be more inhibiting than liberating, rather, let yourself mourn so that you can begin to let yourself heal. Countless struggles await your release but I hope you will be able to call on community or some kind of family…ancestry, even. You will be in my thoughts and meditation. Don’t give up, sis, just don’t give up.
FYI
Since the late 80s incarceration rates for women in have increased by 400%. For Black women specifically it has increased by 800%.
~Lalin~
Reclamation (continued)
In all honesty, I’m taking a moment to give thanks to myself for my ever increasing fearlessness toward the reclamation of my culture and Haitian identity. As my departure date for Haiti quickly approaches, I am continuously reminded of my deep love of this culture and its significance to the world and resistance. It has taken me a long time to get to the point where I am no longer afraid to represent this beautiful part of who I am. It has taken me a long time to speak Kreyol to people I don’t even know or even friends, having once been too embarrassed and ashamed of how I spoke it. Every time I open my mouth I am pushing against colonization, internalized racism, xenophobia, imperialism, and forced migration (to name a few).
My parents migrated to this country to gain better opportunities such as employment, consistent meals and to get away from political unrest and poverty. My mother raised me with my eyes on the prize of a acquiring a Good Education so that I could make Good Money, buy a home, and have a family all under the umbrella of the “American Dream”. But in the process of my growing up, this “American Dream” of American culture took precedent over that of my mother’s; I was raised not to speak Kreyol because what was it worth in America? “Nothing”. My mother told me English is the most important language, it is how I will achieve success. At this time, as a recent immigrant, my mother indubitably faced oppression because of her accent, because of the particular country she came from (Haiti of all places) on top of being a woman and a single mother at that. I appreciate her struggle in order for her children to be best suited for upward mobility and she did an amazing job- all of her children are college graduates establishing fulfilling careers.
However, this emphasis on English as a vehicle for success overshadowed Kreyol…the concept of speaking it was not even a possibility in mind. I lived accepting that I would not communicate in depth with much of my family if they didn’t speak English- I could understand them but could not speak to them and, sadly, I didn’t even try. For most of my childhood I saw myself as Black or as African American…the word Haitian rarely came into the mix. I knew it was there…we ate Haitian food everyday, there’d be kompa music playing and family speaking in loud Kreyol…but I was separated from this identity because I felt so… American.
In middle school I began to check out children’s books on Haiti and learned about the revolution and about the famous Toussaint Louverture. I then read For Colored Girls in which there was a piece about Toussaint Louverture and I thought it was beautiful and I thought, ’someone else knows’ and Haiti began to seem not so distant or secretive or nonexistent, but rather, I began to feel its energy even more and just how powerful and just how beautiful it is .
In high school I began to represent this part of who I am by describing myself as Haitian American but I still couldn’t bring myself to speak it. “I can’t speak”. I’d say this again and again to everyone…and family and friends would say to my mom (in Kreyol of course), “oh! tifi ou pa pale kreyol!? (“Your girl doesn’t speak Kreyol!?”) I’d feel ashamed, I’d feel embarrassed…as though I was a failed Haitian. But as the years passed and I was heading out of college, I decided that I was ready to transform. It began with changing my name to Lalin…a somewhat ambiguous representation of my Haitian culture (though I’ve changed the pronunciation, it is ‘moon’ in Kreyol). I then decided that I would learn to speak.
I began speaking with my mother because I was the most comfortable with her. After all, she knew the story, she knew why I didn’t speak and wasn’t going to judge me. Speaking with others, however, was a different story. I still had anxiety about my thick American accent, the way I’d stumble through sentences at times or the slow speed at which I spoke. I remembered being with a friend at a flea market and running into a woman with a Haitian flag. We went up to her to connect over our Haitian identities and she said in Kreyol, “Are you real Haitian? Do you speak Kreyol?” My friend responded in Kreyol and I remained silent. I was just barely trying to speak it then and I felt awkward. I wasn’t a real Haitian apparently.
But as time went on and I began to do self-work on my desire to reclaim my language the shame, the embarrassment slowly began to dissolve …and though it still comes up from time to time, I don’t let it stop me. I just keep going, keep striving for who I am and who I want to be.
As a result I’m putting myself out there. When I meet other Haitians I am open about this journey and this mission I have for reclamation. They are behind me, they support me. I ask questions, I make mistakes, I go blank but it’s all good because I’m trying, I’m giving it an effort to learn and to therefore grow.
Today I met two other women who speak the language and immediately I began speaking in Kreyol, telling them that I’m practicing and seeking all the help that I can get. As somewhat of a shy person, I have been letting it all go – I initiated everything andI got their phone numbers so that we can build and continue to grow community and to learn from each other and support each other.
Needless to say I’m feeling good. Haitian dance was difficult today (as always) and my body doesn’t quite do what it looks like it should be doing but, again, I’m doing it anyway, however awkward it may be at times, knowing that there is beauty in this process in whatever shape or form it takes. And in just a few weeks I will be in Ayiti and I will most likely show my family my new dance moves and they will most likely laugh and enjoy it. I will most definitely be speaking Kreyol and I will ask questions, I will be bold, I will fall even deeper into this culture that I will be immersed in for nine days, and I will further reconcile this hyphenated identity. I have no doubt in my mind that when I return, I will have a better hold on myself and see more clearly where this path of reclamation is taking me, what it is manifesting within me and I’m curious to see how it’ll exude from my being. And as the tears fall as I write this, it is because I have missed her, Ayiti, so much and it feels so good to return…return to the language, return to the land. And though physically I’ve never been, consciously, spiritually I have and I can remember this when I channel my ancestry. This is a significant time in my life, a turning point and I’ve never been so ready and so open for this experience.
~lalin~
closeness
Aki and I decided to BART over to the Ashby flea market for this lovely, sunny Saturday afternoon. After buying earrings from one of my favorite vendors and walking to downtown Berkeley to eat a delicious half sandwich and green salad at Café Intermezzo, Aki and I headed back home via the downtown Berkeley BART. As we descended down the escalator, bellies gleefully full and skin glowing from summer sun, we saw a young woman holding a sign reading:
FREE
HUGS
A free hug? I was excited. I remembered watching a well-known Free Hug Campaign Youtube video where a man had done the same thing. If you haven’t seen it, here you go:
So of course I went up to this woman and hugged her (and it was a good, real hug) and Aki hugged her too.
It felt great to connect with this stranger and to have our energy pass between each other in a moment reflecting our true humanity, especially given the fact that in this country we tend to apologize for accidentally touching each other. Our personal space is very important to us, however, it’s such a nice contradiction to isolation when we can let others into our space and allow ourselves to be close.
In the past I didn’t care less about affection between me and anyone else unless it was someone I was dating. I never gave hugs either. But as I’ve gotten older, I can’t seem to help but give them. I am less afraid of sitting close to someone else or holding someone else’s hand. Such closeness reminds me that yes, we are family in many ways and ah, yes, we can show love in many ways, too.
I get excited when I have an opportunity to be close with someone; to hug or cuddle or hold hands or sit shoulder to shoulder. What was once strange and uncomfortable has turned into something quite nourishing, enriching, and healing. I am reminded of my humanity and of my desire to be as expressive about my love for others as possible and my openness to receive such love as well.
So I give thanks to that young, powerful woman who took time out of her day to stand around giving hugs. You helped round out my day into a beautiful one.
La
a music moment
I have probably been sitting in front of my laptop with each finger poised above its appointed letter for about 15 minutes, watching the digital white page and the scattered date I managed to type above. I’m thinking about the music I was just playing, the person I was just with, the notes I was singing, the feeling I felt, the laughter that leapt out of our mouths, the ideas we expressed. I love this new experience, this new being, this energy that I’m sculpting expression with, and honestly, I am almost taken aback by it, as in, the way she operates and the way she thinks. I like it.
I can anticipate the dreamer in me returning, conceptualizing ideas with please, bouncing ideas off of her, exploring our styles, our sounds, our voices. This thing, this group, this whatever-you-wanna-call-It can be something beautiful; it can really grow and be abundant; us then pregnant with songs we give birth to in candlelight under night sky falling.
Music musique mizik. I can feel it live inside of me, light glowing, pulsating deep down. I feel it- wanting to get out. Once it does it’s an intoxicating cloud that engulfs me. Or to put in other words-a cloud that hugs me, it wraps around me-lifts me and takes me somewhere
else.
Writing about it makes me want to experience it. Unfortunately my eyelids are drooping and my words are drying up….perhaps it’s time for bed.
Reclaiming My Art (Untitled continued)
Somewhere along the way I lost myself. I lost myself in insecurity and ego, rendering me incapable of freely expressing myself in written word because it simply wouldn’t be “good enough”. I’m not quite sure when this occurred; as a youngster I wrote plentifully and unapologetically. I suppose my transition into an oblivion laden with doubt and hyper-criticism began in college where I felt I had to step up my game, if you will. I had also applied to the creative writing program. I had just started the Intro to Creative Writing class and was told to apply after I had taken the class but was stubborn and threw together whatever I could find for my portfolio. Turns out it may have been a good idea to wait because I was rejected and that definitely didn’t help my own perception of my writing ability.
At this point in my life, however, I’m ready to recognize the talent that I have and allow myself to believe and to dream and to have fun in this art form. This process begins like this – healing myself through writing about the hurts that I’ve experienced in terms of my writer identity and writing about how difficult it can be for me to write in a perfectionist state of mind…because the reality of the matter is that I love to write, I love to let the words flow my from mind through my finger tips. I love to feel the rhythmic divinity of it all.
In terms of my music, I’ve been making progress in terms of just letting it Be. I’ve been learning how to make music on the computer (beats and such) and I could care less how it sounds. I just want to play, I want to explore sounds and rhythms and melodies and create music that I used to create when I wasn’t concerned with genre or sounding a certain way. I have yet to truly share my music…I have a Myspace but I’ve never put out a CD. But here I am, willing, able, and determined to do so by the end of the summer. I’m ready to put myself out there no matter if people like it or not…it’s me, it’s my truth.
Anywho, check out this talk given by Elizabeth Girlbert on creativity. It’s an engaging 20 minutes in which speaks of the idea of the ‘genius’ and ego in creativity and suggests a different way of viewing our own creative processes without so much pressure:
(Having technical difficulties so just copy and paste it into your url box)
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius.html
Lalin
cleanse update
Recently I posted a piece about health and my intention to do a two week cleanse. I am now headed towards the end of this cleanse (I have four more days!) and let me tell you, it has been fantastic! I started with a 2 day fast that actually ended up being a day and a half (but who’s counting anyway?) and went ahead into a vegan wheat-free, gluten free, processed food free diet. The downside, which is actually an upside I guess, is that on the second day, I began to get a cold. I’m still stumbling through it and it’s been pretty mild; mostly fatigue and phlegm, which I came to learn was a result of the toxins being released in my body and withdrawal symptoms from the food I’ve eliminated from my diet. Even though I eat pretty all right most of the time, my body took the opportunity on this vegan diet to rid itself of everything that has been building up in my system. So yes, it’s been a little shitty having these symptoms, but I can feel how good it is on the inside.
So think about cleansing. It doesn’t necessarily have to bentonite clay colon cleanse but definitely think about allowing your body to cleanse and heal itself from the toxins we so often ingest. Think about consistently treating your body to some super healthy food for an extended period of time. And just so you know, colon cancer is up there in terms of the most common cancers diagnosed in the U.S. It’s behind breast cancer (the most diagnosed) and skin cancer. I believe this is another good reason to do a colon cleanse because as we all know, most of us aren’t clearing that area out as much as we should. So this allows a nice, warm breeding ground for disease. Think about it. It really sets the stage for a better diet. Though I have some cravings for french fries and chocolate, I love that I’ve gone back to this way of eating which is sustainable because of just how good it feels. That’s what’s up.
Lalin
untitled
I want to be somewhere else. no, not in this strange-non-physical-placeless space where I stumble with chains around my ankles caught up by the demons that are my insecurities and doubts, not with these thoughts that don’t lead to progress
but rather
lead to the regression of my creativity and thus a captivity I can no longer stand.
I want to be where I trust myself to create reflections of my spirit, accepting how ever quaint or however grand such reflections may be
After all, my creations run the spectrum
the movement of which
is a work of art within itself.
I want to be in a space that is my own, adorned with the familiar feel of home where I’ve grown and have known
my many selves.
Freedom is the destination of my current path,
freedom that embodies honesty and does not shy away from vulnerability and allows raw beautiful uncomfortable exploration of myself and of us and of this world and of our love and lack thereof.
I have so much to say, so much to give
if only I can break these chains
and run to the shore of myself and sail off with the wind.
Freedom is where I wish to be
And when I get there, when I truly actually get there
I will begin
my journey
again.
Lalin
