The Caribbean in the Islario General

 

Although not immediately useful for our primary interests, we found the maps of the insular Caribbean in Alonso de Santa Cruz's Islario general de todas las islas del mundo fascinating. We are primarily interested in indigenous toponyms in the Greater Antilles, for which the map of of Hispaniola is perhaps the most detailed or useful.

Ancient Caciques of Jamaica

Whilst perusing Bachiller y Morales on indigenous Cuba and the Taino language, we came across references to aboriginal Jamaica. Apparently, back in 1607, Gregorio Garcia, who sought to uncover the origins of Amerindian peoples, wrote that the last three caciques of Jamaica were Beroica, Bemboroica, and Abemberoica. It would be fascinating to find Garcia's source for these names of Jamaican caciques. From the testament of Diego Mendez, we know of Ameyro and Huareo as caciques of Jamaica at the time Columbus was shipwrecked there. For caciques after or before, we are lost and would love to know more. Sadly, attempting to look this up only led us to Rafinesque, who tried to date these aforementioned Jamaican caciques to the 1400s. Rafinesque also attempted to historicize the traditions and myths of Ramon Pane on Hispaniola with linguistic and historical evidence to reconstruct the precolonial past of the West Indies (unconvincingly, we might add). More verifiable are the 8 or so caciques of Jamaica listed in The Jamaica Reader: History, Culture, Politics: Aguacadiba, Ameyao, Anaya, Guayguata, Huareo, Maynoa, Oristan, and Vaquabo. The first of these is mentioned as a place by Diego Mendez. 

The Prince of Kashna (Katsina)

Jamaica (Britannica)

One of the most interesting narratives, presented by its publisher as a "true story" of a West African Muslim prince enslaved in Jamaica, is The Prince of Kashna: A West Indian Story. While there is ambiguity about the factual basis for the story, Camille Lefebvre has suggested viewing it through the lens of a topos of West African Muslims and royalty enslaved in the Americas. In that regard, it is also interesting to note how some stories of real cases of West African Muslims literate in Arabic probably influenced the author, Jane McManus Storm Cazneau. We suspect she was influenced by stories of West African royalty enslaved in the West Indies and the US, and perhaps by fictional accounts such as Aphra Behn's famous Oroonoko: or, the Royal Slave.

However, we endeavored to determine to what extent, if any, the narrative could be based on a true story of a Muslim slave from Katsina who arrived in Jamaica in 1806. According to the early chapters of the text, Sidi Mahmadee, the titular prince, was born to Abdalah, the ruler of Katsina, and a woman taken as a captive from an unspecified northern location. Sidi Mahmadee, who lost his father and mother at a young age and left Katsina while still a youth, believed she may have been of Arab extraction. While possible, the straight-haired Mahmadee was too young when he left and may have misidentified his mother, who was possibly Fulani or from a Tuareg background. His father, the Katsina king, was later described as a descendant of the Prophet, Muhammad, and ruled a Katsina that included "pagans" as well as Muslims in his court. The only ruler of Katsina during the late 1790s and early 1800s who may correspond with this figure was Gozo, a Katsina sarki killed in c.1801 (assassinated, according to Yusuf Bala Usman). From the narrative, we learn that Sidi Mahmud was rather young when his parents were killed (in a raid on Katsina). He was taken in by an Islamic holyman and teacher, Hadji Ali, who raised the boy after his parents died. Meanwhile, the next king of Katsina, an uncle of Mahmadee named Taleb Ben Abu, reigned in Katsina but maintained his court in a separate place. If Gozo was succeeded by Bawa Dan Gima, a name which bears no resemblance to that given in this narrative, this is further evidence for the fabrication of the account. Indeed, Usman has argued that Bawa Dan Gima came from a distinct sub-lineage of the ruling house of Katsina, and was therefore unlikely to be a sibling of Gozo.

While it is possible that Mahmadee provided Arabic names or other regnal names for these figures, it seems unlikely that he was indeed from Katsina. He did correctly identify the presence of "fetishists" and Muslims in the pre-jihad Katsina court and noted the presence of Muslim scholars in the city, including the man who later adopted him, the lack of concordance with the established kings of Katsina during this period is telling. Intriguingly, however, Sidi Mahmadee's account includes a story of a white man with a red beard who visited Katsina and gave medicine to his adoptive father. This white man is said to have spoken the language of Mahmadee's mother when he came to Katsina, and was feared as a 'sorcerer' by locals. In fact, by using the white man's medicine, Mahmadee's adoptive father became suspect in the eyes of the community, prompting him to move back to his homeland somewhere to the west (we suspect he was a Fulani from a western territory). This tale of a strange white man's appearance in Katsina brings to mind the traveler Friederich Hornemann, who may have reached Katsina sometime in the early 1800s. However, since we know so little about Hornemann's time in Katsina, and it is possible the author of The Prince of Kashna had read his journal or descriptions of him, we cannot use this story to corroborate the existence of Mahmadee. 

Besides the aforementioned vague descriptions of Katsina, the rest of the narrative is rather light on Mahmadee's African background. To be sure, if someone was kidnapped and sold into slavery while still an adolescent, they may not have the most profound or descriptive memories of their homeland when writing about it decades later. Nonetheless, we learn from his narrative that his adoptive father taught him to read the Koran, which appears to have been the limit of his Islamic education. When they left Katsina, which was done clandestinely since Mahmadee's uncle wanted him to stay, they appear to have traveled west. Somewhere in or around the fictitious Kong mountains, Mahmadee was kidnapped and sold into slavery. After being exchanged multiple times, he reached the coast, where he and other Hausa captives were sold to Europeans. This is another vague point in the narrative, since Mahmadee mentioned that there were many Mandingo captives on the slave ship. This would suggest that he had been sold on the coast of the Senegambian region, yet he mentioned several other Hausa captives alongside himself. Other inconsistencies abound in the text, but it is highly likely that Mahmadee's account of his voyage on the slave ship, where he was the recipient of special treatment and even helped the slave traders defeat French pirates, is a work of fiction. 

Once in Jamaica, Mahmadee, after an unfortunate experience running away (only to be captured and returned by Maroons), experienced a remarkable series of fortunate luck. His master, Mr. Davis, and his family, are presented as rather benevolent and supportive of his interest in education. The novelist, or author of the narrative, wants to present Mahmadee as a grateful slave who, deprived of his original noble status, learns to appreciate superior Western education. Nonetheless, the fact that he was a Muslim and a prince in Katsina serves as an elevating factor, one that brings him closer to Western civilization despite ongoing Orientalist and racist narratives. The fact that the character often expresses dissatisfaction with African phenotypes and wishes to be white seems to reflect a white author's biases, although it is certainly possible that an African slave in 19th century Jamaica thought similarly. His willingness to obediently serve his white masters leads to him playing a key role in preventing a slave conspiracy from erupting into outright rebellion in Westmoreland. By the novel's conclusion, Mahmadee is an educated man studying medicine, French, and European literature, successful and civilized to the point of asking to wed a mixed-race ward of a "quadroon" from Saint Domingue. There are hints that he did eventually travel back to Africa, although certainly not as a Christian missionary eager to spread civilization and end slave trading in Katsina. 

After reading the text in toto, we are convinced that it is almost certainly a work of fiction. While the author may have been inspired by tales of West African Muslims in Jamaica, such as Abu Bakr al-Siddiq, who was of partial Hausa heritage (linked to Katsina through his mother's family), it appears that Jane Cazneau wrote a fictional account that, while still racist, stressed the ability of some Africans to become assimilated to Western civilization and uplifted. Nonetheless, the elevation of the black African must be achieved through white tutelage, and slavery in early 19th century Jamaica is depicted as largely benign. None of the white slaveholders in the novel appear to abuse their slaves, and the ones most cruel to Mahmadee are enslaved overseers, Maroon slave-catchers or, in one case, a mixed-race engineer. Anyone looking for a work of fiction that honestly portrays the realities of chattel slavery in 19th century Jamaica will be disappointed. Yet, despite the occasionally racist narrative and dishonest depiction of slavery, this tale of an exotic West African Muslim does emphasize the perfectibility of the African, mediated via European tutelage. Interestingly, Mahmadee refuses to relinquish his Islamic identity, which may symbolize the author's recognition of Islam as a "legitimate" religion that elevated part of Black Africa before the inevitable European colonialism. To ascertain whether the character of Mahmadee was entirely invented, we would like to check 19th century Jamaican records, but our preliminary search has not led to an identification of any character from the narrative with a real person. 

Pictograms at Potoo Hole

Just a brief video on pictograms at Potoo Hole in Jamaica made by indigenous peoples.

Richard Hill in Haiti

Richard Hill

Although we have read snippets of Richard Hill's letters about his travels in Haiti in 1830-1831, reading the published letters in toto shed much light on Haiti in the Boyer years. Published in Haïti, ou, Renseignemens authentiques sur l'abolition de l'esclavage et ses résultats a Saint-Domingue et a la Guadeloupe, : avec des détails sur l'état actuel d'Haiti et des noirs émancipés qui forment sa population. Traduit de l'anglais by Zachary Macaulay, Hill's letters touch upon a number of important themes: African American immigration, rural conditions, labor on the estates and former plantations, the peculiarities of the hateros and Spanish-speaking part of the island, the negative impact of the indemnity to France and Haiti's economic fortunes. Since Hill was a Jamaican of mixed-race ancestry and traveled to Haiti on the behalf of abolitionism, one must keep in mind how this bias shaped his perceptions of Haiti.

For instance, nearly everywhere he went, Hill was full of praise for the respectful attitudes of cultivateurs, he praised the state of their gardens, and even praised the houses then under construction in Port-au-Prince, after the disastrous fire of 1822 which destroyed a large part of the capital. One must keep these biases in mind when comparing Hill to Charles Mackenzie, an earlier British traveler whose longer report on Haiti represented a more negative or pessimistic view of the Black Republic. Indeed, when one considers the contradictions of Mackenzie's Notes and his misleading portrayal of Haiti, Hill, despite his fulsome praise for the conditions of the island, seems more reliable. Of course, the truth was likely somewhere in the middle, with some of the negative traits of Haitian political and economic life outlined by Mackenzie being fair or more accurate than Hill's portrayal. One also truly wonders if the few prosperous estates in the Cul-de-Sac plain, such as that owned by Lacombe or Lerebours or Nau, really were as modern or efficient as the sugarcane plantations one could have seen in Jamaica. Similarly, the persistence of superstitions among the population, something not clearly understood by Hill yet witnessed by him, was presented as something which Catholic clergy sought to Christianize or redirect but surely was used by other foreigners to portray the Haitian population regression. 

That said, Hill's letters about his travels across Haiti's West and North provinces (and part of today's Dominican Republic) paint an interesting portrait of the island. African American immigrants, for instance, were referenced in various parts of the island, usually in rural areas. The most successful ones were those who pooled their resources together, such as those living near Arcahaie, to become comfortable farmer. Sadly, the common complaint of the African Americans was the lack of schools for their children, but Hill's testimony does suggest that some of them were able to become landowners and relatively prosperous. Those in the urban areas, however, did not fare so well due to the lack of work. Unfortunately, Hill did not name any of these African Americans, but one wonders if these were among the ones who stayed permanently rather than returning to the US. We also lack information on relations between the African American farmers and their Haitian neighbors, a topic which could help us understand the impact of African Americans in the Haitian economy. Certainly, the introduction of smallpox and other diseases by the American immigrants may have soured relations between them and Haitians, although that One also wonders if some of these American immigrants were involved with Haiti's timber and dyewood industry, a sector of the economy that included many laborers and merchants who purchased trees from peasants and landholders from the center of the island for export from the ports like Gonaives. 

Surprisingly, Hill also noted Amerindian or indigenous traits and influences in the island. These were, when noted, only present among the "Espagnols" or those from what was once the Spanish colony. The physical traits most obvious to Hill were their olive skin tone and straight, black hair. While these features could have also come about through the racial fusion of Spaniards and Africans over centuries, Hill also saw Indian traits in the pottery and utensils of the hateros. These Spanish-speaking rustics, whose customs differed from those from the Haitian part of the island, were more European in some regards. That said, Hill frequently noted the presence of "Indian" blood among what would be today considered Dominicans (or Haitians from the Centre Department areas like Hinche, Saint Michel de L' Atalaye and Lascahobas). Haitians, on the other hand, are either noirs or mulattoes, most falling in the former category (though Hill did note that marabous, sacatras and other dark-skinned people of mixed-race origin were common in Haiti). Despite some of the problematic assumptions on his part, and the large-scale movement of Haitians into the area of the former colonial border already evident by 1830, this indigenous legacy was still noticeable to Hill and was also observed by subsequent writers. Perhaps it was this feature of Haiti's central plateau and what is now the Dominican Republic that has led to some Haitians finding indigenous ancestry through DNA testing. 

Tainos in Jamaica

 

Chief Kalaan Nibonrix Kaiman of Maroon and indigenous descent speaks with Wendy Aris about what it means to be Taino in Jamaica today. Since ethnographic and genetic evidence does support the idea that some of the Maroons in Jamaica do indeed possess indigenous ancestry, it is interesting to watch an interview with an informed person with this heritage.

Duhos and Taino Chiefdoms

Taino duhos are some of the best-known and most elaborate works of pre-Columbian Caribbean craftsmanship and art. Associated with cacical authority and the elites of Taino society, the best known duhos are often sculpted of wood. Many possess two-dimensional geometric patterns and designs and feature anthropomorphic or zoomorphic faces and features. Although stools are widely used in South and Central American indigenous cultures, among the Taino, duhos, particularly the ornate wooden ones, have stood the test of time and still serve as a testament to the artistic talent and technical brilliance of indigenous woodcarvers. As powerful artifacts associated with caciques and the elites, they can also be a powerful source or analysis for reconstructing something of Taino ruling ideology. Their restricted use, elaborateness, and the addition of symbols that may be based on cotton textiles, belts, navels, cemis (and/or ancestors) and entoptic phenomena suggest art and religion were closely entwined in an overall ideology of rulership.

Joanna Ostapkowicz, author of the thesis Taíno Wooden Sculpture: Duhos, Rulership and the Visual Arts in the 12th-16th Century, appears to be one of the world's leading experts on the subject. Her thesis, including an extended catalog of extant duhos and their provenience and museum acquisition histories, establishes that at least 147 duhos have survived. Unfortunately, several have been damaged and the original contextual location of the find is not always clear. More than a few pieces probably ended up in private hands and several more likely await discovery in the Caribbean. Haiti, for example, with La Gonave identified as one center of production during the time of Anacaona, might yield more duhos of wood that could shed light on their production and distribution. Ostapkowicz's study also includes those built of stone as well as wood, but the wooden ones are often the most remarkable. In addition to examining the known origins of over 100 duhos, she includes examples of other wooden sculpture in Taino art traditions. A sophisticated review and discussion of known scholarship on Taino chiefdoms, the role of women in production, animal symbolism, and the relationship between rituals and ideology in cacical authority and duho use cover the rest of the dissertation.

The technical aspects of production are likewise included, as she estimates that wooden duhos constructed out of dense, tropical hardwoods like guayacan, would have likely required a specialist artisan (part-time or perhaps master artisan) 4 to 6 hours per day and at least a year to finish. This does not include the amount of time required to fell a tree or the seasoning time, either. Undoubtedly, crafting elaborate duhos required a woodcarver who know how to select the appropriate tree and the mastery of techniques with adzes, heat, and cutting to produce a finished stool. At the time this was written, the specific type of wood used for the duho or more precise dating was lacking. Today, however, some duhos have been dated as far back as the 13th century. Ostapkowicz's analysis and dating of other wooden artifacts, such as cohoba stands, suggest elaborate woodcarving in guayacan probably developed centuries earlier. Indeed, some masterpieces of Taino Hispaniola wooden sculpture date back to the 11th or 12th centuries. Perhaps elaborate duhos carved from guayacan or mahogany were already in circulation by the 11th century, possibly of restricted, elite use and distribution? This would suggest an efflorescence of Taino arts and cacical authority a few centuries before the dates proposed by Rouse.

Where Ostapkowicz's analysis is most interesting is on the subject of women in production, exchange, and use of duhos. If, as indicated by Martyr d'Anghiera, women in La Gonave actually produced duhos and wooden sculptures, this would suggest women were not restricted only to ceramics, domestic duties and cotton cloth production. Moreover, if the duhos depict the anthropomorphic or zoomorphic figure wearing cotton bands, belts, and caps, produced by Taino women, then the role of goods produced by women were essential to elite accoutrement. Women were also involved in the transfer of duhos, as Anacaona herself gave duhos to the Spanish. Moreover, according to Ostapkowicz, duhos may have been inherited matrilineally and exchanged at weddings. Indeed, women were also participants in at least some of the ritual activities involving cohoba, and probably sat on duhos if in positions of authority as cacicas. The past assumptions of scholars for a strict gender segregation during cohoba rituals or the actual act of sitting on a duho, lack sufficient evidence. Even among various South American populations from whom ethnographic analogies are often sought, women occasionally use stools and participate in various hallucinogen-induced trances or rituals. 

Similarly important for understanding Taino society is the prominence of anthropomorphic features of several duhos. For Ostapkowicz, this emphasis is likely linked to ancestors and or cemis, as past cacique ancestors could also become cemis. By incorporating them into the duho, they literally and symbolically act as the foundation or support for the sitter. The sexual genitalia, linked to procreation, may have further supported this view. Moreover, the symbolism of trees with roots, trunks and branches associated with stages of life and connections to the subterranean world was likely linked to spirits, or seen as embodying or housing a spirit or being. Ostapkowicz, though skeptical of drawing too heavily on Pané, cites numerous episodes involving trees, wood, or, in one case, fruit. A tree moving on it own, and speaking with a behique through cohoba, can direct the shaman/carver into cutting it. Moreover, cemis carved of wood were also believed to be able to move on their own and escape from caciques or communities they were not interested in staying with. If ancestors were similarly venerated and could become cemis, their representation in a duho would become a powerful numinous quality that justified the sitter's right to office. Through sitting on the duho that was explicitly linked to powerful ancestors, and using the same duho in cohoba rituals or placing it in caves, the owner asserted their power to intercede between the human and other worlds in the Taino cosmos. In other words, elaborate duhos can be "read" as powerful texts of rulership. 

Abu Bakr al-Siddiq and Borno?

Although our sources for Abu Bakr al-Siddiq's maternal ancestry consist solely of his short Arabic autobiographies translated into English, it is interesting to consider his life in a "Central Sudanic" context. Incorporating Borno and Katsina into his biography and family background illustrates how connected or integrated West Africa in the precolonial era truly was. Cities in the "Western Sudan" like Jenne and Timbuktu, where Abu Bakr al-Siddiq's family originated (though claiming descent from the Prophet), were closely tied to trading and learning centers such as Kong and Bouna. The ancient cities of Timbuktu and Jenne were also integrated into "Sudanic" trading routes to the east, through Hausaland and Borno all the way to the Red Sea. Abu Bakr al-Siddiq's family history exemplifies this in a variety of ways. Therefore, one can view the family of al-Siddiq in various contexts: Atlantic World, Caribbean chattel slavery, Saharan and Sahelian Africa, and Dar al-Islam. 

First, who was Abu Bakr al-Siddiq's mother? Named Naghodi in one of his autobiographies, a Hausa term meaning "I am thankful," her Islamic name was Hafsa. She was likely a later wife of his father, Kara Musa. Indeed, al-Siddiq's autobiography lists several half-siblings, indicating that his father had numerous children with at least one other woman or wife. His mother was born in the capital of Borno, presumably some time in the second half of the 18th century. However, her Hausa personal name and links to Katsina suggest Hausa heritage. In consideration of the close economic ties between Borno and Katsina, as well as the past history of Katsina as a tributary state of Kanem-Borno, we cannot rule out a Kanuri origin or affiliation for Naghodi through her father. Indeed, both Katsina and Gazargamo were major trading stops for trans-Saharan caravans coming crossing through the Fezzan and Agadez to reach the "Sudan." Migration of traders, Islamic scholars, and other groups between Katsina and Borno must have occurred on a large scale.

As for the identity of his maternal grandfather, al-Siddiq identified him as al-Hajj Muhammad Tafsir of Borno AND Katsina. His mother was an infant during the pilgrimage of her father, and the pilgrimage to Mecca would have left Naghodi and her mother in Gazargamo for an extended period of time. This makes one think her maternal grandfather may have been a native of Gazargamo and perhaps from a large household with dependents, relatives, and economic means to support his children while abroad. Moreover, the inclusion of tafsir in his name points to a scholar with a background in Quranic exegesis. Furthermore, the fact that he went on the hajj at least once would have significantly increased his standing in Borno. Indeed, those who went on the hajj were even absolved of taxes by the Sayfawa rulers of Borno. Consequently, Muhammad Tafsir must have been of means, respected in Borno and Katsina, as well as someone who benefitted from the privileges of the hajj through tax incentives that Mai Ali maintained. Even if he was a Hausa or Fulani from Katsina, performing the hajj undoubtedly aided his business or trading concerns in Borno and beyond.

So, how exactly did al-Siddiq's father, Kara Musa, meet Naghodi? According to al-Siddiq, his father traveled to Katsina and Borno frequently, likely as a trader. A man from a reputable lineage in Timbuktu and the Middle Niger was likely an attractive prospect for al-Hajj Muhammad Tafsir's daughter. Both men were probably traders, and the marriage of Naghodi to Kara Musa would have helped cement trading ties between them. One can surmise that Kara Musa was older than Naghodi and may have already possessed trade connections to Kong and sources of gold and kola nuts through his connections to Dyula trading and scholarly networks. Perhaps a marriage helped ensure honest dealings or trading partnership between Naghodi's father and Kara Musa? Evidence in favor of this can be found in al-Siddiq's allusion to his father sending gold, Egyptian silks, horses, mules, and other goods to his father-in-law. 

This may have been initially part of a dowry, but his father's past of "always" traveling to Katsina and Borno hints at trade in goods, such as gold, motivating his travels from Jenne to Kong, Ghonah, and, eventually Katsina and Gazargamo. Evidence for traders from the Fezzan, Hausaland, and Borno knowing of Kong, Bouna, Dagomba, and the "Gold Coast" can be found in other sources, but the Dyula networks of Kara Musa would have been an excellent network for Hausa and Kanuri traders from the east to tap into for opening up relations with that part of West Africa. Perhaps Kara Musa's network and access to gold (and the possibility of kola nuts) intersected with Muhammad Tafsir's connections to Borno's salt and natron exports to Hausa cities?

Our other references to Hausaland or the 'Central Sudan" in the context of Abu Siddiq are more problematic or impressionistic. John Davidson's Notes Taken During Travels in Africa reports confirmation for al-Siddiq's illustrious pedigree in Morocco and the Sahara. Other informants even claim al-Siddiq was related to the rulers of Timbuktu, Kong, and "Houssa," which must be Katsina or a generalized Hausaland. While one can surmise from the earlier autobiographical fragments that al-Siddiq came from a respectable family with roots in the ulama of Timbuktu and Jenne, the grandiose relations attributed to him may not reflect the realities of post-jihadist West Africa. For example, Borno's capital was destroyed and abandoned by the time al-Siddiq returned to West Africa via Morocco. Katsina was also in a period of decline. The Sokoto Caliphate changed the political map of the "Central Sudan" and al-Siddiq would have been in the dark for about 30 years during these momentous decades. Nevertheless, one can see that several years after his bondage in Jamaica, al-Siddiq could still believably call upon powerful and politically connected relatives in Timbuktu, Kong, and Hausaland. This illustrates just how overlapping the worlds of Islam, "Sudanic" Africa, and the Atlantic were.

Bibliography

Abú Bekr eṣ ṣiddíḳ. “Routes in North Africa, by Abú Bekr Eṣ Ṣiddíḳ.” The Journal of the Royal Geographical Society of London 6 (1836): 100–113. https://doi.org/10.2307/1797559.

Barth, Heinrich. Travels and Discoveries in North and Central Africa: Being a Journal of an Expedition Undertaken Under the Auspices of H.B.M.'s Government in the Years 1849-1855. New York: D. Appleton, 1857.

Cohen, Ronald. The Kanuri of Bornu. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1967.

Curtin, Philip D. Africa Remembered; Narratives by West Africans from the Era of the Slave Trade. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1967.

Davidson, John. Notes Taken During Travels in Africa. London: J.L. Cox and Sons, 1839.

Dewière, Rémi. Du Lac Tchad À La Mecque: Le Sultanat Du Borno Et Son Monde (XVIe - XVIIe Siècle). Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2017.

Gomez, Michael A. Black Crescent: The Experience and Legacy of African Muslims in the Americas. Cambridge ; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

Lovejoy, Paul E. “The Kambarin Beriberi: The Formation of a Specialized Group of Hausa Kola Traders in the Nineteenth Century.” The Journal of African History 14, no. 4 (1973): 633–51. http://www.jstor.org/stable/180905.

Lucas, Paul, Lédyard, John, Lallemant, Antoine J. (trans.), Voyages de MM. Lédyard et Lucas en Afrique, entrepris et publiés par ordre de la Société anglaise d’Afrique ; avec le plan de fondation de cette Société, et une carte du nord de l’Afrique, par le major Rennel : suivis d’extraits de Voyages faits à la rivière de Gambie, par ordre de la Compagnie anglaise d’Afrique, et d’un mémoire écrit sous le règne de Charles II, concernant la grande quantité d’or qu’on trouve près de cette rivière ; avec une carte de ce fleuve et de ses environs, tracée sur les lieux. Paris: Xhrouet, 1804.

Wilks, Ivor. The Northern Factor in Ashanti History. [Legon]: Institute of African Studies, University of Ghana, 1961.

Joe Harriott: Jazz File Documentary

Although I have not fully explored the music of Joe Harriott or British jazz, this short BBC documentary on his life and music is a great overview. Born in Kingston, and a product of an orphanage which produced a startling number of prominent Jamaican musicians, this documentary informs us about the ways in which Harriott devised his own form of free jazz independently of Ornette Coleman and the American jazz scene. Artists like Harriott have long reminded me of the importance of uncovering innovative jazz artists beyond the confines of the United States. 

West Indians in Haiti: Anglophone Caribbean Immigration

Joseph Robert Love, a prominent Bahamian residing in Port-au-Prince during the 1880s. Initially working with James Theodore Holly, Love involved himself in Haitian political affairs and spoke for West Indians in Haiti.

Although the West Indian presence in Haiti began with runaway slaves fleeing to free Haitian soil before emancipation, emigration in the British West Indies took on new dimensions after 1838. Prior to Panama, Cuba, the Dominican Republic and Central America becoming popular destinations for intra-Caribbean migrants of the West Indies, Haiti was a common choice, particularly among Jamaicans. Fraser estimates the total number of West Indians in Haiti during the 19th century at 3000, although many of these people came and went throughout the period. Another source, based on Protestant estimates of the British subjects residing in the Black Republic in the 1870s, and cited in Griffith's dissertation on Methodism in Haiti, puts the number at 2000 Jamaicans in Port-au-Prince and 800 Bahamians in Cap-Haitien and Port-de-Paix. These West Indian migrants often formed families with Haitians, played a pivotal role in the early Protestant conversion of the native population, and filled a niche in the Haitian urban economy as merchants, artisans, mechanics, tailors, shoemakers, and cabinetmakers. Thus, even though the number of British West Indians in Haiti was quickly eclipsed by the numbers migrating for work opportunities in other parts of the circum-Caribbean, their conspicuous presence in the various port towns of Haiti reveal another dimension of intra-regional migration. Through Protestantism, they left a cultural impact on Haiti, while taking with them notions of black autonomy, the Haitian Revolution, and, in some cases, political organizing experience.

Advertisement for a garage that employed Jamaican mechanic Ernest Burkett for several years. Arnold Braun would later sell the business to a Haitian, and Burkett worked as the chief mechanic.

Perhaps the best source of information on the legacy of British West Indian subjects in Haitian history is Philippe Jean-Francois's contribution to Cap-Haitien: Excursions dans le temps, based largely on oral histories provided by his own family and others in Cap-Haitien who remember the koko presence in the historic city. The grandson of an immigrant tailor from Turks & Caicos, Jean-Francois relied on his mother and other descendants of migrants to account for their coming to northern Haiti, the economic and social dynamics of their presence in Cap-Haitien, and relations with the local population. Additional sources on the history of the Bahamas also point to merchants in Inagua establishing trade networks with Port-de-Paix and Okap. Haitian ships from Tortuga and the north exchanged agricultural produce, handicraft, and rum for currency and manufactured goods. The arrangement worked well for the southern Bahamas, which had easier access to northern Haitian ports than Nassau, perhaps well into the 20th century. Due to this trade network, some Bahamian families already had Haitian ancestry or resided in Cap-Haitien. Jean-Francois's account provides additional details on some of these Bahamians and Turks & Caicos migrants, many of whom worked in the trades. One of the earliest West Indian migrants in Cap-Haitien, James Cartright, arrived in 1870, while others arrived in subsequent decades, such as the Moss family or Jean-Francois's grandfather. An additional wave of West Indians also arrived to work in Haiti during the US Occupation, when their English and skilled trades were in demand. For example, a Jamaican, Alan Miller, worked for the electric company in Cap-Haitien. Other Jamaicans worked for HASCO, Plantation Dauphin, or some of the new industries that grew during the US Occupation. Some Jamaicans appear to have come as English teachers, like Miss Burke, who stayed in Port-au-Prince to manage an orphanage. Others worked as mechanics for the National Railroad Company, particularly on the Gonaives-Verrettes line and the Port-au-Prince-St. Marc line.



In 1893, James Moses is listed as an artisan in the Carenage area of Cap-Haitien, known for its Anglophone Caribbean character in the 19th and early 20th centuries.

Jean-Francois's essay indicates a degree of assimilation for West Indian immigrants, or at least for those in northern Haiti. Many retained their Anglican or other Protestant faith, as well as a tightly-knit network of families who supported each other for funerals and other community causes. However, their culinary tastes quickly adapted to the Haitian palate, and many married locals, as the case of Jean-Francois demonstrates. Perhaps they maintained informal benevolent societies, and their Protestant faith may have distanced them from local Haitian artisans, such as Coeurs-Unis, which leaned more heavily towards the Catholic Church. According to Fraser, two examples of benevolent associations established by a West Indian in Haiti failed as the founder absconded with the funds, but it is likely others existed through church networks or based on regional origins. Through their religious connections and social networks, they likely practiced some form of mutual aid. Others, perhaps tailors and similar master artisans, probably took on locals as apprentices, which may have diminished the social distance between West Indians and Haitians. Unfortunately, Jean-Francois does not examine that question,  but Péan's masterful trilogy on the hstory of Cap-Haitien describes the system of apprenticeship.

Nonetheless, descendants of many of these West Indian migrants appear in later newspaper accounts, such as a Nelie Cartright as Carnival Queen in Cap-Haitien. The Brights, Lightbourns, Bakers, Rokers, etc. have left an impact on various aspects of social life in Cap-Haitien. Indeed, according to Jean-Francois, their presence in the northern metropolis was strong enough to define Carenage as their quarter, where English and the various West Indian Creoles were overheard. Some of these West Indian artisans who arrived in the late 19th century probably took on Haitian apprentices, and may have appealed to some Capois families who recalled Henri Christophe's preference for the English language and promotion of industry. Of course, unregulated numbers of such West Indians could also be a cause for alarm, as Reveil revealed in an 1892 article on the hawkers and artisans of the West Indies in Cap-Haitien. The same article refers to similar conspicuous Antillean activity in other Haitian cities of the era. 

1892 article on the state of two habitations near Cap-Haitien. Vaudreuil, managed by the Etienne brothers, used more than 80 laborers from the Antilles on the estate. It is likely that these workers were from the Anglophone Caribbean. 

Interestingly, a few attempts at large-scale agriculture and concessions for exports also involved West Indian laborers. Fraser refers to the Maunders concession, which for a Tortuga agricultural venture in the early 1870s employed a  West Indian labor force. The project floundered, but some of these workers may have stayed in Tortuga and northern Haiti, perhaps joining other Caribbean immigrants in the 1870s. The Vaudreuil habitation, near Cap-Haitien, is also described as employing over 80 Antillean workers in 1892. In light of past attempts at using British West Indian laborers and Cap-Haitien's ties with Bahamian networks, it is very likely that these 80 or more workers were from the Anglophone Caribbean or British West Indies. Regrettably for the state of northern agriculture, the association of the Etienne brothers that successfully managed Vaudreuil fell apart in a few years. Perhaps these Antilleans joined their counterparts in Carenage? Or they may have moved on to better work prospects in the Dominican Republic, which by this time was experiencing immigration of cocolos to work in the burgeoning sugar industry. Regardless of the outcome, the vast majority of West Indian migrants in Haiti were not rural laborers or farmers. Most were concentrated in the urban areas, where they developed defined quarters and, eventually, assimilated into their host society through intermarriage and length of residence. Indeed, popular neighborhoods of Port-au-Prince also developed West Indian or perhaps African-American quarters, such as bourg anglais in Port-au-Prince. Smith describes the West Indians of Port-au-Prince as residing in areas like Port-au-Prince's Bel-Air, where they likely carried on social intercourse with the Haitian urban poor and laboring classes.

Miss Burke, a Jamaican who came to Haiti in the 1920s to teach English. She also ran an orphanage.

Many likely worked side by side with local artisans in Port-au-Prince's Bel-Air or Morne à Tuf. In Port-au-Prince, West Indians, especially Jamaicans, were known as drivers. Those not engaged in manual labor or artisan professions, however, included prominent merchants, such as the Crosswell or Cole families, who interfered in political conflicts in the 1880s. The 20th century brought Oswald Brandt, a Jamaican of German extraction who became the wealthiest man in Haiti. Some Jamaicans came as pastors of Protestant churches or for missionary work, such as the Jamaican Baptist Missionary society's work in Jacmel, Saint-Marc, and Cap-Haitien. Nosirhel Lherisson's Baptist schools and proselytizing in the Jacmel area was partly funded and supported by Jamaican Baptists. Indeed, Lherisson's proselytizing was likely the most successful of Protestant missions in the late 19th century and early 20th centuries, claiming around 2000 local converts. Jamaican residents in Jacmel were certainly present to aid in such efforts and to lead congregations comprised of fellow West Indians. In terms of total conversions, these Jamaican missions were not altogether successful, but Jamaican Baptists missions may have played a role in the Protestant faith of Jean Price-Mars, born in Grande-Riviere du Nord to a Protestant father in a region visited by these Baptist missionaries. Consequently, the early legacy of Protestant missions led by West Indians introduced new ideas and social relations in different parts of Haiti, probably spreading notions of the  Protestant work ethic, gender relations, and comportment in provincial Haiti. These West Indians may have also carried with them notions of respectability and black nationalist-informed perspectives on Christian faith. Perhaps they shaped the early examples of the types of Protestant Haitian peasants described by Bastien during the 1930s and 1940s.

Nossirhel Lhérisson, a Haitian convert to the Baptist Church, enjoyed support from Jamaican Baptists to proselytize across the Jacmel area. Source: Jacmel: sa contribution à l'Histoire d'Haïti

Some prominent West Indian migrants included Joseph Robert Love, a Bahamian who eventually settled in Jamaica. His experience in Haiti shaped his political ideology and eventually caused his departure. Nonetheless, he petitioned the British government on behalf of West Indians residing in Haiti, many of whom were blamed by Salomon for the 1883 attempted revolt. Love later lectured on Haitian history in Jamaica, and his newspaper shaped a young Marcus Garvey. Perhaps unsurprisingly, West Indians were not represented well by British consuls. Their Haitian-born children were denied the right of British citizenship, an episode described in Griffith's work on the Methodists in Haiti. This indicates a sizable number of West Indian descendants raised in Haiti, probably the very same people who would express an interest in Garveyism during the US Occupation. Thus, Garveyism in Haiti returned to its roots through Love's legacy. Theodora Holly, the daughter of a famous  African-American Episcopal Bishop in Haiti, appears to be the most engaged Haitian to involve herself with the UNIA (Elie Garcia was also involved), but the Episcopalians and other Protestants of Haiti, which included many West Indians and their progeny, would have been the followers of the UNIA through their Negro World newspaper. During the US Occupation, other West Indians residing in Cap-Haitien and Port-de-Paix may have followed news of Garvey, too. For instance, a bar run by Marcy Myers, a Bahamian in Port-de-Paix, served American servicemen and other Bahamian traders, stevedores, and deckhands. These networks may have solidified a small base for Garveyism.

Hurst, whose mother was a descendant of African-American immigrants, was AME Bishop in Haiti. His father was, if not of African-American origins, West Indian. The AME Church in Hispaniola, first brought by African-American immigrants in the 1820s, grew in the late 19th and early 20th centuries through West Indian immigration.

Nearing the end of the US Occupation and the proceeding decades, the Jamaican colonie is referenced several times in Port-au-Prince's newspapers. In 1931, Le Matin expressed concern over Jamaicans leaving Cuba for Haiti. This is likely the context in which the Daily Gleaner published articles about Jamaican immigration as a matter of concern to Haitian authorities, alluding to Haitian attempts to limit Jamaican immigration in Haiti. Unlike Cuba and the Dominican Republic, however, Haitian attempts to block Jamaican immigration were not racial, but due to a fear of their impact on the poor already struggling in Port-au-Prince. Other Jamaicans who came in the 1930s and 1940s were not so unfortunate. For example, Jocelyn McCalla led the effort to launch friendly soccer tournaments between Haitian and Jamaican teams. McCalla also hosted several Jamaican visitors in Port-au-Prince. Ernest Burkett, a Jamaican chief mechanic at the West Indies Garage, appears in the press. Burkett had been in Haiti since the 1920s or 1930s, when the business was owned by Arnold Braun. Braun later sold it to a Haitian, who directed it in partnership with Burkett. Other Jamaicans appeared in the press in terms of high-profile visitors to Haiti, travels back and forth between the two islands, or, in one case, a Jamaican employee of Plantation Dauphin defending the Black Republic from bad press in the Daily Gleaner. The Duvalierist era probably led many in the Jamaican community of Port-au-Prince to leave, either for North America or Jamaica. Burkett himself was expelled for some time by Francois Duvalier, and others of West Indian descent likely found better opportunities abroad. Like Hubert Bright of Cap-Haitien, who worked as an interpreter in Anglophone Canada, more remunerative opportunities in Canada or the US acted as pull factors for emigration.

George Angus, one of the Jamaican Baptists active in the St. Marc area. He married a Haitian.

Perhaps due to racial consanguinity and their ultimately small numbers (possibly no greater than 3000 across a century), the Anglophone West Indian presence does not seem to have sparked the ire of Haitians. A few references to their predominance in some of the trades likely reflected Haitian frustrations over the foreign dominance of nearly every aspect of the economy by the end of the 19th century. References to attempts to limit their numbers in 1931 (around the same time Haitian frustrations over the Chinese presence manifest) illustrate some tension, but that was likely in relation to the Depression. Other than these few instances of anger or anxiety about local labor, perhaps also associated with the West Indians working for the US Occupation, they appear to be a welcome population who have assimilated into Haitian society. Of course, the occupational niches filled by West Indians in Haiti were less attractive in the years after the Occupation, and since so few were engaged in rural labor, the West Indian presence in Haiti was only a fraction of the plethora who labored in Central America or Cuba. Nevertheless, the history of Anglophone Caribbean immigration in Haiti impacted the spread of Protestantism, urban tradesmen, and black nationalist sentiment for both Haiti and the Caribbean.

Calypso Sketches

A personal favorite from one of the greats of 1960s UK jazz. Jamaican-born Joe Harriott was something like the Ornette Coleman across the pond who arrived at similar 'freedoms' in jazz simultaneously. Although not as 'out there' as Coleman, musicians like Harriott or the numerous South African jazz musicians working in the UK since the 1960s added some much needed spice and to British jazz. Sure, it's not "St. Thomas," but the frantic drumming is reminiscent of Max Roach. 

Small Island

"And Hortense. Her face still haughty. But how long before her chin is cast down? For, fresh from a ship, England had not yet deceived her. But soon it will. All us pitiful West Indian dreamers who sailed with heads bursting with foolishness were a joke to my clever smirking cousin now."

Andrea Levy's Small Island is actually quite reminiscent of Samuel Selvon's The Lonely Londoners, but also the more recent White Teeth. While focusing specifically on two couples, Jamaican and English, around the time of World War II, Levy's novel tells the story of the Windrush generation of Jamaican immigrants in London. Zadie Smith's White Teeth occurs decades later, but both novels share a similar fixation with the Second World War as the springboard for anticolonialism and immigration in London. Both novels also feature India and Jamaica, although none of the major characters in Levy's novel are from South Asia. 

Instead, we get a very Jamaica-centered narrative on how West Indians contributed to the war effort, experienced extreme discrimination in the military and civilian life in London, and the rising tides of independence in Jamaica and India. Levy's novel somehow manages to encapsulate so much of the tragedy and contradictions of World War II with a sense of humor that is quite endearing and optimistic. The film adaptation is very faithful to these themes and humor of the novel, which pleasantly surprised me when I finally completed the book. 

One gets a very useful background in Jamaica during the 1930s and 1940s. Hortense and Gilbert's intriguing backgrounds reveal so much of the intricacies of color and class in Jamaican society, with the strong assumptions forced into West Indian minds that England is the 'Mother County,' English ways are best. Upon finally reaching England, the dream dies as Hortense and Gilbert endure the racist and classist prejudices of London. Like Selvon, Lamming, Smith, and numerous other Caribbean or Caribbean-descended writers, the bitterness of the immigrant experience pervades the text. The imperialism (and outright racism) of England's military and treatment of Indians during Bernard's service also tie in here, revealing how the myths about World War II as a 'fight for democracy' or 'freedom' were nothing but. 

The real magic of Levy's novel lies in how she manages to juxtapose this Caribbean immigrant experience with the class nuances of white England. Queenie's character eventually becomes a sympathetic one, despite her disturbing upbringing (Queenie used to mock the children of miners, the poorest of the poor) and being reared by a class-conscious aunt in London who prepared for her for a loveless marriage for economic security and status. The strictures of the class system of English society seem to come to life in Levy's tale, revealing some common threads with the search for opportunity by Caribbean immigrants after the war. It is, in this sense, one finds the mutual experiences of the Blighs and Josephs capable of expressing some hope for the subsequent generations of a multicultural, multiracial London.

Small Island (Film)

Small Island was humorous and retains aspects of Andrea Levy's novel quite well. The acting talent of David Oyelowo and Benedict Cumberbatch certainly helped. The actress who played Hortense is the very same woman who played the mother of Irie in the White Teeth miniseries. Unfortunately, the movie omitted the colorism of Hortense's Jamaican background and omitted numerous aspects of Hortense and Gilbert's Jamaican background. The film succeeds excellently in criticizing the incredible xenophobia and racism against the Windrush West Indians in London, but could've benefited from a miniseries format instead of a two-part film.

McKay's Home To Harlem and Haiti

Claude McKay c. 1928

I would be lying if I denied that the only reason I read Claude McKay's Home To Harlem is the Haitian character, Raymond. Set in Harlem after WWI, the 1928 novel explores Harlem and black life in the aftermath of the war, focusing on the seedy underworld of urban black life. McKay's short novel includes a Haitian character from an upper-class background as an important foil for the protagonist, Jake, mainly in the second part of the three-part text. Raymond, who has to work on the railroad as a waiter, is only in the US because he was a student at Howard University, but his father was jailed for opposing the US Occupation and his brother was killed for the same reason. Therefore, Ray has to work to save up money for his education as his family lost their income in Haiti. 

When Jake meets Ray, he is exposed to a much larger black world and history, learning for the first time about the Haitian Revolution as a noble event in the course of human history, as well as the importance of sovereign black states, such as Abyssinia and Liberia. This introduction to pan-Africanist discourse via Ray piques Jake's interest, who now wishes he was educated and well-read like his Haitian friend. The reason I see them as counterparts is in how they unite the two strands of black masculinity: refined, educated, and international through Ray and domestic, hardworking, uneducated and 'primitive' Jake. McKay's use of primitivism in this text (which is used most often when describing jazz and blues in the clubs and cabarets of Harlem) should not necessarily be seen in a negative light, for in the text the 'primitive' blues, jazz, dance, drugs, and unmasked passion of black Harlem (and Pittsburgh and Philadelphia) is seen as authentic, real, and connecting individuals instead of the cold, distant 'civilization' of whites. Indeed, some of the descriptions used by McKay for the dancing in cabarets and buffet flats sound like Vodou or African ceremonies and rituals, evidence of African retentions and 'spirit' in the African Diaspora.

Perhaps like other intellectuals, McKay's use of the 'primitive' is part of the general response to the destruction of the First World War, when some thinkers began to question European civilization's level of sophistication and looked to the East or South for alternatives to the West. This, I believe, is where Haiti comes in as a symbol for black liberation and an alternative path, albeit one that is not fully explored in the novel. Ray himself, an educated man, also begins to question his Western education, since it makes him a misfit, as well as question why race is thrust upon him and his own self-distancing from African-Americans, who he admits to looking condescendingly upon for being under the white Anglo-Saxon American's yoke. Yet, Haiti at the same time is under US white rule, and Ray's identity crisis leads to some black solidarity across national or cultural barriers. 

To be honest, I was quite disappointed in McKay's Ray, who, as a complex, nuanced being, captures the multiplicity of forms blackness encompasses, but does not outright or directly work against US Occupation. Furthermore, Jake, who begins to see Ray as his best friend during their time together working on the dining car of the trains, never opposes the US Occupation, so politically speaking, the novel lacks the overt tone of black militancy of McKay's famous poem, which, like this novel does on a subtle level, capture the attitude of the New Negro after World War I, a conflict in which blacks from the US were doubly oppressed. In McKay's defense, the novel is centered on Jake and the Harlem world, so one can understand why Ray's crisis, which is certainly aligned with the themes of the novel, is relegated to the background and ultimately resolved by Ray choosing to work on a freighter, escaping the Harlem, Haiti, and living on the seas in search of freedom while still yearning to write. Ray learns to overcome his classism and moral judgment of others, however, as demonstrated by his admiration for the pimp, Jerco. 

Jake, on the other hand, finds the love of his lie and simple, domestic companionship he desires, and decides to leave 'home' away from Harlem, en route to Chicago. Jake, who experienced the docks of Europe, and the white man's savagery committed against blacks and whites in London's East End bars and brothels, knows fully well that violence transcends racial boundaries, and finds himself still searching for 'home' in Harlem only to realize that his 'home' is elsewhere, somewhere he can find the peace Ray desires in his own way, perhaps the very same alternative to Western civilization. Haiti's role as a symbol and object of pan-Africanist concern is clearly important in this context, and plays an important role in how McKay constructs a plausible black world where color, class, nationality, and gender divide Harlem's Black Belt. Like his other work, the militancy also encompasses labor, hinting at McKay's leftist interests at the time,  as well as black progress.

Favorite Quotes

"He preferred white folks' hatred to their friendly contempt." (141)

"But the Congo remained in spite of formidable opposition and foreign exploitation. The Congo was a real throbbing little Africa in New York." (151)

"Jake felt like one passing through a dream, vivid in rich, varied colors. It was revelation beautiful in his mind. That brief account of an island of savage black people, who fought for collective liberty and were struggling to create a culture of their own. A romance of his race, just down there by Panama. How strange!" (201)

"Ray felt that as he was conscious of being black and impotent, so, correspondingly, each marine down in Hayti must be conscious of being white and powerful." (210)

"He remembered when little Hayti was floundering uncontrolled, how proud he was to be the son of a free nation. He used to feel condescendingly sorry for those poor African natives; superior to ten millions of suppressed Yankee "coons." Now he was just one of them and he hated them for being one of them..." (210)

"African hate is deep down and hard to stir up, but there is no hate more realistic when it is stirred up." (221)

The Stuart Hall Project

A highly recommendable overview of the life and times of Stuart Hall, a pioneer in Cultural Studies of Jamaican origins who studied at Oxford. Hall discusses racism against people of Caribbean and African descent in England, how he came to reject the class/color restrictions of colonial Jamaica, his work as an editor of leftist journals, and broader processes of identity and cultural formation. I have recently rediscovered his other work, documentary series, and his status as a public intellectual, so this film is an excellent introduction. Another worthwhile video is Hall's interview of Trinidadian intellectual, leftist, and avid cricket fan, CLR James, a towering figure of Black thought who influenced Hall.

El Martiniqueño

A nice big band merengue based on "Sly Mongoose," exemplifying links between various styles of music in the Caribbean archipelago. Perhaps "Sly Mongoose" entered the Dominican Republic through West Indian laborers, or the appeal of calypso bands. Either way, it's an infectious song!

All For You, E.T. Mensah and Black Atlantic Musical Currents

A beautiful example of Black Atlantic musical exchange from one of my favorite highlife orchestras, E.T. Mensah & The Tempos. Their song, "All For You," is based on the melody from the Caribbean tune, "Sly Mongoose." In addition to entering the highlife repertoire, "Sly Mongoose" surfaced in US jazz recordings, too, such as this lively rendition from Charlie Parker and Jack Sneed & His Sneezers. Don't forget to hear Lord Invader's take and Sam Manning's.

Stuart Hall in Haiti

Stuart Hall's documentary series episode on Haiti is, of course, too short, but a good introduction to Haiti from the great Caribbean scholar. The documentary also challenges the stereotypes of Henri Christophe's rule and the interviewed Haitian scholar alludes to Baron de Vastey's allusions to African architectural genius and grandeur resurfacing in the monuments of Christophe's Haiti. Unfortunately, the film tries to fit Haiti into a transplanted Africa in the Americas that was isolated from the rest of the world. Watch the second part of the video here, which discusses Haitian art. 

Liberty, Fraternity, Exile: Haiti and Jamaica after Emancipation

Smith's Liberty, Fraternity, Exile: Haiti and Jamaica after Emancipation is one of the best comparative histories and best recent works on Haiti I have encountered in quite some time. Smith carefully weaves together different tapestries of Jamaica and Haiti's pasts, highlighting the numerous instances in which Haiti and Jamaica were bound together by the vagaries of race, colonialism, and encroaching US dominance of the Caribbean by the early 1900s. In addition, Smith's prose is more engaging and succeeds in breathing life into the various civil wars and coups in Haitian history. Moreover, Smith manages to find that elusive land between academic and accessible, making the Morant Bay Rebellion and the plethora of coups in Haitian history comprehensible. In addition, some of the deeper nuances of late 19th century Haitian history and the uncovered new ground of Jamaica's historical links to Haiti make for fascinating reading.

Placing Haiti in a Caribbean Context

One of the interesting aspects about being in Haiti is discussing Haiti's relationship with the Dominican Republic and other Caribbean nations with Haitian people, not Haitian-Americans. For instance, when the issue of Dominicans treating Haitian-Dominicans and Haitian migrants like slaves came up, some middle-class Haitians my mom spoke to were very silent. It was as if they were reluctant to reveal their true feelings about it and chose silence as the best option. One upper middle-class Haitian man who has family in Florida actually said something along the lines of, "Well, who could blame them" for Dominican animosity toward lower-class Haitians coming to the Dominican Republic without skills or money.

It seems that Haitians who go to the Dominican Republic for education do not face discrimination, at least according to that older Haitian man and a younger, educated Haitian doctor. Undoubtedly, classism and class privilege of some Haitians shields them from Dominican 'anti-Haitianism,' but even some of them opposed the high numbers of Dominican construction companies in Haiti after the earthquake. And those from poorer families in the smaller towns and countryside frankly told my mother and I that many of them end up going to the Dominican Republic to find work, even though it clearly pains them. Alas, if history were better taught in the Caribbean, I am sure Haitians would have a more critical stance on the Dominican Republic's treatment of marginalized Haitian labor, as well as how the Haitian state has profited from the exchange for decades.

It was interesting to hear from these Haitians about their travel experience in the Dominican Republic, too. Many had been to Santo Domingo, Puerto Plata, and Santiago. The young doctor told me that many Haitian women are in Puerto Plata, and one of their sources of income across the border is actually braiding hair. The roads in the Dominican Republic are better, too, so driving to Santiago or Santo Domingo is not a problem at all. I also had the fortune to meet a lower-class Haitian with education who lived in Santo Domingo for years. He spoke Spanish, Portuguese, English, and, naturally, Kreyol, with ease. He told me he had found work with a Brazilian embassy in the DR, and picked up Portuguese while there. Unfortunately, I did not get to interrogate him on what brought him back to Port-au-Prince or his thoughts on that recent discriminatory ruling against Dominicans of Haitian descent.

Besides the Dominican Republic, Cuba came up a few times. I met a Haitian doctor who trained in Santiago de Cuba. Of course, he spoke fluent Spanish so I tried my best to conjure my Spanish skills and fall back on Kreyol and English to ask him about the Cuban medical program in Haiti. It seems like Haitians get medical training and experiences out of it, while Cubans get a chance to leave Cuba. Indeed, the dormitories at the state hospital I saw once housed a Cuban medical team! Oh, and there are still many people of Haitian origin in Santiago, according to what he said. They seem to be proud of their Haitian heritage, according to Dr. Patrick Bellegarde-Smith, and the Haitian culture survives to some extent. Anyway, the Cuban medical teams have done excellent work in Haiti training doctors and already being on the scene when the earthquake struck. Alas, a US nurse told me that the Cuban-trained doctors are seen as better by the Haitian people than doctors educated in Haiti, just as white doctors were considered better than Haitian-American or African-American doctors by Haitians (according to a Haitian professor I spoke with recently).

Jamaica and the rest of the Caribbean also entered discussion a few times. Jamaica's influence looms large in Haitian music because of reggae (I heard a live reggae band perform at Yanvalou in Port-au-Prince), but also a brief discussion of tourism and Bob Marley with one young Haitian. I admire his love for Haiti and his own business plan (he wants to take in more clients and show them around Haiti, as well as study in the US to help himself and his country), but it sounds like there are lessons from Jamaica's tourist economy that should serve as a warning to Haiti. As for the rest of the Caribbean, Guadeloupe and Martinique came up because the guesthouse owner's parents lived in Guadeloupe for several years. Indeed, Haitians seem to be more easily integrated or accepted in Guadeloupe because of language, or so we were told. Maryse Conde's novels set in Guadeloupe reveal a more nuanced picture, but it sounds like Guadeloupe is a lovely island where many Haitians find work and better circumstances than in Haiti.