Alexis Saugrain's Martinique and Saint Christophe Origins

Saugrain and Faste were the parents of Alexis, Charles, and their brother, Francois. ANOM's Leogane records are priceless for trying to track down some of the later Bainet and Jacmel residents.

So it turns out that Alexis Saugrain, born in c.1696, in Saint-Domingue, was actually the son of parents from Martinique and Saint-Christophe. According to the 1694 Leogane parish register, Alexis's parents were married in that year. His father, whose parents were from Caux and Rouen, was probably born in Martinique or perhaps his family moved there relatively soon after his birth. It is interesting to note that the mother of Francois Saugrain was named Marguerite Tremonie in Martinique, but Tresorier in Saint-Domingue. Her name also changed to Magdelaine in Saint-Domingue, perhaps through errors of the parish priests in Leogane and Jacmel? Francois Saugrain was illiterate and couldn't have corrected them. Perhaps Marguerite Tremonie is the most likely candidate for his mother's name.

Thanks to ANOM, we know that a sister of Francois Saugrain died in Case-Pilote in 1727, around 80 years old. If accurate, she was probably born in the late 1740s or early 1750s. Another source, Personnes et familles à la Martinique au XVIIe siècle: d'après recensements et terrier nominatifs includes a roll or census from1680, suggests Jeanne Sogrin (Saugrin) was born in 1655.

From what I could gather from Martinique rolls, censuses and other documents, one of Francois's sisters was born in or around 1655. One document from 1671 also mentions the Saugrin, indicating they were definitely established in the Case-Pilote area of Martinique by 1671. I cannot tell if Francois Saugrain's sisters were born on the island, but I suspect he was. Like the Marin who married the first Marillac in Jacmel, Francois Saugrain appears to have been another example of a Martinique Creole who relocated to Saint Domingue. And like other early French colonists in the Antilles, the Saugrain were from Normandie. We wonder if their descendants in Martinique know that they have black Haitian cousins through Alexis Saugrain and Suzanne?

In 1682, a cousin of Alexis Saugrain was baptized in Martinique.

In addition to Martinique, Alexis Saugrain could also claim origins in Saint-Christophe, the other old French colony in the Caribbean. His mother, Barbe Faste, was a native of that island who, like many others, ended up in Saint Domingue in the late 1600s. I could not find any trace of her mother, Jeanne Gourdel, unfortunately. Her father, Guillaume Faste, may have been the Guillaume Foster listed in a 1671 census shared by the good people of Généalogie et Histoire de la Caraïbe. This is just a theory, but Faste and Foster could sound similar to a Francophone person. Besides, there was no other Guillaume with a surname similar to Faste. Perhaps the Foster surname is an indication of English origin, unsurprising in Saint-Christophe. At least we have a better idea of the origins of Alexis Saugrain in terms of the longer history of French colonialism and slavery in the Antilles. It is a long, sordid history and insidious legacy which still affects Haiti, Martinique, and Saint Kitts.

An English Guillaume Fostre or Foster appears in the 1671 Census of Saint-Christophe, also available on FamilySearch. This was probably the father of Barbe Faste, although he seems to have been married to a woman named Gidienne, not Jeanne.

French Antilleans in Haiti: 1848-1934

Edouard Bloncourt in the Blue Book of Haiti. His import-export business in Cap-Haitien was predated by his merchant past in Port-de-Paix. The Bloncourt family is from Guadeloupe, and Edouard was likely the relative who assisted Yves Bloncourt when he came to Haiti after WWI.

The presence of Afro-descendants or even white Creoles from Martinique and Guadeloupe in Haiti during the 19th and early 20th centuries is surprisingly difficult to investigate. Perhaps due to their cultural and linguistic similarities, the 1500 or more French Antilleans who came to Haiti during the aforementioned period are harder to locate than Syriens or Anglophone West Indian immigrants. The vast majority, according to Zacair, who relied heavily on French consul reports, were from Guadeloupe. Many married into Haitian families and therefore a large number of Haitians today can trace their ancestry to the French Caribbean. The Bloncourt, Boutin, Rabouin, de Catalogne, Demeuran, and many other families have ancestors who came to Haiti during this era, particularly after 1848. Many were "mulattoes" of the professional and bourgeois classes who established maisons de commerce in various Haitian port cities, like the Boutin family in St. Marc. Others were artisans, musicians, mechanics, educators, engineers, merchants, street vendors, laborers, and skilled workers, searching for opportunities beyond the confines of their colonial homes. Like Anglophone Caribbean migrants, such people were possibly also inspired by the idea of living under a black-ruled government where racial discrimination would not curb their freedom.

Gérard de Catalogne is in the second row, second from the left. Son of a Creole father from Martinique and a Haitian woman, de Catalogne diffused the reactionary ideas of Maurras in Haiti.

Indeed, the concentration of land ownership among the white plantocracy after 1848, plus restrictions on the newly freed and "free colored" class after emancipation would have been enough push factors to make Haiti an attractive location. Many former slaves found themselves trapped, working for their former masters as poorly paid plantation laborers. It is also probable that many in Guadeloupe and Martinique saw independent Haiti as a model for the Caribbean. In fact, long before 1848, free people of color from the French Antilles were in Haiti (not to mention connections during Haiti's colonial period). One Edmond Thetis of Martinique served in the army of Henri Christophe before returning to Martinique in 1811, implicated in a revolt. Joseph Saint-Remy, who wrote a biography of Alexandre Petion, was a Haitian born in Guadeloupe. His parents, inspired by Haiti's racially inclusive Constitution of 1816, which invited anyone and everyone of African or Amerindian descent the right to Haitian citizenship, eventually chose to resettle in Haiti.

Migrants from Martinique and other parts of the Antilles were identified as street vendors and artisans in Cap-Haitien and other towns of the Republic, as this 1892 article illustrates.

Saint-Remy's father, a carpenter, brought the family to Les Cayes. The same biographical notice in Saint-Remy's book also claims the father and grandfather of President Salomon were originally from the French Antilles, suggesting another politically important family of French Caribbean roots. Besides the several families from the French Antilles who came to Haiti during this era, Cyril Bissette, whose Revue des colonies published Haitian writer Ignace Nau, also invested time and labor in defending Haiti from what he saw as Schoelcher's attempts to paint Haitian society as hopelessly divided into black versus "mulatto" castes. Bissette even saw Haiti's potential as the capital of a future Caribbean confederation. Of course, one must not forget Guillaume Guillon-Lethière, a Guadeloupe-born artist, who painted The Oath of Our Ancestors. This famous painting of the Haitian Revolution and the uniting of blacks and "mulattoes," with the will of God, must have signified dignity and liberty for oppressed slaves and free people of color living before 1848.  Of course, there were exceptions to favorable views of Haiti among French Caribbean people of color, as the case of Victor Cochinat  in the late 19th century reveals. The journalist from Martinique's vitriolic articles triggered a response from Louis Joseph Janvier, which demonstrates another side of French Caribbean perceptions of Haiti.

Marc Boutin, born in St. Marc to parents from Guadeloupe, inherited his father's maison de commerce. Along with his mother, the family expanded the business to include Port-au-Prince. Aubin also refers to him as one of the French subjects owning land in Haiti. In his case, it was Caradeux, in the Cul de Sac plain. 

Clearly, Haiti was already etched into the minds of many in Guadeloupe and Martinique, perhaps especially so with educated free people of color. Haiti likely appealed to blacks in Martinique and Guadeloupe after 1848. The rise of a socialist party and labor movement in Guadeloupe by the 1890s, one that was specifically linking race and class, may have seen in the Haitian revolutionary past something inspirational. More work needs to be done exploring this, particularly on Hégésippe Jean Légitimus and allusions to Haiti among black workers of the late 19th century. His opponents, for instance, sought to compare him to "savage" Haiti, going so far as calling him a papa loi. For others, Haiti may have signified something else. For example, by the time the Third Republic arose, the "mulatto bourgeoisie" of Martinique were identified by metropolitan authorities as pro-republican and the best local allies. This process is summarized quite well in Church's Paradise Destroyed: Catastrophe and Citizenship in the French Caribbean, which unfortunately does not explore the Haitian connection or the ways in which natural catastrophes may have encouraged migration to Haiti.

Dr. Justin Castera of Jacmel was a martiniquais descent.

It very well could be the preference shown by many French Caribbean businessmen for the Liberals in Haiti was related to their liberal bourgeois politics. This shared fervor for liberalism, plus growing personal ties through marriage, cemented their attachment to the Liberal party. As one would expect, their open sympathy caused tensions with the Haitian government. For example, Ludovic Goubault's transparent support for Haitian rebels in Jeremie during the 1883 revolt illustrates how French West Indians intervened in the political affairs of Haiti. In addition to business and marriage with the Haitian upper classes, some even served in the Haitian military or married into the families of generals. According to Thorald Burnham, Andre de Thomas, for example, married the daughter of a major general and served as his attaché. This gave the "moucas" a surprisingly large influence in Haiti.  Consequently, going to the Black Republic may have meant not solely economic opportunity in commerce, but a chance to participate in the affairs of an independent republic.

Gaston Gerville-Réache worked as a teacher in Port-au-Prince for a short time. Once elected to the French National Assembly, he spoke for Guadeloupeans in Haiti during the turbulent year of 1883. In Paris, he also contributed to Benito Sylvain's La Fraternité . Unlike him, other French Caribbean educators, musicians and professionals stayed in Haiti. Louis Astrée, for instance, was a major figure in 19th century Haitian music as the director of the Musique du Palais.

But, who exactly were these immigrants? How were they received by the Haitian population? Did they chose to become Haitian citizens? After consulting Zacair's article and some of the sources, their position in Haiti was often paradoxical. For instance, they were able to practice professions in Haiti that were prohibited to foreigners. Others, despite marrying Haitians and establishing close ties with the Haitian political and economic elite, exploited their status as French subjects to make inflated claims on the Haitian government for compensation during moments of political turmoil. In fact, some of these French Caribbeans became consuls, while others were involved in larger French commerce or financial interests. As one can expect, French Antilleans, as well as other black immigrants, were occasionally attacked by Haitian political figures for their exploitative behavior and refusing to become Haitian citizens. In terms population and demographics, the "moucas" or French Antillean subjects were clearly an important presence. Indeed, they were numerous enough to form their own quarter in Cap-Haitien, by Bas de la Ravine. In Port-au-Prince, French and French Caribbean residents were involved in a mutual aid society, but Zacair hints at intra-community tensions as the business community sought to exclude workers from Guadeloupe and Martinique from the benefits of the society. Intellectually, some, such as Fernand Keitel, launched Le Cable, a Capois journal highlighted by Marc Péan. For most of the aforementioned groups, assimilation seems to have occurred relatively quickly. This was likely the case for the lower classes, too.  A cursory exploration of Haitian literary references to the French Antilles also sugguests this. Velleda Petite-Caille, in Justin Lhérisson's famous novel may be the best early example.

The Monfleury usine for the preparation of coffee. Aubin claimed Monfleury père  to be of Martinican origin.

As a card reader, she attracts a wealthy clientele, ultimately launching her husband into high society of fin de siècle Port-au-Prince. But Velleda, who does not come from the Martinique "mulatto" bourgeoisie. So, she continues to mispronounce some French phrases, thereby demonstrating an affinity with uneducated lower-class Haitian Creole speakers, whose elocution was also mocked by their social superiors. However, she was not a target of derision or singled out for her origins in Martinique, and her marriage with Eliézer suggests a great degree of cultural compatibility. Unfortunately, her fate does not end well in the novel, but there is no suggestion of bias or exclusive attitudes towards her due to her non-Haitian origins. Perhaps the ease at which she could establish a reputation for fortune-telling is matched by those of the French Antilles who could join Vodou congregations. Burnham alludes to Civil Blain, a Martinican in 19th century Bel Air, who left behind a lakou bearing his name. It is reasonably clear that the lower class waves of migrants from the French Caribbean were capable of assimiling well with locals in the urban popular quarters. Their skin color, language, and the ease with which they could travel into the interior of Haiti likely facilitated this, which perhaps masked their presence in the archives. Many practiced small trades in towns like St. Marc, Port-au-Prince, Cap-Haitien, Aux Cayes, Jacmel, or Gonaives, which brought them into regular contact with Haitians of all backgrounds. Perhaps the commonality of language and culture enabled positive interactions or professional relations, as well as marriage and progeny.

A bizarre story involving from Oct 1900 involving a Haitian woman and her husband from Martinique or Guadeloupe. 

In Eugène Aubin's En Haïti; planteurs d'autrefois, nègres d'aujourd'hui, published five years before the US Occupation, direct accounts of French West Indians abound. Aubin describes landholders, owners of usines for the preparation of coffee, a pious woman from Guadeloupe, an engineer by the name of Emmanuel Odeide working for the Manneville habitation, merchants, and spouses. Examples of their presence abound, such as the wife of General Dorsey Falaise of Croix des Bouquets, a Guadeloupean woman. These French West Indians are described by Aubin as mixing with locals due to language and color. However, his account also attests to their significance in new developments in the economy. Perhaps the business end of the French Caribbean community was ultimately negative for economic development by encouraging dependency on foreign imports, but during the 1870s and 1880s, they introduced some new technology in the coffee industry. Octave Francis, a "mulatto," was identified as one of the first to establish a usine for preparing coffee, in Petionville. Francis's mother was from Martinique while his father was from St. Thomas. While they may not have directly controlled the production of coffee, Francis, Monfleury, and other foreign-owned usines improved the quality of Haitian coffee, thereby increasing prices on the global market while, in some cases, weakening their Haitian intermediaries.

Yves Bloncourt was an early proponent of the Boy Scouts in Haiti.

Another family with origins in Martinique, the Montfleury, were associated with the usine in Carrefour, which was expanded by the two Montfleury sons and a French partner, Bertin.  Their usine employed 50 employees and 150 trieuses, leading to a new community to service the workers in the area. Some also contributed to tentative steps towards restoring sugar production or large-scale production in the Cul-de-Sac plain by providing essential services, like mechanics, management or engineering. A letter to a Haitian who criticized Martinican and Guadeloupean residents was published in Le Nouvelliste. The author, A. Charlesin, appears to be a Martinican or Guadeloupean forger-mechanic working in Haiti. Meanwhile, Zacair describes one who managed a plantation near Leogane managed by a French Antillean. Haiti en 1886 mentions a Martinican horticulteur known throughout Port-au-Prince. Thus, their presence was linked to early capitalist intrusion into the Haitian economy and new industries and businesses, shaping new social relations and methods of production while simultaneously weakening the local merchant class.

President Louis Borno was the son of a naturalized Haitian from Guadeloupe. His non-Haitian roots were a subject of concern to Jacques Roumain, who criticized Borno for being a puppet president of the US Occupation. 

Despite difficulties in knowing exactly how many French Caribbean peoples were in Haiti during the 19th and 20th centuries, their influence likely surpassed their actual numbers. Through commerce, education, music, the arts, and industry, migrants brought with them new ideas, concepts, and interactions which connected Haiti and the French Antilles within the archipelago and their diasporas in France. The Bloncourt family, for instance, had branches in Haiti and Guadeloupe, while Haitian presidents with origins in Martinique and Guadeloupe can be found in the Duvaliers and Louis Borno. Gerard de Catalogne, a descendant of a Martinican and a Haitian woman, was a major figure in 20th century Haitian journalism and politics. In Paris, Haitians such as Firmin brushed shoulders with Adolphe Lara of Guadeloupe. Thus, the French Caribbean and Haiti enjoyed a mutual influence in which the earlier migrations of Martinicans or Guadeloupeans was a pivotal part. The French Caribbean residents in Haiti may have also been influential in aspects of folklore and Vodou dance. Unsurprisingly, the paradoxical relationship of these migrants with Haiti and France illustrates a semi-colonial character in Haiti-France relations. The political independence of Haiti was gradually eroded as France, Germany, and, by the 20th century, the US, increasingly dominated its economic affairs. Those of Martinique or Guadeloupe roots knowingly or unknowingly contributed to this development, even if adopting Haitian citizenship, by encouraging the cultural orientation of the Haitian elite. 

Ouvè Lapôt'la

The same guy who turned a song about social security into a funky boogaloo, also has this irresistible number. There is something about biguine and rhythms from Guadeloupe and Martinique that seamlessly fuse with jazz so well, which is especially evident in the piano here.

The Middle Passage

After over a year since I first tried to finish Naipaul's The Middle Passage, I can confidently say this is my favorite of his travel writing. Much of the humor and social commentary in his description of the various Caribbean societies he visits is part of his satirical short stories and novels, for example. The "racial distribution" of jobs in Trinidad, for instance, is brilliantly satirized in his story about the black Grenadian baker pretending to be Chinese to have customers. Similarly, the dark themes about the Caribbean (slave past, centuries of oppression and violence) and the tragedy of the African in the New World (to be recast in so many images of the European powers). Indeed, much of Naipaul's ruminations on race and colonialism are better explored in some of his novels, particularly The Mimic Men, but it's intriguing to see where he was headed in his nonfiction writing before his later literary endeavors. Anyway, to give credit where it's due, Naipaul does understand the problem of race and the phenomenon of black skins in white masks for the West Indies, and there is less of the rampant Negrophobia than I remembered from a year ago. That said, I prefer his younger brother's travel writings on the West Indies over his, though both share a like-minded view on the matter. 

The "meat" of Naipaul's writing here, despite covering Guyana, Trinidad, Suriname, Martinique, Antigua, and Jamaica, is really the actual voyage (the titular middle passage) from Europe (coincidentally, picking up emigrants for Britain along the way, completing the cycle of uprooting), his time in Trinidad, and lengthy descriptions of Guyana, the Jagans, and its particular racial and political problems. His sojourn in Suriname is actually a tad less nuanced than that of Shiva Naipaul, and lacks Shiva's nuance in his descriptions of the "Bush Negroes," too.  On describing his native Trinidad, naturally, Naipaul is on top form, hinting at several of the ideas percolating in his mind for Mimic Men and future nonfiction on Trinidad. Unfortunately, Naipaul does not visit any Spanish-speaking Caribbean destinations, unlike Shiva Naipaul, who visited Puerto Rico, so it is far from a 'complete' portrait of the Caribbean during a moment of great change. But anyone interested in the British West Indies during this pivotal moment on the path to independence should read this. 

Monsieur Toussaint: A Play

"Only Toussaint Abreda can defeat Toussaint L'Ouverture."

Edouard Glissant's Monsieur Toussaint, translated by the author himself and J. Michael Dash, is an interesting theatrical take on the Haitian Revolution. While at times a little hard to follow, the play juxtaposes the dead spirits of numerous historical actors in Saint Domingue conversing with Toussaint Louveture as he awaits death in Fort de Joux with Toussaint's memories of important moments in the Haitian Revolution. While clearly literature and not an accurate retelling of the actual history of the Haitian Revolution, the work captures many of the complexities of the postcolonial state, such as relations between the state and the masses. 

Toussaint Louverture, in Glissant's play, is modeled on the perspectives of Cesaire and CLR James, as a tragic hero who distanced himself from the masses but, following the lead of the former, sacrifices himself willingly so a united, free Haiti will emerge. This perspective on Toussaint, something new to me, also leads to a favorable depiction of Dessalines as the necessary leader who will consolidate and complete the mission of Toussaint, while Christophe only has a few lines. Like other plays treating the subject of the Haitian Revolution, the attempts to maintain the plantation system and the belief in 'order and prosperity' favored by Toussaint is shown as incompatibile with the goals of the masses, or the dead shadows who accompany the dying Toussaint in exile. Mackandal, Vodou (Toussaint as a Legba and Ogou figure, Dessalines also as Ogou), Macaya (spelled differently in this text), Moyse, and even Dessalines are shown as representing the masses, albeit through a fictionalized and rather short play such as this. 

The ultimate tragedy, therefore, lies in Toussaint necessarily sacrificing himself to pave the way for unity, to lead to conditions in which blacks and mulattoes could work together to defeat Leclerc and Rochambeau. In addition, battles are prominent in the text, but often hinted at, and its interesting how Christophe is largely silenced, Petion makes no appearance, and the conflict between Toussaint and Rigaud is presented as having been entirely orchestrated by the settler royalists, favoring a return to slavery. Toussaint Abreda, the slave Toussaint, caught up in the French modes of civilization and governance, ultimately undoes Toussaint Louverture, making the play very analytical in how once being a privileged slave and free person, Toussaint Louverture was restricted by the norms of 'order and prosperity' antithetical to the radical need for independence.

Moreover, Glissant makes things even more fascinating by including Delgrès, the commandant who led his forces into a mass suicide at Matouba rathern than submit to French forces restoring slavery. This, as well as the Dokos (Macaya and the African-born revolutionaries of the Haitian Revolution, the Maroons) makes the play clearly pan-Africanist and Pan-Caribbean, with the mission for black independence and emancipation tied to liberation of Africa. In the author's own words, the prophetic vision of Toussaint Louverture's leadership and sacrifice is connected with wider anti-colonial movements. 

The Tragedy of King Christophe

"There's the situation: Christophe and Pétion , two great fighting cocks, two calojies, as they say in the islands."

Aimé Césaire's The Tragedy of King Christophe,  translated by Ralph Manheim, is a dense play for its 96 pages. Clearly taking from Shakespeare to write a tragedy inspired by the historical Henri Christophe of Haiti, the play also reflects Aimé Césaire's leftist sympathies and Négritude writtings. For instance, Africans appear in the play multiple times and there are Diasporic calls for black pride and unity, the symbolism of Haiti as a way for all 'black girls to never feel ashamed of their skin,' to paraphrase Vastey. The author also toys with history (for example, Christophe knows how to read in this play) but manages to still adhere to the facts on the literary and political achievements of Christophe's state (the humorous play by Juste Chanlatte about rum as the national beverage clearly adheres to developing the Haitian nation, a national poetry or literary identity) while creating a nuanced portrait of the Haitian leader. 

Unlike some of Walcott's Haitian Trilogy, Césaire successfully creates a nuanced vision of Christophe, Vastey, and numerous historical actors in his retelling of Christophe's fall. Moreover, the play begins after the assassination of Dessalines, thereby removing Dessalines and Toussaint Louverture from the play entirely, and solely focusing on Christophe (with only brief scenes for Pétion and his republic in the South, also described as lacking true democracy in a powerful scene with the Senate in Port-au-Prince). Moreover, both Césaire and Walcott clearly use the metaphor of the citadel and the symbolism of the Haitian earth itself when describing the rise and fall of Christophe, with Walcott's Haitian Earth  coming closest to matching the diversity of social classes and interests of the peasants versus elites that Cesaire encapsulates so brilliantly. 

The peasants want to take the earth as a wife as their recompense for driving the whites to the sea during the Haitian Revolution, they want to nurture and love the earth whereas Christophe only sees dust, nothing permanent to erect a strong, proud people, thereby driving his need to complete the citadel as a symbolic and physical defense. This ties in with the author's main assertion that, despite Christophe becoming tyrannical, placing himself above religion, and pushing the laborers too hard, he wanted to build a strong, stone foundation for Haiti, for the black race, to help Haiti become a powerful state like those of the West. Thus, noble in his vision and long-term plans, Christophe ultimately alienates the lower class by refusing to place their worldview and vision for Haiti with that of his own, comparing peasant farming to anarchy. Therein lies the ultimate tragedy, the inability of Christophe to synthesize his vision of Haiti with those of the ex-slaves who made it possible, to combine European tradition with that of the local (despite a few references to Vodou by Christophe himself, it is only associated with the peasantry and Hugonin, who later reveals himself to be Baron Samedi, lwa associated with death).

As a reader, I particularly enjoyed the author's familiarity with Haitian culture and religion, incorporating Baron Samedi into the story as a source of humor and spirituality (with consistent critiques of Christophe through song and proverb). Hugonin, appointed as Minister of Public Morality, certainly speaks to the sense of humor that is pervasive in this tragedy, but also a rejection of Christianity as Christophe has Archbishop Brelle murdered and places himself above the Virgin Mary, thereby placing himself above God. In the same manner, even Hugonin's character changes to conform to Christophe's model and expectations of his court (which, in some hilarious scenes, is clearly satirical of monarchies and the fact that Europe would only send a Master of Ceremonies instead of technicians to help build a new Haiti). 

In addition, Vodou themes are important for the peasantry, who cling to the land as a source of life and decry the harsh working conditions (although, one must mention Christophe's principles, since he has Bazin punished for working the peasants like slaves, showing nuance). Even Madame Christophe seems to align with the peasantry in her vision of a proper monarchy, which provides shade like the mombin tree in the savannah and allows others to grow, not a fig tree that drains the life out of nearby vegetation (this is a central conflict in many African historical kingdoms, such as the Kongo, where scholars like John K. Thornton have explained how royal power worked in that society along a continuum between absolute monarchy and democratic or decentralized authority). For his principles and tough rule, the African page in the play's concluding scene compares Christophe to Shango, the Yoruba orisha associated with thunder (relevant to the section of the play indicating how unrealistic Christophe is, forcing the laborers to continue working on the citadel during a thunderstorm), showing how Christophe was perhaps too much like thunder and lacked the levity of Baron Samedi or Eshu to show the people through the crossroads of national identity. In this regard, the fact that this play functions on so many levels reveals how it surpasses most of Walcott's Haitian Trilogy which is, at times, too harsh, or pessimistic. 

Overall, a short but ideologically dense work exploring history, the symbol of Haiti, African Diasporic ceremonies, and how power and the vision of a hero can isolate one from the masses the hero claims to protect. Christophe veers too far to the side of Shango, and certain 'forms' (again, paraphrasing Vastey) of rule along European models, which, combined with the various political intrigues of his court, the lack of support from Europe, and the central contradiction of his style of leadership with the rural masses he aims to build, provide a root for, Christohe's utter complexity as a full-fleshed out human being shines throughout this work. 

Favorite Quotes

Christophe: "Freedom, yes, but not an easy freedom. Which means that they need a State. Yes, my philosophjer friend, something that will enable this transplanted people to strike roots, to burgeon and flower, to fling the fruits and perfumes of its flowering into the face of the world, something which, to speak plainly, will oblige our people, by force if need be, to be born to itself, to surpass itself."

Christophe: Poor Africa! Poor Haiti, I mean. Anyway, it's the same thing. There: tribes, languages, rivers, castes, the jungle, village against village. Here: blacks, mulattoes, quadroons, witchdoctors and heaven knows what else, clans, castes, shades of color, distrust and competition, cock fights, docgs, fighting over bones, flea fights! (Roaring) Dust! Dust! All dust. No stone. Dust! Shit and dust!

Chanlatte: 

Oh sweet reeds ripening in the yellow plain!

Far off I hear a hundred presses sigh

Crushing the nectar fromt he knotted cane

Transformed to sugar, it glitters to the eye

Or trickling golden from the spigot hole

It bubbles up and overflows the bowl.

Second Peasant: But here's what I've been saying to myself: when we threw the whites into ht sea, it was to have this land for ourselves, not to slave for other people, even if they're as black as we are, but to have the land for ourselves like a wife.

Christophe: My court is a theatre of shadows.

Chanlatte:

Ye haughty foe of our triumphant rights

Abjure your errors and renounce your plans.

What can avail the poison of your helpless

Fury against the rock that bears this isle?

Vainly the winds rile up against King Neptune

One glance from him and all the oceans smile.

Les Léopards

Some lovey kadans from the Antilles with delightful saxphone. 

La Pati La Pata

One of my favorites from legendary Malavoi. This is also one of the more jazzy Malavoi songs I have heard, another example of how versatile the band was in playing the myriad styles of the Caribbean and jazz worlds.

More Malavoi

I have been listening to Malavoi's "Pousser la vie" on repeat today. Again, we see the band's penchant for fusing different sounds of the Caribbean and Black Atlantic (jazzy piano, Haitian compas, Martinique's history of violin and string music), and it pays off. The song's multi-layered, featuring restrained characteristically Malavoi elements  that succeed with a compas structure and pulsating drums.

La Filo

Another gem from Malavoi. This group has quickly become one of my favorite Caribbean musical groups.

Femme Martinique Doux

Now, this is the kind of jazzy Caribbean music I've been looking for! And listen to those drums! Rest in peace, Henri Debs.

Jou Ouvè

One of my favorite Malavoi songs, "Jou Ouvè" celebrates the beautiful daybreak in Martinique. The strings here add an element to the music that is reminiscent of Cuban danzón, but clearly rooted in Martinique's Creole language, music, and heritage. Brenda F. Berrian's detailed overview of the song alludes to the song's abundant language about gardens, flowers, tilling the soil, providing an intimate portrait of Martinique. 

Ten Jabon

I am quite fond of the singing of Louis Lahens and Gary French with any of Haiti's early compas bands, including one compas groups that brought the new sound to Martinique and Guadeloupe. In addition, that band also played boleros and other genres of Cuban music, showing how popular Cuban musical forms were throughout the Caribbean in the 1950s and 1960s. In addition, the band was always jazzy, partly due to excellent musicians like Felix Guignard. Hard not to get down to this gem. 

Alexandre Stellio

An enjoyable number that shows how biguine was played back in the 1930s. Very similar to jazz, too, particularly in the orchestra's instrumentation and improvisation. All these genres have similar origins, jazz, Haitian meringue, Cuban son, etc. 

Patrick Chamoiseau's School Days

“In those days, the blue-eyed Gaul with hair as yellow as wheat was everyone’s ancestor. In those days, Europeans were the founders of History. The world, once shrouded in darkness, began with them. Our islands had been veiled in a fog of nonexistence, crossed by phantom Caribs or Arawaks themselves lost in the obscurity of a cannibal nonhistory. And then, when the colonists arrived, there was light. Civilization. History. The humanization of the teeming Earth. They shouldered the heavy burden of this world they were raising to the lofty heights of consciousness. We had to strive stoutly so as not to abandon them to the solitude of this responsibility. The teacher wanted to carry the world on his shoulders, too” (121-22)

Chamoiseau’s account of his schoolboy days, School Days, translated by Linda Coverdale, is a touching narrative filled with adorable moments of youthful innocence, curiosity, adventure, and struggle. Like his other writings, his playful, unique style of writing that fuses humor  French, Creole, and inventive rhetoric to encapsulate another world succeeds brilliantly in School Days. As a child growing up in Fort-de-France, Martinique, Chamoiseau recounts his younger, preliterate days as a “little black boy” who irritated his mother and older siblings incessantly to have the chance to go to school. Once in school, however, his Creole worldview and self-identity is challenged by the institution’s Francophile nature and the Teacher’s attempts to make Frenchmen out of black, Creole-speaking students. Nevertheless, the sweet novel, though often heavily focused the destructive impact of the Francophilic tendencies of school on the language and identity of Martinique, exemplified by Big Bellybutton, a poor Creole-speaking child who ultimately concedes to the Teacher his inferiority as a poor, black Creole child coming out of the sugar cane shacks of colonial Martinique, can be seen as ending on a positive note through what may be termed as nascent créolité in that Chamoiseau articulates a fusion of the Creole language, mythology, and worldview of Big Bellybutton and his wannabe French Teacher. This fusion consists of not only the African and European elements of culture and language in Martinique, but also the Indian, Syrian, and indigenous Carib and Arawak presence in the history, cuisine and society of the Antilles.

Besides describing the important moment in his early school days when he would become a proponent of créolité, School Days is an artful example of storytelling that captures the world through a child’s eyes. He incorporates Creole phrases, mythology and magic into the story, evident in their belief in magic and quimboiseurs:

To tie up a Teacher (you’re not hearing this from me), you had to cross your fingers and hold them like that, thrust deep in your pockets; stand on your left food in front of the school; murmur over and over again before he appeared: Three dogs three cats tie up the Teacher…Three dogs three cats tie up the Teacher…Three dogs three cats tie up the teacher…(You didn't hear this from me…) (125).

This aforementioned adorable quote marks the belief by a young Chamoiseau, Big Bellybutton (whose ‘real’ French name is never mentioned, only the Creole Big Bellybutton) and other schoolboys in their ability to cause illness toward their Teacher, a Frenchman with black skin and a white mask to whom France was a magic word (108). The little Chamoiseau also had his adorable moments prior to school, scribbling on the walls of his home, persistently demanding of his mother, Mam Ninotte, to take him to school like the Big Kids, his older siblings, and strolling through the city streets as Syrian merchants, workers, and other adults carried on with the busy activities of the day. The student bullies, who persecute Big Bellybutton especially, also provide moments of comic relief when the latter pulls out a snake’s head to scare them away or when the poetic rejoinders of Les Respondeurs or Chamoiseau occasionally breaking his third-person narrative provide further commentary on the little black boy’s life.

Clearly, for Chamoiseau, learning to read and write was not just survival, or learning to live despite going to school to “shed bad manners: rowdy manners, nigger manners, Creole manner—all the same thing” (120). Survival entailed learning to thrive through new discourse, one partly indebted to the negritude past but inclusive of all of Martinique’s heterogeneous origins. Chamoiseau, while criticizing the schools’ attempts to make Gauls out of Martinique’s children, teaching them to see the world and read literature from French eyes, when winter snow and rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed days of blond childhood were never part of life for the overwhelming majority of Martinicans, nonetheless found value in the ability to transport oneself to new terrains, new worlds, beyond the island shores of his home. This necessitates a synthesis of Creole and French, the Caribbean and its diverse origins, to represent the world of his youth in this formative period of his schooling. Overall, this is a fascinating account worth reading by anyone even remotely interested in Martinique, French colonialism, Caribbean literature, or the magical realism of the lens of a bright child. To read it in English was utter delight, since Coverdale’s translation retains the artful blend of Martinican/Creole vocabulary with the collective voice of the narrator and Les Respondeurs in addition to Chamoiseau’s characteristic humor.

Patrick Chamoiseau's Strange Words

"One of these white folks had refused (as usual) to acknowledge the child he had fathered on his servant. Instead, he became the boy's godfather: a fancy way of washing his hands of him."

Patrick Chamoiseau's Strange Words, translated from French by Linda Coverdale, is his reinterpretation of Creole folktales of Martinique he heard as a child. It was also published in English as Creole Folktales. Writing down these orally-transmitted stories inherently changes the fundamental process through which these stories were told in Martinique, usually by a storyteller with an audience. Indeed, the storyteller also inserted him or herself into the tale, which Chamoiseau replicates in the written form, using several humorous self-referential statements regarding the storyteller's relation to characters in the story, for example.

Unfortunately, the tales themselves are quite short, and with only 12, the journey into the nighttime stories of Martinique ends just as its beginning. That said, these tales are often very dark and full of supernatural phenomena and magic, such as witches, zombi, demons, rainmakers, and tricksters. Indeed, this novel serves as a nice complementary reading to Chamoiseau's Solibo Magnifique, a short novel about the death of orality and the battle between the spoken Creole word and the colonial French written word. This collection of Creole folktales illustrates how these different languages and their respective worldviews fused to create them in the first place. Thus, Ti-Jean Horizon, the mulatto son of a slaveholder and a black slave, becomes a hero according to the trickster ideal in African-derived folklore, but uses his guile at the end of the tale to simply takeover the plantation of his beke father. If collective liberation were the ethos of this story, which was told in communal settings of slaves, how come an individual's escape from slavery would become more important than the liberation of all slaves on the plantation? Clearly, the individualism and rationalism of "the land of Descartes" clashes with African communalism and solidarity as well as clashing due to differing stances on supernatural occurrences.

Anyway, one should read this short collection of folktales to better understand the worldview and context of the lives of slaves and ex-slaves throughout Martinican history. The horrors of the slave trade, brutality and dehumanizing practices of white planters, poverty and hunger, and resilience of the people themselves become quite apparent. Moreover, women emerge as significant characters, often as female heads of their households. Now, this is not the place or time to discuss in depth gender dynamics in the colonial French Caribbean, but women in these stories run the gamut from helpless beauties to strong, independent heroines. Indeed, in many stories families are introduced with only a mother as the parent, and no mention of fathers appears, which, historically was related to lack of legitimacy in their unions with black men in the eyes of whites and the slave trade, but also related to rape and other factors. Beyond analyzing the stories for how they reveal the historical and cultural background of Martinique and the French Caribbean, these short stories are often fables with important morals against sins or defects like gluttony, or for simply explaining the origin of certain animals, the vegetation, etc. Overall, this was a fun, fast read that aroused the reader's hunger for more oral and written literature of the French Caribbean.