VoicesfromHaïti ~ Nou bèl. E Nou La.

Haiti and MIT Join Forces to Promote Education in Kreyòl

voicesfromhaiti — Tue, 21 May 2013 23:24:56 +0000

Michel DeGraff (MIT photo)

Read VoicesfromHaiti’s INNERview with MIT Linguistics Professor, Michel DeGraff:

Michel DeGraff: “Our Word is Our Bond”

Read the VoicesfromHaiti (August 2011) INNERview here: http://www.voicesfromhaiti.com/inner-views/michel-degraff-mit-linguistics-professor-our-word-is-our-bond/

Congratulations Professor DeGraff!!!

Initiative designed to help Haitians gain technical education.

http://web.mit.edu/newsoffice/2013/mit-haiti-initiative-0417.html

Vive Haiti! Flag Day 2013

voicesfromhaiti — Sat, 18 May 2013 12:22:53 +0000

Don’t forget to wear your colors today. Let’s celebrate Haiti’s Flag Day together–wherever you may be.

Good morning Haitian People! Good morning all friends of Haiti! Rise and glow. It’s an exciting day to be alive, of course it is. I know we haven’t posted anything on VoicesfromHaiti lately, but there’s work going on.

Soon, good things will come to you (with crushed rapadou on top). In the meantime, let’s celebrate our beloved patrie together. This is May 18: Flag Day. No Flag Day would be complete without our National Anthem: La Dessalinienne.

Catherine Flon sewed the first Haitian flag on May 18, 1803. VoicesfromHaiti celebrates this fearless ancestor’s memory today.

When I belted out my rendition of our Anthem acappella, I was trying to be so artistic with all the sun blasting in from the blinds. It looks weird now, but hey… it was a moment. Can’t take back moments. So, get up. Yes, you! I want you to get off that couch/bed/hammock/tree trunk, and sing our National Anthem with me. Come on, don’t make me come get you.

Stand on your feet, if you can. Place your right hand over your heart. Belt it out: Three, Two, One. Go!

Jany Tomba sporting her blue and red.

Pour le Pays, Pour les ancêtres,
Marchons unis, Marchons unis.
Dans nos rangs point de traîtres!
Du sol soyons seuls maîtres.
Marchons unis, Marchons unis
Pour le Pays, Pour les ancêtres,
Marchons, marchons, marchons unis,
Pour le Pays, Pour les ancêtres.

Irmina Ulysse, dancing for Haiti again and again.

Pour les Aïeux, pour la Patrie
Bêchons joyeux, bêchons joyeux
Quand le champ fructifie
L’âme se fortifie
Bêchons joyeux, bêchons joyeux
Pour les Aïeux, pour la Patrie
Bêchons, bêchons, bêchons joyeux
Pour les Aïeux, pour la Patrie.

VoicesfromHaiti’s symbol, The Hummingbird, was created by celebrated artist: Mirlande Jean-Gilles.

Pour le Pays et pour nos Pères
Formons des Fils, formons des Fils
Libres, forts et prospères
Toujours nous serons frères
Formons des Fils, formons des Fils
Pour le Pays et pour nos Pères
Formons, formons, formons des Fils
Pour le Pays et pour nos Pères.

Chef Elle Philippe wearing her Haitian flag-inspired toque.

Pour les Aïeux, pour la Patrie
O Dieu des Preux, O Dieu des Preux!
Sous ta garde infinie
Prends nos droits, notre vie
O Dieu des Preux, O Dieu des Preux!
Pour les Aïeux, pour la Patrie
O Dieu, O Dieu, O Dieu des Preux
Pour les Aïeux, pour la Patrie.

Of course, I want you to buy my children’s book: Fabiola Can Count. It is part of a series on Haiti. Ask your favorite bookseller for a copy. Or two. Or 10;-)

Pour le Drapeau, pour la Patrie
Mourir est beau, mourir est beau!
Notre passé nous crie:
Ayez l’âme aguerrie!
Mourir est beau, mourir est beau
Pour le Drapeau, pour la Patrie
Mourir, mourir, mourir est beau
Pour le Drapeau, pour la Patrie.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Mousse au Citron

voicesfromhaiti — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 03:01:34 +0000

Ask most people what they do with the lemons life gives them. By now the entire world has learned how to make lemonade. I’ve got a few pitchers ready to go. How about you? Before you ask Elle Philippe that same question, find a comfortable chair. Get a good pen and a large notepad. Her response will not be brief.

When you’re in the food business–or any business, your goal is to make customers happy. For this reason, Elle would make a pitcher of lemonade just for you; of course, she would. She would even raise her glass and propose a toast to all the lemon growers of the world. Then, her creative side would take over. In no time at all, a procession of delicacies would appear: lemon tassies, lemon terrine, lemon soufflé, lemon bars, lemon tea, lemon martini, candied lemon peels. Gee, that’s just super, Elle! But what about the seeds? What can you do with the seeds?

“Stay tuned,” Elle would tell you in a voice accented by years of venturing into all corners of the world. In a few seconds, she would have thought of a hundred ways to turn the seeds into something irresistible. What else do you do when your first name is a personal pronoun that stands for unapologetically feminine?

Meet Elle Philippe, if you haven’t already. She’s a compatriot. A daughter. A sister. A mom. A creator of dreams at: Chez Elle. Read her VoicesfromHaiti INNERview here. Bon Appetit!

Playing Games at 90 ~Felicie M.

voicesfromhaiti — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 17:07:09 +0000

It’s been one year and a day since my grandmother passed away. I cannot think of a better to start the month of April on VoicesfromHaiti than by sharing this post. I wrote it five months before she took her final breath. She liked this post. She liked the picture of herself laughing. She liked to laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PLAYING GAMES AT 90

When you’re 90 years old and in the Medical Intensive Care Unit, there’s not a whole lot to do. You watch. Doctors and nurses file in. Lost visitors apologize for coming into your room. They ask you for directions, but you don’t respond. You can’t respond. The nurses prod you. They turn you this way and that. They put needles in your fingers. Needles in your veins. They watch you. You watch them. With eyes shut, you don’t stop watching.

Your “assisted” breathing rises and falls like that Tim McGraw song:Live Like You Were Dying. You listen for the slightest shift in the rhythm. You bob your head slowly. Faintly. Barely noticeably. If you like to play with words, you might realize that most of the words you use lately end with the letter y. But you don’t ask Why. You understand endings.

Two family members are there. They sit. They sit. They sit and they watch. It’s the only game to play in the sometime Goodbye Room: The ICU in sunny Miami is packed with patients. There’s not a vacant bed. There are Abuelitas, grand-dads, grandmeres, and a few “I told you not to get on that damn motorcycle!”

The solemn visitors–too jittery to sit in place for too long–pace the antiseptic hallways, talking to themselves. Talking to God. Asking why? Why?

Some slap their hands against the tears wetting their cheeks. Tears are not welcome. Not now. Not yet. But the tears don’t listen.

Back in your grandmere’s room, eyelids are like slats of Venetian blinds that are closed for the night. No one can see inside. No one sees what the patient sees behind her own closed eyes.

Is she somewhere inside the wired and bandaged body, laughing. Cackling like a child: I see you, but you can’t see me. ICU. . . Ha!

Women like her always get the last laugh.

“It’s hard to believe she’s in her 90s,” a nurse says. “There’s not a wrinkle on her face. Not one.”

“Are you her granddaughter?” another nurse asks.

Each nurse who comes asks the same: Are you her granddaughter? Oh..Yes, of course, you are.

“You look just like her,” the man nurse says.

You thank the nurses. You’re careful to be exceedingly polite. They are there when you’re not. So, you thank them again and again. Profusely. You treat them as you would angels. Guardian angels. And you hope that the nurses believe you do think so highly of them.

Seven days on the “Life Support” machine. You keep watching.

“Is she still breathing?” a new visitor asks.

“Of course, she’s breathing,” you almost scream.

You study the numbers that display the patient’s vitals on a monitor by her bed: heart rate, blood pressure, pulse, etc. You listen for the beeping signals. You pray against the flashing red lights. Your eyes move in time to the squiggly lines that go up and down like mountains; you watch as the lines go flat like valleys, and back up again.

You know this patient will not die. Not like this. This patient will live. She will live even if she dies–just like this.

She’s an original fanm vayan. She is fierce. Frail but fierce. Such women tend to live forever. They leave a trace. They leave their mark.

They stay with you.

Always.

“The patient looks better,” someone says. “But she’s not out of the woods yet.”

“Of course, she’s not out of the woods. She is from Haiti,” you remind them. “She was born in a Lakou with lots of sprawling trees. She loves the woods.”

Kreyòl Pale. Kreyòl Konprann: Men yon ti istwa folklorik mwen pote pou nou

voicesfromhaiti — Tue, 26 Mar 2013 15:51:27 +0000

Pou tout Ayisyen toupatou, men yon ti istwa folklorik mwen pote pou ou jounen jodiya. Si se Angle ou pale, mwen rakonte menm istwa sa a sou lòt lien wap jwenn anba videyo sa a. Ou konnen mwen pa tap janm kite mwa’d mas fini san nou pa koze.

Mèsi a tout moun ki toujou vizite www.VoicesfromHaiti.com. Fwend nou sou Facebook tou, si lide w di w. Wa jwenn nouriti pou namn ou. Epitou, si ou ta renmen ajoute vwa w sou VoicesfromHaiti, voye tèks an Kreyòl ou byen an angle. Si nou ka pibliye tèks la, na p twò kontan fè sa. Mwen paka tann pou nou koze ankò. Ok, moun lakay yo, jwèt pou ou. ~ Katia D. Ulysse

If English is your language, click here for the same story.