My name is Paul and I’m a senior BA of music major here at Lawrence. This past summer I traveled to Haiti with Lawrence Cello Professor Janet Anthony to volunteer at the Dessaix Baptiste School of Music in Jacmel, Haiti. During the month that I was there I witnessed a remarkable change in the way I viewed my study of music as well as how I saw myself as a musician. Studying music always seemed to me a bit self-indulgent in light of larger world issues, but I’ve since seen the value of music education and the true importance of art even amidst some of the greatest social struggles.
Looking out the window as we drove through the streets of Port Au Prince I was overwhelmed by the extent and severity of the poverty in Haiti. The women flanking the streets with their piles of fruit and vegetables, the off-kilter houses with shoddy gates and makeshift roofs, and the trash and filth that seemed to be inescapable all were part of a harsh reality that is unmistakable to any outsider. I spent one night at St. Trinite School of Music in Port Au Prince along with two other volunteers – one cello professor from Pennsylvania and one violinist from Canada – before we went to Jacmel.
In the two-hour drive to Jacmel I saw the tremendous beauty of the Haitian countryside. The mountain roads gave us a clear view of a veritable paradise landscape that was a stark contrast from the crowded dirty streets of Port Au Prince. There is a constant duality in Haiti between indescribable beauty and incessant struggle that consistently shaped my experiences there.
At the Dessaix Baptiste School I was working as a volunteer teacher with a staff of mostly Haitian musicians as well as volunteers from America, Canada, and Cuba. We were there for the school’s summer music program. With no teaching experience and a miniscule amount of Creole under my belt, I was understandably anxious about teaching at first. I didn’t have much time to worry about that though, because within the first hour after arriving in Jacmel I was given a brief tour of the school and quickly introduced to my guitar students – a wide-eyed group of 5 Haitian boys, ages 8-10, tinkering on their beginner guitars, which they had received only a few days earlier. They became my little protégés throughout that month, as I taught them the basics of classical guitar as well as basic music theory and rhythm. As cliché as it may sound, I truly learned as much from them as they did from me and their level of enthusiasm and concentration (usually) was remarkable to me to see in such young kids. They were patient as I tried to communicate things in Creole, though they were not afraid to laugh at me when I chastised one of them for letting his guitar die. (In Creole; mouye = wet and mouri = to die)
Our ‘studio’ was the back of an old machine shop, half of which was covered by a leaky tin roof. There was a hole in the back wall where the neighbor’s chickens would occasionally wander in and cause a scene as they tried to find their way back. There was also a giant tree in the middle that grew what they called ‘lam.’ The softball-sized vegetables would occasionally drop from the trees onto the tin roof and cause everyone to gasp for a split second before returning to work. It was a far cry from the practice rooms and lecture halls at Lawrence, but I was apparently the only one who saw anything odd about it and in fact I grew to love it by the end of the month.
The youngest boy in the group was named Junior. He was the smallest of all my students and the quietest. As I began teaching them I soon realized that he was one of the most gifted kids I’ve ever met. He was like a sponge with everything I showed him, quickly absorbing it and wanting to move on to the next step. I would occasionally catch him thumbing through my guitar books for new music to practice when he would get bored. It was incredible for me to witness someone in a place like Haiti with so much natural musical talent and I felt honored in a way to have a hand in bringing it out of him. There’s no doubt in my mind that with continuous exposure to music education, Junior will become an incredible musician when he grows up.
Though most of my day was spent teaching guitar, in the afternoon and evenings I taught music theory and even some jazz and improvisation to some of the younger teachers there. I served as a sort of tutor during Prof. Anthony’s theory lessons as I struggled to dig up all of my knowledge from my freshman year theory courses. In talking with some of the teachers I found that many of them were interested in learning jazz. Though I had studied jazz theory and composition at Lawrence I had basically given it up for the sake of other pursuits, and thus I was hardly expecting it to have a large part in my work in Haiti. Still, the eagerness of these musicians to learn jazz was infectious and I got a hold of a book of Jazz standards and began holding evening theory classes and improv sessions with a group of saxophonists and a random assortment of instrumentalists who wanted to join in.
I also found myself on the last few days there working with Scandor, a trumpet teacher at the school with a desire to compose. He approached me two days before I was scheduled to leave and although his understanding of harmonies was a bit lacking, we went through some steps of simple arranging so that he could write some music for his church that he worked at.
Some of my favorite times at the school were the concerts and recitals that were held at the end of each week. Friday nights were student and faculty performances – some of which lasted up to three hours – and Saturday the ensembles would perform. One of my guitar students, Dieumson, was twenty years old and he was a beginner along with the little kids. On one of the last concerts we performed a duet that he had worked on to a packed house at the school. His hands were shaking and he had a look of terror on his face, but when we finished he was smiling uncontrollably while the audience roared with delight – as they tended to do for every performance. It was a completely new experience for him and after that he began practicing more intensely than ever before.
I was kindly given the opportunity, despite my reluctance, to play percussion in the orchestra on their final performance. Prof. Anthony conducted the ensemble and was in need of an auxiliary percussionist. I also played guitar in the big band that had formed during the camp. The group struggled at first to get started, but the first performance was like nothing I had ever seen. The audience at the school nearly broke out into a riot after the group finished. I joked with Janet that it was probably the only time I’d seen Stravinsky shown up by a twelve-bar blues. In America where music is accessible everywhere – via cd players, ipods, concert halls, clubs, etc. – it’s very easy to passively listen to even the most gripping performances. In Haiti music is infectious. In the streets or in the school, it seemed difficult for anyone to pass by a rehearsal or even a small radio playing Konpa music without dancing a few steps.
I recall one day when all the staff took a trip to one of the most beautiful secluded beaches I had ever seen. Because my Creole was still developing I misunderstood the details of our excursion and brought my guitar along on what I thought would be a leisurely walk to the beach. After more than two hours of trekking through the mountains in the blazing hot sun – even fording a small river – we finally reached our destination. Perhaps a little bit out of frustration, I soon stole away from the group and sat down on a small road leading to a village to play my guitar that had just caused me so much trouble on the way there. Soon, a small group of local boys wandered up to where I was. They were completely silent as I plucked out an old folk song on my guitar. When I finished they just watched expectantly smiling to one another, so I played another song. I played for close to 15 minutes, as they all were completely mesmerized by the site of this strange ‘blan’ playing guitar. We spoke a little bit and they eventually went on their way, but seeing them listen to me was enough to make me glad I had brought my guitar along.
Between guitar lessons, theory classes, jazz lessons, and my brief work with Scandor, I saw every aspect of my musical education take on a new level of importance and meaning for me. Suddenly the feeling of music being somewhat self-indulgent seemed to me a rather silly notion as I realized the power of music education and the amazing things that it can accomplish. Experiencing the cultural life in Haiti was such a rich experience it’s difficult to write it all down. All in all, I returned with a greater understanding of my own music and my work here at Lawrence as well as a new love for a place I hardly knew existed.
