Since returning from Haiti only a few weeks ago, I have not found this reflection to be an easy thing to sit down and write. It is not that I don't have anything to say about my six or so weeks spent in the second independent nation founded in our hemisphere—it is rather that I have more to say than I feel words alone can tackle. After spending three weeks teaching at the music camp of the Ecole Ste. Trinité in Leogane, and another three weeks at the Ecole de Musique Dessaix Baptiste in Jacmel, I can only look back on my summer with feelings of accomplishment as well as gratitude and I would like to share a few reasons why.
Pedagogically, my experiences this summer could never be replicated. To have the experience of teaching western music all on my own—in a certainly less than an ideal “classroom”—was exciting, challenging and as eye-opening as any pedagogy class I have had at Lawrence. Every day in Leogane, I taught numerous lessons to flutists ranging in age from 12 to 22 with as varied ability levels as one can imagine. At both music camps I played alongside my students in band and orchestra, which allowed me to better pinpoint each flutist's individual strengths and weaknesses. I conducted woodwind sectionals on a regular basis and had to familiarize myself with the fixed-do system in addition to the Creole language spoken in Haiti. In Jacmel, I even gained experience conducting one of the younger bands. I couldn't help but feel a little selfish as I began to realize that this was as much of a learning experience for me as it was for my many many students.
Of course there were less “teachery” things that I took from this experience, too, and these are what have felt daunting to write about. This was, for me, my first extended stay out of the country. It was also my first time in the Caribbean—which is at all times hotter and more humid than even the worst of August in the Midwest. There were the little things that settled into place quickly: a new sleep schedule (teaching at 6:30 am sometimes!), a new diet and meal system, and conducting lessons and rehearsals in a language foreign to me. Some other things, however, took more time to become natural.
At the risk of stating the obvious—the way of life for the average Haitian is very different from my way of life as an average American. The number of people buzzing around the open-air markets that erupt every morning in the streets of town is incredible. Some would be selling clothes, others bread, avocados, phone calls, laundry soap or chickens (dead and alive). On a jaunt that a few of us took to see some local art, we made our way out of town and after weaving between the homes of many families came across a man who had recently butchered a cow. “Good afternoon,” we exchanged in Creole, as if there was nothing unusual about cleaning a cow head and having a bucket of cow stomachs just outside one's front door. Running water was not always a given; I mastered the technique of “bucket flushing” as well as taking a shower with only a small amount of water and a cup. To get a ride somewhere meant climbing in the back of a Tap-Tap, a pickup truck, and bracing for a bumpy ride. Haitians call these trucks “Tap-Taps” because when a passenger wants to get off they tap the side of the truck as a signal for the chauffeur to stop.
One of my favorite parts of my experience in Haiti was going on daytime “adventures” during the weekends in Jacmel. We hiked out of town, along the coastline, and up mountains to see more of the country. I found these hikes to be particularly peaceful and reflective; they were a chance for me to soak in “the real Haiti” and appreciate the land's beauty while seeing some of rural life in the country. Early on our last Saturday morning a veteran Haiti volunteer, Paul, accompanied me on a hike. We walked out of town and across two or three shallow rivers that flow from high in the mountains down to the Caribbean. Following a walking path used mostly by Haitians bringing goods into town, we came across a woman heating her kettle to cook Paté, a pastry usually filled with meat or cabbage and fried in grease. She invited us to sit with her while she carefully rolled out the dough and folded the edges over the contents she placed inside. Her children giggled coyly and peered out from around door frames. Paul's Creole being much better than mine, he asked the children questions and talked with the woman about the growing costs of food and how she was affected by it. We stayed until the first batch of pastries were cooked. Paul purchased two for us as well as one for a young woman waiting with us. We said thank you and continued on our walk.
My hike that morning was arguably not as exciting as swimming in a freshwater oasis with a waterfall at the top of a mountain, or seeing the remains of an old abandoned fort that was built following the Haitian revolution at the turn of the 19th century, however, it has stuck with me. This exchange, common-place and mundane as it may have been, had great meaning. The woman appreciated our company and wanted Paul and I to hear about her troubles with rising food prices. We were happy to listen. I found it remarkably different to hear about these sorts of situations from one person, cooking food, than from Google News or the New York Times. This wasn't a riotous incident, or part of headline news—just one person talking to another saying, “This is hard, and I appreciate you listening.” Her warm, welcoming smile and her willingness to let her children talk to the “blan” or white people, was very meaningful to me, as well. There was a comfort in sitting on this woman's stoop that I appreciated and that I will hold in my memory always.
Looking back, I gained professional experiences teaching in Haiti that were as valuable to me as any observation, lecture or practicum I have had during my Lawrence student career. I clocked countless hours teaching lessons, coaching sectionals, running rehearsals, playing duets and inspiring kids to dig further into music. Additionally, I learned about my own strengths and weaknesses as a teacher—even before my student teaching experience. Equally important to me were the experiences I had outside of the classroom. Meeting people both associated and unassociated with the music schools was always rewarding and interesting. Living in and experiencing another culture, especially a culture which has had a long history of political and economic hardships challenging its very existence, was educational, emotionally trying and extremely rewarding. Since returning from Haiti I can't keep myself from sharing my experiences with everyone I know. My summer ignited in me a passion for teaching that I didn't know I could have along with a curiosity to learn more about Haitian history and culture. I would highly encourage any music educator or music education student who is considering this trip to go ahead and do it. It was a life changing experience for not only my students, but for me as well, and I am grateful to the many Haitians who made this adventure so rewarding.
