Where women go to pray

Lessons of resistance in Haiti

“I have been to the mountaintop.”

Martin Luther King Jr

All over Haiti, at sunset, women go to Prayer Hills. They stand arms towards the sky in worship.  They lie on the ground and pray to a God that one might think had forgotten them.  They sing.  They sit alone or with others.   Their faith, against all odds, mixes with the beauty of the surrounding countryside.   

These churches have no walls or creeds or priests.   The churches of Haiti; the ones the mission groups often support, are exclusive.   A poor woman with no church clothes or shoes would not be welcome there.  Being able to afford to go to church is a status symbol.  

The poorest little girls in a village are never invited to dance for the priest.  The little girls from “better” families are imported for the occasion.   A poor disable boy in rags is removed from church. 

But the women, their hearts so close to God, find a way.  After hours of work in gardens and yard and walking to get water, they go to a hill where the spirit of God welcomes them with love and grace. 

As the sun sets, in my country, we are in cars or on buses.  We head for bars or coffee shops or cafes.  We go to gyms or classes or out for a run.  I try to find the “prayer” hill in my community.   I try to find that collective “yes”.

Our churches are mostly locked. 

People say they are spiritual but not religious. 

Our views; the places to inspire and comfort us are covered by high rises. 

Praying in public is not exactly encouraged. 

In Haiti, the church tried to deny women prayer but they resisted and found places of prayer and community anyway.  These women, on the Prayer Hills of Haiti are so inspirational.  They defied all the class barriers and the priests and found a way to pray.  No building. No stained class windows or priests.    Just women on a hill about as close to God as one can be. 

In my city, I try to find my Prayer Hill.  The thing about a Prayer Hill is that it is public.  You’re with other people.   Its outdoors.  I find myself heading to this one dog park at sunset.   I could walk my dog in the forest but I want the Prayer Hill so I walk quietly surrounded by dog owners and their dogs.  It’s the closest I can get. 

Voodoo

Some may think the women on the hill are practicing voodoo. because they are outside and are not in a formal church.   It is hard for any non-Haitien to ever understand voodoo.  Simply put, it was the religion the African people brought with them during slavery.  It later became infused with Christianity.     

Here’s something to consider.   Imagine you are a young man in Africa and someone captures you and sells you to Europeans because their Dad is mad at your Dad.   The slave trade, I learned in Ghana, was filled with revenges between people who were mad at each other.  And so it seemed that a person could really put a bad curse on you – so bad that you were put in a ship and never saw your family again.  If Haitians believe people can hurt them when they are mad at them, they have centuries of evidence.  

Currently the Republicans have waged a war of fear.  They want us to believe that certain people are a curse; that healthcare for all is a curse.  They fill our screens with fear and revenge.  They have filled us with fear about not having enough, even though we are piled high with things.  The Republicans have used hate to control and curse us, even as slave owners used fear and retaliation.

RESIST

When Haitien women were denied access to churches, they made their own.    Their faith more powerful than the fear. 

Learning to resist in hard times - lessons from Haiti's women

Learning to resist in hard times - lessons from Haiti's women

The night calls to me with songs from neighboring lakou-s; songs that drift through our open doors and windows.  I am packing to go home; unsure for the first time in my life what stepping onto US soil means.  The country of my birth, deeply torn by its inability to unite in a common definition of democracy rips at the core of our beliefs.   But this last night in Haiti, I am rocked to sleep, by the songs that have accompanied their struggle for centuries.  I try to hold these songs deep within me, so that when I return to my own country, I will be strong.

I am in Haiti during the Women’s March on Washington D.C.   I sit with women,  at the table and watch on a telephone.  We feel pride as well as confusion and fear.  The house is quiet.  Later we take a photo so Haiti is represented in the global support for women.  We write “Womens Rights are Human Right’s “ on a dry erase board and stand in front of the old pink mobile clinic jeep.  

When I first came to Haiti, I was overwhelmed by the death and despair and inequity.   But then I began to see the strength, the cooperation and the remarkable tools of resistance created, over time, of Haiti's women.  I began to see. 

Over the years, I have watched and learned about how Haiti’s women resist and declare their independence in the midst of the most difficult circumstances.  I am a student of Haiti’s resistance and collective empowerment.   It is not easy to grasp because, out of necessity, it has become woven into the day to day life of women who each day cover well worn mountain paths and cross countless streams on the way to market and farm.

As I try to chart a path of resistance, in my own country, I wander down the path of Haiti’s history and the women who created it.  

My granddaughter says I want to hug Grandma because she will smell like Haiti when she first comes home.  She tells her mother, "I want to smell the Haiti on her."  I cannot bare to loose the smell of Haiti and so before it slips away, I am going to try to share with you the lessons I have learned about how women can resist under impossible odds.  Lessons that I hope will stay with me, long after the delicious fragrances of food and farm and road and air are gone.