that’s what we do: we kiss

As a child, I usually found it quite fun being a girl. Growing up with two brothers had its perks: I got to do all the girly things that girls do (dressing up, playing with dolls, etc), but I also got to get dirty and do all the things that the boys did too. It was the best of both worlds. Usually.

I was raised to be a good little Haitian girl, and as such I was required to greet (“saluer“) all adults properly. “Properly” greeting a grown-up by Haitian standards means that the younger person should greet each adult in a room (or a group) individually. Boys had the pleasure of shaking hands with the men and kissing the women on the cheek. Girls had to kiss every single adult present, male and female. Oh, how I longed to be a boy in those moments!

Usually with my mom’s friends, the ritual involved said kissing followed by a sort of “Show and Tell”. I would stand there, my mom would share “important” highlights of my current life using my Haitian nickname (which by the way 90% of Haitian-Americans have): “Gigi had 2nd honors this quarter, if it wasn’t for Conduct, she would have had 1st honors; AND she’s almost the same shoe size as me!”. Her friends would respond: “It’s good to be smart, Gigi!…but you shouldn’t talk so much in class”, “Ah, li grandie!“, etc. This was usually followed by a brief “Question and Answer” session directed at me: “So…tell me…do you have a boyfriend at school?” or “Would you like if I bring over some of my old shoes?”. The whole episode was quite embarrassing.

My dad would have his friends over periodically for a good old fashion game of Dominoes. The event was somewhat akin to “Poker Night” in American culture. The players were all men. Whenever we kids had to greet them, I was so jealous of my brothers. They would saunter through the room shaking everyone’s hands and then run off to play. I, however, had to go cheek to cheek to cheek to cheek… *sigh*

I dreaded the whole scene. It took forever (compared to my brothers) to greet in this way; I wanted to run off and play too! And it wasn’t just that; I had an issue with the whole “closeness-to-people-I-don’t-know” thing. There were times I had to kiss beard stubble! (Ugh!) Sometimes the men smelled like, uh, they had a long day; other times i found that grown-ups smelled too “good” – like they took a bath in a tub of cologne or something. It didn’t take much to gross me out.

how i felt

I didn’t yet know about the cheek to cheek kiss, which would have helped me out a lot back then, but I did sometimes do my version of an “air kiss.” I would approach the adult whom I had deemed gross for whatever reason, and ACT like I planted a kiss on their cheek, but never actually made contact at all. I’m not sure if they noticed it or not, but I thought I was pretty slick since it never came back to haunt me.

Today, I believe the rules are still the same in the Haitian culture. I still greet older Haitians with an actual kiss on the cheek (I’ve outgrown the air kiss). My tolerance level has improved, I suppose, because I don’t find it to be such a chore anymore. Occasionally, I’ll implement the cheek to cheek kiss, but kissing to greet my Haitian elders has become natural for me.

My (half-Haitian, half-American) kids greet people according to the cultural norms that the person being greeted is used to. My children are required to “saluer” all Haitian adults Haitian-style ( I don’t really require them to do this for first generation Haitian adults, though, as it is not really the American way). This requirement, however, does not hold true for American adults (although, they are required to kiss American family). When kissing is required of them, my boys have been taught to shake the hands of men (look them in the eye, and give a firm shake), and kiss the cheeks of women; and my daughter has been taught to kiss the cheeks of both women and men. When they don’t have to kiss, they are expected to speak – there is still some form of greeting that goes on. And I admit: I have, at times, been guilty of using my kids for “Show and Tell”. Sue me.

If you asked me as a child, I would have told you that my kids would never have to kiss anyone ever; and that I would never ever use them as the subject for “Show and Tell”, but maturity changes things. I hope that my daughter doesn’t dread this ritual as I did. But, hey, at least she has far fewer people to kiss…and like me, she will survive it.

we all survive it in the end

Did you have to “saluer” like I did growing up? Were you often a “Show and Tell” item? Did you mind any of it? What do you require of your children when greeting your family and friends?

 

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Faux Haiti

The battle of the Caribbean islands was on!

 

It all started when my in- laws coordinated a trip to their country of origin, Trinidad and Tobago.  They wanted their grandchildren to see and get to know their life journey. It was great trip with lots food, fun, and of course being with family.  It got me to thinking that it was equally important for my kids to get to know my parents’ country of origin, Haiti.

So what does a fully assimilated Haitian-American do to make that happen?

I booked a cruise, of course.

 

Now, I had set my expectations of Haiti very high. I was 6 years old the last time I had visited. I mean on a scale of 1-10, it was on one million.  What life has taught me is that the higher the expectations, the more likely you are to be disappointed.  I brought it on myself and that is exactly what happened when we docked in Labadee, Haiti. As we approached Haiti on Day 3,  I was struck by the beauty of the mountains and how picturesque the scenery was. Then out of nowhere a dark cloud appeared over us and began a torrential downpour, an ominous sign indeed.

So back to the cruise, before I get into the nitty gritty and you may feel the need to comment about how I went about it all wrong. You are right. Who asked you anyway?  The lesson in this is NEVER take a cruise line to a country if you really want to get a feel for the culture. That was my biggest mistake.

 So we arrive in Labadee Haiti, a privately owned island, sanctioned by the cruise line in a torrential downpour. I figure since we had been on that boat for 3 days, We ARE getting off.  We are greeted by a group of men singing “Guantanamera”. I did one of those gestures where you look back and then in front of you a few times, like “What in the world? Is this for real?” I understand Haitian music is a unique blend of African, Spanish, and French rhythms but I anticipated compas/kompa upon my arrival.

 We just continued on our way but that experience was just the tip of the iceberg. However, I made sure to make eye contact as if somehow they could read my mind.

There were signs directing us to a marketplace area where we could buy from the locals. Prior to departure, it was explained that the vendors were “cruise line” approved. In other words, you had to go through a vetting process in order to work on Labadee.  As we strolled through the marketplace, I am accustomed to vendors trying to get my attention, the other guests of the cruise, weren’t so pleased. I almost wanted to yell ” Stop it, we are better than this!”.

I wanted to pick a bottle of rum, so I stepped into a small store and begin to peruse the merchandise. I don’t know who decided it would be a good idea to put a picture of Bob Marley on souvenirs with the caption ” Labadee, Haiti”.  I love Bob Marley like the next person, but I also know he is NOT Haitian.  This was not isolated either, it was everywhere.  There is so much more to Haitian culture that there is no reason to culturally misappropriate individuals.

We have so much we could be proud of as outlined in : 

Telling Our Story

, but here are a just a few facts to share.

–Native Haitians were pre-Columbian Ameridian named Taino/Arawak both meaning the good people.
–Haiti is the most mountainous country in the Caribbean.
–Haiti has the second longest coastline in the Caribbean after Cuba; 1.100 miles. Over 70% of its beaches are still virgin.
–Haiti was the second country in the world to issue a Declaration of Independence, only 33 years after the United States of America.
–The first and only country in the history of mankind whose independence is the result of a successful slave rebellion.
–Haiti is the first Black Republic in the World.
–The first country in the Western Hemisphere to abolished slavery; it would take the United States of America another 65 years to follow suit.
–The first and only Black Nation to have successfully defeated a major world power in a war; under the command of Jean Jacques Dessalines, Haiti defeated the world mightiest army at the time, France’s; on November 18th 1803 after 14 years of battle.
-The only country in the Western Hemisphere to have defeated three colonial armies for its independence. The powerful armies of Spain, England and France.
-Haiti is unique in history, going directly from slavery to nationhood.
–The National flag of Venezuela was created at the sea port of  Jacmel, a city in  south east Haiti.

–Upon Independence, Haiti became the first country in the American Continent to constitutionally grant all Its citizen full rights regardless of gender or race.
–Haiti occupied the Dominican Republic for 22 years. From 1822 to 1844, holding the entire Island of Hispaniola under Its jurisdiction. Today’s Dominican Republic was called Spanish Haiti at the time.
–Haiti is one of the only two countries in the American Continent having French as an official language. The other is Canada.
–Haiti is the only country in the world with Vodou as an official religion.
–For much of the 17th and the 18th century, Haiti was responsible for 60% of the world’s  coffee exports.

 Even though, things were not perfect or realistic for that matter, it meant a lot to me to be able to share the experience with my family. Clearly, I need a trip to Haiti do over and when I do, you will be the first to know.

Have you ever visited a place that didn’t quite live up to your expectations? How did you reconcile your expectations with the reality? I would love to hear your comments and ideas for my do over trip:).

 

 

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that’s what we do: we kiss

As a child, I usually found it quite fun being a girl. Growing up with two brothers had its perks: I got to do all the girly things that girls do (dressing up, playing with dolls, etc), but I also got to get dirty and do all the things that the boys did too. It was the best of both worlds. Usually.

I was raised to be a good little Haitian girl, and as such I was required to greet (“saluer“) all adults properly. “Properly” greeting a grown-up by Haitian standards means that the younger person should greet each adult in a room (or a group) individually. Boys had the pleasure of shaking hands with the men and kissing the women on the cheek. Girls had to kiss every single adult present, male and female. Oh, how I longed to be a boy in those moments!

Usually with my mom’s friends, the ritual involved said kissing followed by a sort of “Show and Tell”. I would stand there, my mom would share “important” highlights of my current life using my Haitian nickname (which by the way 90% of Haitian-Americans have): “Gigi had 2nd honors this quarter, if it wasn’t for Conduct, she would have had 1st honors; AND she’s almost the same shoe size as me!”. Her friends would respond: “It’s good to be smart, Gigi!…but you shouldn’t talk so much in class”, “Ah, li grandie!“, etc. This was usually followed by a brief “Question and Answer” session directed at me: “So…tell me…do you have a boyfriend at school?” or “Would you like if I bring over some of my old shoes?”. The whole episode was quite embarrassing.

My dad would have his friends over periodically for a good old fashion game of Dominoes. The event was somewhat akin to “Poker Night” in American culture. The players were all men. Whenever we kids had to greet them, I was so jealous of my brothers. They would saunter through the room shaking everyone’s hands and then run off to play. I, however, had to go cheek to cheek to cheek to cheek… *sigh*

I dreaded the whole scene. It took forever (compared to my brothers) to greet in this way; I wanted to run off and play too! And it wasn’t just that; I had an issue with the whole “closeness-to-people-I-don’t-know” thing. There were times I had to kiss beard stubble! (Ugh!) Sometimes the men smelled like, uh, they had a long day; other times i found that grown-ups smelled too “good” – like they took a bath in a tub of cologne or something. It didn’t take much to gross me out.

how i felt

I didn’t yet know about the cheek to cheek kiss, which would have helped me out a lot back then, but I did sometimes do my version of an “air kiss.” I would approach the adult whom I had deemed gross for whatever reason, and ACT like I planted a kiss on their cheek, but never actually made contact at all. I’m not sure if they noticed it or not, but I thought I was pretty slick since it never came back to haunt me.

Today, I believe the rules are still the same in the Haitian culture. I still greet older Haitians with an actual kiss on the cheek (I’ve outgrown the air kiss). My tolerance level has improved, I suppose, because I don’t find it to be such a chore anymore. Occasionally, I’ll implement the cheek to cheek kiss, but kissing to greet my Haitian elders has become natural for me.

My (half-Haitian, half-American) kids greet people according to the cultural norms that the person being greeted is used to. My children are required to “saluer” all Haitian adults Haitian-style ( I don’t really require them to do this for first generation Haitian adults, though, as it is not really the American way). This requirement, however, does not hold true for American adults (although, they are required to kiss American family). When kissing is required of them, my boys have been taught to shake the hands of men (look them in the eye, and give a firm shake), and kiss the cheeks of women; and my daughter has been taught to kiss the cheeks of both women and men. When they don’t have to kiss, they are expected to speak – there is still some form of greeting that goes on. And I admit: I have, at times, been guilty of using my kids for “Show and Tell”. Sue me.

If you asked me as a child, I would have told you that my kids would never have to kiss anyone ever; and that I would never ever use them as the subject for “Show and Tell”, but maturity changes things. I hope that my daughter doesn’t dread this ritual as I did. But, hey, at least she has far fewer people to kiss…and like me, she will survive it.

we all survive it in the end

Did you have to “saluer” like I did growing up? Were you often a “Show and Tell” item? Did you mind any of it? What do you require of your children when greeting your family and friends?

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I thought my parents were the only ones who said that

 

The following blog was submitted by Elikusa A.

As a middle school administrator in a very highly populated first generation American Community in Maryland, I am often reminded of many experiences of being raised as a first generation Haitian American  in Irvington, New Jersey in the late 80’s.  Here’s a comment  that my parents use to always say to my brother’s teachers when they found themselves in the school office for some disciplinary action, “If you do that again, I will send you back to Haiti.”  As a young child that meant something but by the time my brother got to middle school, he knew that wasn’t happening.  He knew it was just an empty threat but he continued to play the role in this melodrama.  He would act like he was scared (sometimes even cry) and that he learned his lesson and my parent’s walked out of the office feeling like they did something but of course they didn’t because within the next two weeks my parents were back in the school office.  I thought only my parents did this until I became the administrator who was calling parents from- Nigeria, Jamaica, Ghana and of course Haiti – and one after another they would say the same thing, “If you do that again, I will send you back to …. ” and their child would act like they learned their lesson but all I could do is laugh (inside) because I saw was my younger brother, who by this age knew what this meant.  For me I knew sooner or later I would see the same student back in my office.

What comments did your parents make to your teachers, to your principals or just to you when you got in trouble?   I would love to hear them.

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Gros Morne: The Other Side

October 29, 2014

by: Ashley Toussaint

She never talked about what had happened in Haiti. She never talked about why she left home. She did not mention her family much. As a result, I never met my maternal grandparents, my mother’s older sister or her younger brother. She had left Gros Morne, when she was in her late teens, for the Bahamas and then Miami, back in the early 1970s with my father….(Continue reading the original blog here: Gros Morne: The Other Side.)

 

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Two weeks notice

Growing up, if I ever wanted to go to an after school function, house party, or quite frankly anywhere without my haitian parents, I had to give them at least two weeks notice.

Haitian parents do not like to be ambushed with requests at the last minute. Never, I repeat never, call from a friend’s house asking for permission to do something that same day or you will be in some serious trouble when you get home. You already knew better not to even ask to sleepover. Although, the phone conversation may have ended politely, as soon as you walked through the door, you were facing a consequence. (See “Mete ou ajenou (Get on your knees)!”https://cornbreadandcremasse.wordpress.com/2012/04/29/mete-ou-ajenou-get-on-your-knees/ for the aftermath.)

So just like leaving a job, you need to give haitian parents ample time for notification and to process your request. You may also have to spend time explaining to them terms like ” pep rally”, ” calabash”, or “tailgating”. Not quite sure there is a word in kreyol for any of the aforementioned, but in any event just avoid discussing the attendance of members of the opposite sex. Keep in mind, after you’ve made the request, you had to make it your duty to constantly remind them up until the actual date of the event. If not, you had better be prepared to have them tell you, that they don’t recall you ever asking them, and that either the answer was no or they would back to you after discussing it over with each other. This usually was the kiss of death.

Personally, I had a strategy in presenting my two weeks notice. First, I asked the more lenient parent, which in my household was my dad. My dad didn’t care too much about the details, but I knew that when I needed a backup for when, not even if, my mom acted like I was telling her something she had never heard before, he had my back.

Next thing I had to do was discuss it with my mom, but in doing so I had to invoke the “ONE FRIEND” into the conversation.

You see, Haitian parents have your one friend that they like. They don’t like your friends in groups; just one. The one friend even knows your parents love them because they will even say to you ” Just tell them you are coming with me”. The qualifications of the “one friend” vary from parent to parent. For my parents, mostly my mom, she had to have never been seen hanging around boys. This clearly meant that she was ” loose”. Her appearance and overall presentation had to be always on point. This meant her hair had to be done and her clothes neatly pressed. If she were Haitian, she would receive bonus points, and quite frankly win by default. Just make sure that you are actually going with that friend because the fallout from lying on and about the friend is devastating. Take my word for it.

I really envied my friends who could just go places on short notice or better yet tell their parents after the fact. That was unheard of when I was growing up. How about you? Did you parents let you go to different things on short notice? Did you have to give notice way ahead of time like I did? Did they have the one friend they loved? Are you still friends? Were you the coveted friend? Leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you.

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“Mete ou ajenou (Get on your knees)!”

MOM:“Mete ou ajenou (Get on your knees)!”

ME: Kisa m te fe (What did I do) ?

Most Haitian parents will have their kids kneel on the floor as a form of corporal punishment. In my house, this was no exception. This was my parents go-to punishment when I was a child.

When you were told to get on your knees, it usually meant it was the prelude to a spanking, but not always, but what you did know is that you were going to be there for a while.

I was no stranger to spankings or having to kneel down for an extended period of time. Sometimes, I knew why I was being punished. However, most of the time, it would catch me off guard.

I would come home and she would say “ Mete ou anjenou” and I would have to recall the day’s events and try and figure out I forgot to do before I left the house. I didn’t bother wasting time debating the issue because that would only make matters worse. Again, kneeling only meant a spanking was in your future. I actually preferred the spanking only option because at least it was over faster, but not both.

In a kneeling position, after about 10 minutes, the circulation to the bottom half of my leg would start to feel a little compromised and I’d start to feel some tingling. I was tempted to sit on my butt. NO! NO! You can never do that. If I was caught sitting on my butt, it extended my time.

I had to find something, anything, to resist the urge to sit on my bottom. So, I would start doing what most people on their knees do: PRAY. Dear Lord, please let me remember what I did today so when she asks me, I have an answer. Amen.

My mom usually had me kneeling in a high traffic area house which stayed eerily quiet whenever someone was in trouble. When my siblings would sneak to see me they would wonder if they were next or try and tell me what they overheard my mom telling family members about my apparent transgression. That’s another thing, My mom would broadcast my business to anyone who called the house that day. My brothers would repeatedly beg for me to not give them up and that I should take it for the team.

If I came home while she was cooking, then I would have to kneel in the kitchen and wait while she cooked. I actually preferred the kitchen floor. It was linoleum which was kinder to the knees. The worst places to kneel were on the carpet and the plastic runner that ran throughout the entire house. When company would come over I would not get a reprieve. Instead, I would have to explain to company what I did and sometimes they would be kind enough to beg for me to be released and then I would have to immediately promise that it would never happen again. “ Sorry Mom, it won’t happen again”. I would quickly retreat to my room and stay because I was hot on the radar for the day and needed to let cooler heads prevail.

American parents have “time out” and Haitian parents have their children kneel in a corner. I don’t use this form of corporal punishment with my children only because times are so different now. I have a school aged child that I can only imagine him telling a teacher and well, you know the rest.

I recently received a forwarded email about a casting call for the show “SuperNanny’ and it got me to thinking about how we discipline today as opposed to when I was younger. How what we deem is excessive discipline today was the norm when we were younger.

Growing up, did you have to get on your knees? How do you view it? Do you see it as discipline or something worse? Do you use it? What were some forms of corporal punishment your parents utilized that today would be controversial?

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My husband’s first experience in Haitian Culture

The following post was submitted by Ellen Thompson. Ellen is a Haitian-American medical professional living in Orlando, Florida with her husband and two children.

 

Throughout my years growing up as a Haitian child, my mother would fix us Haitian breakfast pretty much every morning. My mother had some rules when it came to breakfast. Always eat everything on your plate, never turn down any type of food and you can never eat a man’s food. We as woman were taught that we pile up the man’s plate and don’t eat off it. As I got older, I missed those home cooked breakfasts and I didn’t really cook them when I got on my own. After my grandmother passed away in 2011, my now husband Danny, my son and I went to New York for her funeral and I finally got a chance to have some of that home cooked breakfast that I haven’t had really since my mother moved back to New York a few years ago. But there was one thing I didn’t mention, my husband is a southern black man from North Carolina, who has never had a Haitian breakfast and his best idea of Haitian food is rice and beans.

 

As we traveled on the train from Orlando to New York, he asked a lot of questions about my family and how to act. This is the first time that he had met my family and he was really nervous. I figured he knew the rules, little did I know that I should have explained all of these principles to him. After we got into town and good night’s slept, we decided to have breakfast before we went into the city for a busy day. My mother fixed one of my favorites, Mais Moulin and avocado. I explained to my husband how excited I was to be having this when he asked me “Ellen, what does Mais Moulin taste like?” After thinking about what to say, the only thing that came to mind was Yellow Grits. Little did I know how much he loved Grits?

As we sat down at the table, my excitement grew as my mother fixed our plates and as she laid them down on the table, I saw my husband’s face look deflated like a balloon that lost its air. My mother hovered over us as we took the first few bites, as I took my bites the memories of growing up as a child flowed through my mind and the taste was incredible. When I turned and looked at Danny, it looked like the opened a present on Christmas morning expecting the one thing he asked for and ended up getting a pair of socks. My mother started speaking in Creole, he doesn’t like the food? Danny smiled and said its good Mrs. Michelle. Then Danny leaned over and said “Baby, this isn’t Grits, I have no idea what this is, but this isn’t’ Quaker.” I finished off my food like it was last supper and I looked over at Danny’s plate and he only had taken two bites. Looking a child who was looking for the family pet to come over to eat the food off his plate, I started to take some of his breakfast when my mother and aunt stopped me in my tracks. “Ellen, don’t eat Danny’s food” my mother said. “Danny is the man and he needs to eat all of his food.” He took another bite and he whispered in my ear, “This tastes like gravel and I can’t eat any of this anymore.” I told him that it’s disrespectful to not eat the food that is made and it’s insulting to say that the food is terrible. He explained that he would just have to eat it and that’s it. Danny had the look of a 3 year old was just told the word “No”. I grabbed small spoonful’s to help him out, but he had to put in the work to get it done.

After breakfast was done and we started out on our day, he told me that I only finished the food because I wanted my future mother-in-law not to dislike him at all. But he asked where the nearest pizza place on the way to the subway is.

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Identity Crisis

The following blog post  was submitted by Mr. Ashley Toussaint: www.brothertoussaint.wordpress.com

 

“Identity Crisis” is an excerpt from a book that I am currently writing. It’s a coming of age story about a Haitian American boy named Johnny Baptiste who grows up in Miami, Florida. The book addresses the common struggles that inner city youth face, such as poverty, crime, peer pressure, school life and identity. “Identity Crisis” exposes the depth of how some Haitian Americans struggle to publicly acknowledge and embrace their Haitian heritage. 

Therefore, as Johnny continues to deny his own heritage, he continues to buy into an idea that he is inferior. Our identity is what makes us unique and authentic. Unfortunately, the stigma of being Haitian will not allow Johnny to embrace who he truly is.

Excerpt from the upcoming book authored by Ashley Toussaint:

“It was a sad sight, but not surprising, at least not to most of the students in the class (95% of the class was Haitian). Ms. Gomez however, was flabbergasted. She could not believe it. She was so excited and eager to share a piece of literature with them, especially sense it was written in their language. But she was sadly mistaken. It was the exact opposite of what she had expected. Instead of excitement, there was lethargy in the room. Instead of pride, there was embarrassment. The looks on their faces and the silence of the classroom infuriated her. And suddenly, the petite soft-spoken Filipino woman ripped them all a “new one”.

“Why don’t you want to read in Creole?!” Why are you ashamed of your culture?!” No one answered. “You should be proud of your heritage, you should be proud of where you are from!” she exclaimed in her Filipino accent. How embarrassing. There stood a 4 foot 6 inch nun from the Philippines teaching a group of black, Haitian-American children about being proud of their race, their heritage and their history. Her words were so precise and simple, yet heavy and sharp. They cut right through Johnny’s heart.

She continued to lecture them about how she had come to America, but was not ashamed of where she was from. By the time she was done with them, they were all humiliated, but for the right reason. “Now who wants to read the third page?” Just about every hand went up. They were strong, proud, black hands of young Haitian-American children, who had never felt like they had a reason to truly be proud. And though Johnny struggled to read his mother’s language, it didn’t bother him. If anything, it was the most beautiful struggle he could ever endure.”

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Cornbread and Cremasse!

This blog entry was submitted by artist Gelan Lambert, an artist Haitian descent, versatile in all art disciplines who has been blessed to have graced the stage with legends.  Learn more about Gelan at http://www.facebook.com/GelanLambertJr

 

Cornbread & Cremasse!

What a fantastic name for a blog! A homage to two great cultures birthed through Mother Africa!

When I’m homesick for Haitian cuisine, one of the things you’ll find me doing is combing the streets of NYC for Lambi, an aromatic concoction of stewed Creole tomato sauce and conch perched on a bed of pillowy steamed rice. Unabashedly, its my foot stomping Hallelujah go to meal of the day. When its done right, expect a savory festival in your mouth and to be left in a state of culinary euphoria. Legend says that it also has amorous properties; however, that’s another story for another time! Now back to the subject at hand!

After doing some research on cornbread, I discovered that Native Americans created the first
prototype from corn meal. Corn, originally known as maize was the foundation for a plethora of nutritious corn based foods such as corn syrup, corn pudding and succotash, a mixture of beans and corn meal. Subsequently cornbread became an integral part of African American cuisine incorporating various parts of animal scraps, leftovers and root vegetables eventually known as ‘Soul Food’. Symbolic in nature, there is also a direct correlation between traditional African food and Soul Food which speaks to ancestral memory passed down from one generation to the next. On the other hand, Cremasse, is a Haitian beverage that consists of Barbancourt rum, coconut, carnation milk and spices. Usually its imbibed on special occasions and celebrations. In a recent conversation with my mother, I found out that she made Cremasse for her very own wedding! Who knew? My first experience with this special libation was several years ago. I can recall vividly when it touched my palette it reminded me of candy with a strong hint of vanilla ice cream, coconut icy and alcohol. It went down smooth and warmed my entire being. When it ‘Hits’ you, be prepared to R E A L LY feel it!.
I generally don’t take alcohol, but with Cremasse, I always make an exception. LOL!

One of the wondrous things about the digital age is that we can literally immerse ourselves in several cultures at one time, either as a voyeur, an inquiring scholar or student. Technology has made it possible for us to share our thoughts on a variety of different subjects that can be associated with history, art, food or trivia. As an American born Haitian, the journey of investigating my heritage and the constant desire to know more has been my personal mission since my teenage years. This quest has been daunting at times, and even downright frustrating, however the revelations have enlightened and transformed my life beyond words.

Metaphorically, my life in America with my family’s history in Haiti represent my own personal Cornbread and Cremasse. Its poignantly revealed in our collective spirituality, and the way we express ourselves individually and communally as we eat and drink. Each tasty mouthwatering morsel has its own profound story and legacy that speaks to our struggles, triumphs and undeniable beauty and creativity. As a recipient of this great gift, I am more than grateful for the sacrifice of the ancestors, for I always have a personal invitation to remember where I come from through each magnificent cultural meal.

 

Thank You Cornbread & Cremasse for creating this wonderful space.

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