Batey Libertad

Excited about my trip to a batey, I rushed home to tell my host mother (Doña Maritza, as I called her). Not phased by my excitement, she told me to be very cautious on my trip and explained the hygiene problems known to pervade batey life: lack of clean water, unsanitary living conditions, rabid animals running rampant, etc. Though not the staunch Catholic--like most other host mothers and Dominican women in general--Doña Maritza warned me to be care of "brujería," or witchcraft for she perceived bateyes' Haitian inhabitants to all be practitioners of Vodou and suspects in all types of nefarious activities. Haven been a host mother for 4 years, Doña Maritza was well aware that some of the program's group outings were optional and suggested that I not go to the batey, for my own health and safety. Unfortunately for (and unbeknownst to) her, this trip was required for my Afro-Dominican Culture class. First excited, now concerned, I had no idea what to expect from my trip.

Friday, April 8th, 2005 (Batey Libertad, near Esperanza, Dominican Republic):

As our two gúa-gúas (mini-buses) rolled to a stop at the center of Batey Libertad, I no longer felt like I was in the Dominican Republic. True, a well-appointed home life in Santiago sure spoiled me to the actual conditions of life in the country, however this did not even feel like the campo (countryside) I had visited on previous outings. This was different. Third world different. The entire town of about 1000 people lived in what seemed to be no more than 50 to 60 homes. The houses (if they can be called such) looked dilapidated, made of either concrete blocks or tin roofing pieced together as make-shift walls. They were arranged in a mishmash; anywhere there was level ground, there was a building. However, at the center of the community was a gazebo-type structure with open walls and a single pole supporting it. Immediately next to it was rectangular building. Throughout our tour of the batey, we weren't allowed to enter this building for community members were busy preparing it and practicing for a ceremony for us later in the day. Come to find out, this ceremony was indeed a replica vodou ceremony. Considering all the drumming (see audio sample), banging and clanging we heard coming from the building throughout the day, I was surprised how empty the structure was. Entering timidly, I jumped at the shout of one of my fellow program mates, "Watch out, Justin!" Hardly visible in the windowless, dark, candlelit room, I almost stepped on a pattern on the floor which seemed to be drawn with grain.
My group now seated, several members of the community (who I had seen periodically earlier in the day) arranged themselves in a row on the far end of the building. They were dressed in the same clothing they had on earlier in the day, only this time they all had bandannas or scarves of various colors. We were told that presiding over today's ceremony was a priest who had recently arrived from Haiti. But before he could enter the room and begin the ceremony, the woman who seemed to be leading the procession of individuals claimed that the drums (located in the far corner) had to be "blessed first."

After a short silence and a series of phrases in Haitian Creole, the drummers began. The row of initiates moved to the side as the priest entered the room from the side door. Dressed in a blue shirt, blue shorts and a blue bandanna, he recited lines in Creole accompanied by the drummers playing at moderate tempo and mid volume. In a somewhat rehearsed fashion, the drummers seemed to play more intricate patterns according the the force and ferocity of the priest's voice. At one point in the ceremony, the priest stopped and exited. The group behind him started to dance as if they were battling peaceably. As the rest of the group sang a song, The dancers remained in tempo and in stride as they jumped and lunged towards each other. The drummers mimicked each thrust with an emphatic pattern on the drum. After the "battle" was over, the priest re-entered, this time dressed in a red shirt with matching red shorts. He began to mumble words under his breath while assistant prepared a tray that included several razorblades, matches, a bottle of rum and a bundle of short sticks. Though I predicted what he was going to do next, I still was not prepared for what I witnessed. As the drummers played faster and faster, the priest drank from the bottle of rum and lit the sticks. With a bundle in each hand, he proceeded to dance around holding the sticks to his feet for several seconds. Unlike, stereotypical magic shows where the crowd goes silent before the magician performs his feat, the priest's acts were accompanied by an ever-growing, powerful drum beat. He seemed to be aided by the drums. While it must have took an insane amount of mind and body control to perform such feats, each jump and twist he did around the flames seemed to be matched by an equal hit or slam on the drums. As the priest continue to express his control over the fire, I became more and more interested in the drummers and drums in the background. The incessant beat was mesmerizing and entrancing. A percussionist myself, I was fascinated by the polyrhythmic patterns the lead drummer appeared to play with ease. Requiring great amounts of stamina, they played during the entire ceremony. Everything in the ceremony seemed to be guided by or at least accompanied with drums. To me, the sound of the drums was the center of attention. While I can't recall much of anything that was said in the ceremony (it was all in Haitian Creole anyway), I do remember the complexity of the drum rhythms. As an outsider, I was "moved" by the drum patterns. They were reminiscent of African rhythms I had heard before (which I'm almost positive that is where they were derived), yet had their own interesting spin. They sound is difficult to express in words, but what dominated my thoughts as soon as the ceremony was over was that very idea: despite the drama related to race, racial politics and cultural backlash towards anything African, I was in DR and this was undoubtedly Dominican. At Batey Libertad, the majority of its inhabitants were born there or in the Dominican Republic. Most spoke Spanish, Haitian Creole, French and some English. My first experience at a Vodou ceremony seemed far less "Haitian" than I expected, and as I found out later, was much more related to the Dominican experience than I had first believed. That experience at the ceremony reaffirmed my belief in the prevalence of African roots in the Dominican Republic.

When I returned home, my excitement was quelled by superstition and fear once again. My host mother order me to remove all my clothing to be washed (this was not unusual, she washed my clothes weekly), however this time she separated everything I had worn from the normal load and sat them outside--overnight, I might add. Shocked by her response but equally concerned myself, she directed me to the shower and made sure that I washed my hair thoroughly. When I asked her the reasoning behind her increased "hygiene security," she claimed that "those people" where very unsanitary. This sentiment was shared by many Dominicans: Haitians were unclean, smelly, and dirty. Pacifist Dominicans tended to claim that Haitians' odor came from the fact that they worked in the fields (sugar, rice, etc.) for so long. Nevertheless, her uneasiness was precipitated by the fact I spent extended time around Haitians, no matter what the conditions where--Batey Libertad, despite its shortcomings was amazing clean compared to areas in the city Santiago.