Month: June 2012

Multi-talented powerhouses Edwidge Danticat and Michèle Voltaire Marcelin deliver outstanding performances in Patricia Benoit’s debut film, Wòch nan Solèy (Stones in the sun).

The movie premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival recently. Audiences in the DC Metro area had a chance to see the poignant story on the big screen at the AFI Theater in Silver Spring. There was not a single empty seat in the house.

The film’s title is taken from one of Haiti’s countless proverbs: Wòch nan rivyè pa konn afè wòch nan solèy (Stones in the river cannot know the problem of stones in the sun). Benoit could not have chosen a better title.

Stones in the Sun is packed with irony so raw; the characters are so impeccably realized that I felt more like an accomplice than an audience member. There were moments when I wanted to jump into the screen to warn the characters of impending trouble. After an emotional roller-coaster ride came the realization that it was, indeed, only a movie. But it is the kind of film that stays with you for a long time.

By the time the credits began to roll, I could not wait to ask Edwidge and Michèle a few questions about their movie-making experiences and performances. Both actresses shared their thoughts with me about Stones.  Check out the VoicesfromHaiti INNERviews with the screen-sisters of Stones in the Sun.

INNERview with Edwidge Danticat

INNERview with Michèle Voltaire Marcelin

For more information about Haitian director Patricia Benoit and her new film, Stone in the Sun,  follow this link. http://www.tribecafilm.com/filmguide/stones_in_the_sun-film41551.html

Check out previous VoicesfromHaiti INNERviews with E. Danticat and M. V. Marcelin; M. V. Marcelin Part 2

You came to the States without a single English word to call your own. Mere days afterwards, you found yourself in a classroom full of eyes that appraised you. You were the new kid. The alien du jour.

Your own eyes blinked back hot tears. You wanted to run home, but knew that home was now another world away.

You stood statue-like in the doorway. The well-meaning teacher’s lesson plan would never include the level of differentiation you required. Yet, she/he cried out: “Good morning, class! We have a new student among us today. Can everyone say hello to Dja-vway-leen!”

You mumbled under quivering breath: “Ki moun ki rele Dja-vwe-lin nan?” Ah, but having your name butchered would become the least of your troubles. You had learning to do. Quick, instantaneous, emergency learning. Manman didn’t give you loofah for brains; so, every lesson would stick.

School administrators greeted you with test after test and freshly sharpened #2 pencils, expecting you to perform as well as “native-speakers.” Newcomers need years to be able to do well on those test. The research god said so. Oh, but “Here you go, kid! I know you can speak English. Stop pretending already!”

Manman had done her own research. According to her findings, you would speak English in less than six months. By the time you received your first report card, you would have served as interpreter, accountant, job-applicant, and pharmacist for family members who feared their own tongues would never be  strong enough to lift clunky foreign words.

Manman’s research also said you would graduate with honors. You would go to high school, college, grad school, and earn a doctorate in about the same amount of time it would take to boil her pot of red beans.  There were months when you doubted Manman. You doubted yourself.

All that’s behind you now. 

Today you stand inside a packed auditorium with royal-blue velour curtains. You look good in your cap, gown, and cumbersome sache. Your tassel hangs on the left now. Merci Eternel, graslamizèrikòd, adjyebondye, you fout did it!

Hands clap and feet stomp in your honor today. The dining table bends from the weight of griyo and diri djondjon, but Manman is still in the kitchen with that dishrag thrown like a Hermes scarf over her shoulder. Guests file in and out, kissing her on both cheeks: “Konpliman, pitit,” someone reaches for the jar of pikliz.

Manman thanks them for their kind words, but as soon as she’s alone in that kitchen she  goes right back to serenading the stack of dirty dishes with a Kreyolized rendition of “You Ain’t Seen Nothin Yet!”

——————————————————-

 

Hey. . .

A heap of congratulations to grads worldwide! VoicesfromHaiti celebrates the creative Haitian spirit of Naima F.; she graduated from 8th grade last week.

Naima looks forward to a successful academic career in one of the best High Schools on earth. Go girl!

Naima’s poem, “Where I’m From,” is an awesome  gift to all Haitian children born in the Diaspora.