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a1915: Another Furcy to Seguin story (fwd)
From: "tminsky@ix.netcom.com" <tminsky@ix.netcom.com>
A couple years ago [2000] Corbetteer Ingy Petersen and I huffed and puffed our way up the path from Furcy to Seguin just at the beginning of the time the path was being bulldozed into a road which it now is. Here is our story which is also on Guy Antoine's Windowsonhaiti.com website with accompanying
photos.
Walking Haiti's High Ground-- Two Women's Experience [February 2000]
Tequila Minsky
At 7:30 a.m. fellow Corbeteer and walking companion, Ingy Petersen and I are dropped off by a taxi (and a series of heated negotiations) at a crossroads in the hills high above Port-au-Prince near Furcy. The
newly graded fork to the right leads to the Massif de la Selle (Big
Saddle Mountain Range). Two days later our plan is to be at the sea
on Haiti’s southern coast. I am ecstatic commencing the walk that
many a Haitian had told me they had always wanted to do. I had no idea
really what was in store.
We have not walked far when we are halted by huge Caterpillar
earth moving equipment chomping into the mountainside, grading
for what will turn this path into a vehicular road. With the peasants
we wait for a break so we can walk the narrow rocky ledge of this
construction zone and then really begin the trek.
It’s all uphill from here.
In the morning cool air, women traveling this hard-baked, dusty footpath, stop and gossip, some with donkey in tow, and then continue on. Sunshine
floods the path. A lone remaining tree storing feed high away from hungry
ground animals is the only break in the eyescape.
This path is the foot highway connecting mountain villages for
machann (market women), bringing produce to Kenskoff,
supplying the vegetable needs of the capital, and providing
access to the cities. The intermittent stream of foot travelers
passes both ways. A Sunday-dressed family has 2 hours of
walking before they can catch a bus to Port-au-Prince’s uphill
suburb of Petionville.
Descending into a valley, waves of terraced mountainside grow
carrots, leeks, and cabbage. Golden paths of red earth snake to
the few scattered settlements. As we walk I wonder how these
peasants, so remote, meet their water and supply needs.
This entire path is scheduled for transformation to a car road. A
lot of dynamite, I’m thinking. Once accessible by road, what
changes will take place?
Haiti’s women carry the economy on their
heads with such panache it's easy not to
recognize how heavy these bundles are
and the skill it takes to travel miles by
foot. Over 50% of Haitian women are
market women. A troupe of three women
walk toward us, each with over 60
pounds of produce on her head. They
pause as one woman leans her bundle of
yams against the eroded mountainside to
relieve the weight. As she falters in her
effort to upright the load, her two friends
both heavily weighted themselves, Ingy
rushes to successfully assist in the
rebalance.
The day heats up; there is no relief from the sun. Trees have long
found their way into fueling someone’s cooking. The eroded
mountainside provides four square feet of shade which I duck
into. Load laden women zoom past on their way to a small village
market.
The path becomes rockier and steeper and we pass a courtyard
and grounds defined by stone fences, a terrain remarkably
different from any other I’ve seen in Haiti. This uphill rock path is
endless! I sit gasping. Market women stop in concern. "Maybe it's
her heart," one machann comments in Kreyòl. Maybe I’m out of shape, I’m
thinking. It is here at this moment that the Haitian proverb comes
to life, Dèyè mòn gen mòn. Beyond every mountain there is another mountain. No crisis, they pass us by.
The up mountain end of this walk is Seguin, a village crossroads,
over 5,000 feet in elevation. We look forward to a bed & breakfast
there with promises of a hot shower and other amenities.
Finally the rocky up-path spills onto a plain. The women at the top
are used to seeing bedraggled hikers and keep offering to carry
our packs, a way to earn some money. Admittedly, I had not
outfitted my sneakered feet properly; I feel every rock in the
terrain.
A man with a horse overhears our exchanges with the
enterprising women and understands my predicament. "Come
on," he pipes up and hoists me onto his wooden saddle pack
horse. Ingy is hardier and keeps on walking.
He tells me
his name is
Jean-Claude
and works as
an
agricultural
assistant for
international
organizations
and his family
lives in
Seguin.
Eating fresh
bananas
we’ve bought from a woman selling on the path we then enter a
mirage--a pine forest. Trees in a treeless country. We are
surrounded by coolness and the essence of pine needles
covering the ground. Spiked cactus is growing amidst the pines. A
mystical portal? We are totally unprepared for this gift.
Word spread to the bed & breakfast, Auberge de la Visite, before
our arrival. Gerald, the onsite manager, greets us on the path and
points the direction to the hotel. I’m shivering in tee-shirt and
shorts, the temperature has dropped as the altitude rose.
Our hike is half complete. 4:30 p m, it's time to rest and recover.
Tomorrow will be downhill. Patrick Slavin's name in the guest book
surprises me; I didn't know he had done this walk just months before. The bed is a great comfort.
At the crack of dawn, the smell of coffee being made, I emerge outside into a diffuse morning light, a mountain air; the sun fighting its way through the mist, Horses pasturing on the grounds are available for
rent. This feels just like a peaceable kingdom. Once the fog is burned off, the flood of sun glints everywhere and the main building is aglow.
Cement
tombstone
graves sit
amidst
out-croppings
of karst,
sculptural
rock shapes
from
dissolved
limestone.
The surrealism here, this rock garden leave me wide eyed and gasping. The locals call this krase dan (breaking
teeth). Both Ingy and I have never seen anything like this in
Haiti. We should have allowed another day of exploring the pine
forest and limestone caves that we had so quickly walked past
the day before.
We are off for an early start. Gerald guides us for a fee to the trail
head through these croppings, walking along with children on
their way to school and women getting water. This takes us
through the village of Seguin, a cluster of eight buildings.
There’s a lot of activity on market day. We’re happy to see
people registering to vote for an upcoming election. An instant
camera photo and receiving a laminated registration card is part
of the process.
We pass schoolchildren even here in this remote plateau. It's
recess, they're out playing. In the distance is a konbit, collective farm working group, a konbit. They pose for a photo. We pass a rare settlement. Mountains surround us.
What goes up must come down.
Our path becomes increasingly steep, Haitians run down. I tread
gingerly, step by unsteady step. The people's route, this steep
mountain path, is speedy for those using momentum. It's snail
paced for the wary. Yesterday’s aerobic uphill now contrasts with
this downhill challenge to thighs and toes. A hiking boot is
necessary for this rocky descent; I curse my sneakers.
Distance in
Haiti is
measured by
time and the
reports from
Haitians on
how far it is to
the bottom
are
unreliable. No
matter where
we are we
are told "it’s
one hour from
here". We walk for hours and at each inquiry the response is the
same, one hour. If only!
A local woman helps us find the only food along the way, Haitian
grapefruit, shadek. We buy 6 from a local. The peasants bring
wicker cane chairs for us to sit while they machete peel and slice
the shadek. While the juice streams down our face and arms, we're too
hungry and tired to show manners as we the devour the fruit.
Afterwards, they bring a bucket of water and a towel to wash.
When the endless rocky decline eases, we're at the village of
Jean-Noel, a cluster of homes, a school, a church in construction
on a packed rock road. People nod, speak and even walk with us
for a bit. Children gather in their yard to watch those crazy
foreigners who find recreation in walking. There are no vehicles,
no traffic.
There are another few miles down, a river to cross, another
village, to get to public transportation; the sun is sinking as we
press on. Peridot, the easternmost tap-tap point along the
southern coast which traffics into Jacmel is our end point.
A pick up truck/tap-tap having just discharged passengers from
Jacmel sits in Peridot’s center and we gladly climb in. We're tired
yet elated, it's almost dark. We wait for the tap-tap to fill; a
teacher, a market woman with bags, students, a worker stashing
his tool behind the seats. I practice my Kreyòl with the fellow who
sits next to me. The bench-seating fills up, we think. People sit on
each others laps, it fills some more. It’s dark.
After dropping off and picking up more in Marigot we're off riding
along the coast, the unseen sea to one side, the open back
tap-tap refreshing us in the cool night air. We’re driving to Jacmel,
chatting with others in the tap-tap, exhausted but now totally fulfilled. We finished the challenge and now looked forward to real comfort in Jacmel.
©2001 Tequila Minsky tminsky@ix.netcom.com
The website http:// Windowsonhaiti.com has this and Corbeteer Patrick Slavin's walking experiences on the Furcy=Seguin path.
With photos. Here are the links.
http://www.gajma.com/windowsonhaiti/seguin/seguin.htm
Two men's experience: http://www.gajma.com/windowsonhaiti/seguin/sg03.shtml
Two women's experience: http://www.gajma.com/windowsonhaiti/seguin/womenwalk.shtml
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