“What I’ve come to learn is that the world is never saved in grand messianic gestures, but in the simple accumulation of gentle, soft, almost invisible acts of compassion… everyday acts of compassion. In South Africa they have a phrase called “ubuntu.” “Ubuntu” comes out of a philosophy that says, the only way for me to be human is for you to reflect my humanity back at me.” ~Chris Abani (TED Talk)
So, whenever I am in a place like Haiti, it is difficult to separate that which is “unique” with that which is “normal for here but unique to me because I’m not from here.”
My companions and I are in one of the most remote places in all of Haiti: a tiny village called Dame Marie on the far southwestern tip of Hispaniola. Here, of all places, is one of the perfect climates to grow cacao, the plant from which pure chocolate is produced.
Yes, Haitian chocolate.
What you might not expect, however, is that the chocolate grown here is produced to create one specific thing: hot chocolate.
In Cap-Haitian you ask around: “Where can I get the best chocolate in town?” You find this vendor: “Where does your chocolate come from?” You’re sent somewhere in Port-au-Prince and you ask them: “Where does your chocolate come from?” They send you to Jeremie. You go to this supplier in Jeremie: “Where do you get your chocolate that you send to Port-au-Prince?” He sends you to a production company at the far end of the road in Dame Marie. Then you start asking around to the locals who have more chocolate and know it as intimately as can be because their livelihood is chocolate: “Who makes the best cup of hot chocolate in all of Dame Marie?”
And that’s how you come to find the best cup of hot chocolate in all of Haiti. And perhaps the best cup of hot chocolate in the world.
But more of that in one moment…
…first, Dame Marie and the story of the blind rope maker.
I began this post commenting about the things that are “unique” in this world. Finding out that the best cup of hot chocolate in the world can be found in Haiti is certainly unexpected, but nobody in Haiti would be surprised by this revelation: even small children can make similarly excellent cups of hot chocolates with coconut, anise, cinnamon, and condensed milk.
Stories like this are only the foot in the door. Just like nobody goes SCUBA diving to just see water, these umbrella stories (with titles like “The Best Cup of Hot Cocoa in the World”) are the medium in which all the truly unique, interesting stuff – the people – is suspended.
I cannot accurately tell the story of the blind rope maker that sits in the Dame Marie market twisting and braiding ropes made from rice sacks: the telling of that story is for a writer far more talented that I; however, what I can tell you is what I saw as we sat there talking with him for a while as he worked.
It is inevitable that the foreigner (and especially a journalist) draws a crowd. But what I have noticed is that these crowds are often more than just gawkers. While some are just there in the back of the crowd to see what is going on, those at the front of the crowd often grow very quiet and listen.
They have a front-row seat to a conversation that is telling a story which they have seen every day for their entire lives but never paid attention. Or perhaps were too shy? Or perhaps they didn’t know the right questions?
Whatever the reason they didn’t listen before, they are now.
This is why I love documentary photojournalism.
It is a mirror with which I am able to record a specific person in a specific place at a specific time and have other people see them where they never would have before. Perhaps it is a practice of the “ubuntu” I mentioned in Chris Abani’s speech at the start. Perhaps my photojournalism projects traipsing about the far corners of the world are done in an effort to reflect someone’s humanity back at them.
You are not alone, you have purpose.
Simply by seeing the world through the eyes of a stranger who sees their world as “unique” – they see their reflection and think: “Huh… I never noticed that before.”
We came out here chasing chocolate. But chocolate is nothing new and all the bitter mountains of chocolate will survive all of us.
What won’t exist forever is the man making rope in the market or the woman on the mule…
…or the tenant farmers who work the fields.
They are the story.
.
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Stay tuned…
-Noah D.
