Written: June 11, 2012
Premye Konbit Mwen: My First Konbit
Today,
I had quite the rural Haitian experience by participating in what they call a konbit. A konbit is basically an
agricultural work party, in which friends gather to work on someone’s field. In
return they are given food while they work (maybe some rum) and the unspoken
agreement that they will have a konbit at their home in the future. This
experience served many purposes for me, including being educational, enjoyable,
and one heck of a workout for a blan (white
person) like me. Most of all, I believe this experience created a bond between
me and some of the people present. They told me I was the first blan who ever
wanted to work in the fields with them, which caused them to laugh at most
everything I did and open up to me in ways I do not think would be possible
before. After my experience, I journaled about my outing. Below is an excerpt
for anyone interested in the details.
“My
guide, C, seems to know most everyone in the area. He leads me over the hill
and down into the garden. As we broach the hill, men begin to notice our
presence and call out to us. C responds. There is not much talking as I walk
up. I reach a man who C tells me is the owner of the konbit… or at least he
tells me that it is his konbit (I do not know if “owner” is the proper term)…
he says something along the lines of sa
se konbit-li. I introduce myself to the man, who wears a baseball cap, a
stripped shirt, and a gregarious smile… He does not appear very old. He is by
himself, working towards the lower end of the garden. We then walk to the other
two groups of men. On the way, I am handed a hoe that appears to be handmade.
The head of it is solid metal and curved. The bottom edge is flat, and the
other side has a round hole in which the handle inserts. It is heavier than I
anticipated. C then takes it from me and gives me a lighter one. He tries to
explain that it is smaller and better for me. (I wonder what he thinks of me as
a blan).
I
ask what they are growing here. They tell me pitimil and mayi (meal and corn).
I begin hoeing with them as they demonstrate. They do so rhythmically,
occasionally varying from opposite to unison strikes on the soil. They seem to
cut just below the place where plants meet the ground, pulling back to remove
the plant. I attempt to mimic this movement, often digging too deeply into the
soil and having my hoe get stuck. I repeat this movement, mimicking them for
3-4 minutes. I then pause because of how hot this constant heat is making me. I
notice the accumulation of sweat over my body. My back and chest begin to reach
saturation point, exposing sweat through my shirt. I notice their grunting.
They make a noise similar to the noise of tennis players hitting a ball, yet
without the same intensity. They do so as the hoe digs into the earth each
time. (I look to their movements and I think of the idea of Wu Wie Wu from
Taoism, where people know a sport or other physical activity so well that it
appears as if they are “doing without doing,” or doing something so naturally
that it flows from them easily. It is almost as if this movement has become so
ingrained in their life that they have become efficiently adapted to the
movements of the hoe. I, on the other hand, do not have muscles toned for this
purpose. While I consider myself to be in good shape, my lack of experience,
muscle adaptation, and technique combine to make me an ill-equipped farmer. I
hoe with bent arms, using more muscles than needed. The farmers keep straight
arms, using the weight of the hoe and the momentum of their movements to work
as one with the earth. I fight the land. They work it. I stumble awkwardly
across soil, stone, and sickled plants. They move across their terrain in fluid
movements. They know this land. Once again, I see myself as the student and
they as the teacher… I tell them so.) I say “Mwen se yon elev epi ou se yon
pwofese!” They laugh and politely decline this comment.
As
we continue hoeing, I move around hesitantly, trying to find the best position
to stand while swinging my hoe and trying not to get in the way or have my toes
removed by the undulating iron tools. Within 10 minutes of my first hoe swings,
the metal head of my hoe dislodges from its handle. I say some words that no
one else understands but my mother would certainly disapprove of. (At this
point I feel inadequate to be out in the fields with these farmers and scared
that I broke the tool of value to a rural farmer). To my relief, they laugh at
my mishap. They grab the handle from me and hand me another hoe (which is the
one that I believe C took from me earlier). C goes and stands in the shade
while I work. (I ponder how difficult this work seems, and I wonder if it is
just because I am maladapted or if it is truly a difficult and laborious task
regardless of experience). (I also think about the book “Where the Hands are
Many,” which talks about konbits like this, and I wonder if these farmers
follow similar cultural norms to those I read about in the book. I wonder if
they do indeed “strike their hoes in unison”).
At
one point, the two men working closest to me begin to encourage me to grunt
while I work. While I feel foolish when doing so, I grunt with each swing of
the hoe, attempting to sound as similar to them as possible. They say words of
encouragement and we continue working together. After a few minutes, the heat
provokes a new level of sweat, with my entire torso being covered by sweat. I
take a step back and simultaneously let out a sigh to exclaim about the heat,
saying something similar to “whoowee”… to this, the two men working next to me
chuckle and begin replacing rhythmic grunts with “whoowee, whoowee, whoowee…” I
laugh. (It is encouraging to me that they find my presence there comical. I am
glad to have them find comic relief at my sight and I hope that my little bit
of work might help them. Perhaps more than anything, I hope that my willingness
to work in the fields and my unrequested offering of help may help these people
welcome me and see me as something more than just another white person. I
remember one of the people I interviewed, when asked if I could work with them
in the field as a form of repayment, remarked that I would burn up in the sun
and that I could not survive in the field. I hope that this and other outings (perhaps
a cock fight) might encourage people to open up to me as local peoples opened
up to Geertz in his famous cock-fight escapades).”
No
toes were lost in the activity, and friendships were formed. Since then, I have
completed 10+ interviews in the area, some of which with men present at the
konbit. My research is going great, and meaningful experiences occur on a daily
basis.
