Between The Cornfield and Me

Between the cornfield and me

Do you remember the cornfield?
Do you remember the night Boukman
Passed the wine around the circle?
Do you remember? Were you there?
Was it blue? Was it white?
Was it red? Was it black?
Was it actually a circle?
Oh, I know Boukman was there!
Tall, as ever
Like a true conqueror
Bare feet White teeth
Fast as a drum beat
I was there...I was there!
But when I came back to earth, they called me unwise
They called me Defile


CHAPTER ONE


I REMEMBER STEPPING ONTO a balcony, and seeing Manze Dayilla standing on the other side of the house. She was dressed in white and her head cover was tied in the back, similar to the way traditional women from the province tie their heads. Manze looked so young. She had big brown eyes, a dark caramel complexion, and perfectly shaped white teeth. She boldly looked up at me and ordered me to follow her, and so I went down the stairs, yelling, “Where are we going?” She never replied.
We walked for a while, perhaps fifteen minutes, but it seemed longer. The sun was glowing, but nevertheless we marched on down Delmas Avenue, penetrating the crowd, until we reached La Ville, downtown in Port-au-Prince. Before I knew it, we were standing in a huge plantation full of corn. It was beautiful. There were tiny hills, covered with green grass, and the wind was blowing peacefully into my face. I felt like I had been there before. The field looked familiar, exactly like the cornfield that I had seen next to the house of my friend Mohammed in Benin, West Africa. “But how could that be?” I asked myself. I was the one who had told Manze about the cornfield and I couldn’t understand why she was the one taking me there, especially since she hadn’t been there herself? How did she know its exact location? Nothing made sense to me. I was shocked and confused. I couldn’t keep up with time. It seemed like one minute I was in Haiti, and the next I was standing in Benin. I felt like I was losing my mind. There was something or some force that was controlling me, and so, I involuntarily followed Manze.
I slowed down.
“Manze this is Benin. The place that I had talked to you about.” She did not answer. She continued to walk and all of a sudden, another presence was between us. It was Tameika Simmons, a young African American girl from Hillside, New Jersey. She had been my best friend throughout high school. I hadn’t seen her for ten years, but here she was, standing in the cornfield. Manze occupied the space in front of me, Tameika was in the middle, and I was in the back. I had no clue of how Tameika had gotten there. She just appeared out from nowhere. I was convinced that I had lost my mind.

This was her hour of visitation
She was dressed in black!
O Joy!
Draw me a VeVe mister!
Water my spirit with wine!
If they cut off my heads
I shall deal with them

Ah, what a beautiful black butterfly!
I shall lure it to my garden, and then offer her to the sea as gift
And then she shall fly and celebrate her ancestry
She shall understand this:
It’s important that she comes back to me


CHAPTER TWO


TAMEIKA WAS AS BEAUTIFUL AS A BUTTERFLY. She was tall, the color of mahogany and had long, jet-black hair. She was very quiet, like a Zombie, a spirit. She did not speak to me. She just kept following Manze, and I too followed them blindly.
While walking through the cornfield, I looked over to my right and saw about twenty or thirty women, also dressed in white. They were sitting on many tiny, grassy hills, praying and meditating. They were slim, fit and they all looked alike, with white teeth and very dark complexions. Some stood erect, waving their hands to the sky. I became aware of the sound of the drum.
The women appeared very focused; they seemed spiritually connected to some force, unaware of my presence. I was an outsider, looking inside the unknown. Manze and Tameika continued walking. They were so determined. I was confused and so curious. All I knew was that I felt an overflowing peace throughout my body. I heard a soft crying sound. It was a woman lying on her belly on the grass, in between two rows of corn. The palms of her hands covered her face. She was naked. Her skin was not visible, as her body was covered with short grayish hair. She was the scariest thing alive.

Manze Dayilla and Tameika must have heard her crying. They slowed down, but remained focused on the road. I stopped to ask the woman what was wrong but before I could ask the question, Manze yelled at me, “Let’s go!” I quickly resumed my steps and kept up with them. We walked straight through the cornfield until we reached two small huts. One was on the left and one on the right. Manze turned left and we followed. We went down a long, narrow, cemented couloir. In the hallway, Manze and Tameika opened a silver door and went in, but when I was about to go through, a dark-skinned, tall and muscular man who was seated on the porch, stopped me. He looked about thirty or thirty-five years old. He was wearing, long white paints and a traditional wayabel shirt.

“Comment nou ye la!” Manze Dayilla greeted him. Tameika looked at me for the first time since the journey began.
“She cannot enter this yard. Her head is not covered!” said the dark man.
“No one told me that I had to wrap up my locks.” I replied. His voice was so strict and powerful; I was too scared to argue with him. I immediately looked around for something to tie my head with. Right away I spotted an empty clothesline. I looked on the ground and saw a small piece of white cloth. It was hiding behind a tall silver barrel, full with rainwater. I picked it up and asked the dark man’s permission to use it. He granted. I placed the white cloth over my dreadlocks and forced its two ends to reach the back of my head. I fought with it and finally tied it in a knot. It was then that I was allowed to enter the yard.


O. Where is Ogou?
So Erzili can paint me blacker than black
Ah! Die bon die-wo...Elegba se Lwa

Now the gate is open wide
I rest here without fear
O, Children! Children!
O, Legba-Legba!
Kiyes kap kwe sa?
Ah die bon die-o
Elegba se Lwa


CHAPTER THREE


EVERYTHING SEEMED foreign; but then again, everything seemed familiar. Once inside the silver gate, the dark man kept smiling at me. He welcomed me into the yard.

The dark man pointed to three empty chairs: one for me, one for Tameika and one for Manze Dayilla. I tried to understand why I had been brought to that yard. I had so many questions, but was somewhat afraid to ask them. I felt like I was amongst spirits and that I was the only one aware of what was going on.
And while I continued to study my surroundings, I felt another presence standing in back of me. I tried to turn back to see who it was, but before I could, I saw two wrinkled hands― one on each side of my face― closing inwards toward my face. The hands were that of an old man, but the face I had not seen. He covered my eyes with his fingers. He moved them up and down, massaging them with warm oil and crushed herbs. My body had started to shake. I tried to control it, but I couldn’t. Then it entered my virgin body. I fought, but it was strong; stronger and sweeter than anything I’d ever known. Slowly, I let go. I gave in. I turned to my right for Tameika and Manze Dayilla’s help, but no one helped. Perhaps Tameika was there but Manze was gone. I started to cry.
“She wasn’t supposed to leave me. She was the one guiding me.” I thought.
The faceless old man kept rubbing my eyes and the dark man, who was sitting in front of me, was smiling. It was then I heard a voice, loud and reassuring, singing from afar. It was Manze Dayilla’s sparkling voice. She was singing my favorite voodoo song, “Sole,” in powerful and crystal-clear tones. I felt instantly reborn, good to be awakened into consciousness. There was a sweet melody in my heart and my head felt really light. All hurts left my body. Manze Dayilla’s voice made me feel safe. I realized I had taken my final steps and was chosen by the unknown. Oh, I felt something sweet peacefully enter my body, and that was when the presence behind me appeared. It was the faceless man. He handed me a small brown leather sac and said to me,
“The sac must stay on your left arm.”
“I accept,” I said softly, and he disappeared.
Still I felt strange, in and out of consciousness. Manze and Tameika were now standing next to me. Tameika remained silent and Maze looked relieved and happy to see the new me. Even the dark man sitting in front of me was happy. His name was Zaka. He got up, moved his Djembe drum from the corner and placed it on the floor, next to his chair.
“You must like her, don’t you?” Manze Dayilla asked him, while staring at me. Zaka’s smile got wider and before he could answer, a group of people entered the yard. They were not dressed in white. They were dressed in bright colorful clothes. They all invaded my peaceful world.
Our time must be up. I thought. Manze and Tameika got up from their seats at the same time. Manze pleasantly excused herself and Tameika and I followed her, right back into the cornfield. We walked down, on the opposite side of where we had begun. We continued as if we’d never stopped, as if nothing had happened. We were once again walking, in the same positions as before, as if nothing changed. But everything changed― except for the rising sun.

And where I stood, the sun was present. Every soul was out that morning, praying and meditating. There were no hills. No green lawn. And no crying sound. O, Not even a distinct soul. Not even a drumming echo. Not even a tiny blossoming rose, accompanied by one puff of the blowing wind. But where I stood: The green cornfield was near me. Present, in the presence of the yellow sun. And the spirits were in perfect attendance with my leaders and me. We were one


As the night wore off
I realized I had been walking
Like a ghost traveling a rough road
Made for three unnatural women

Thus, I am a roaming spirit
My sac is on my back
My herbs are my eyes
And in the shadow of darkness,
I walked with daylight
I shall never wanted more than the third eye



CHAPTER FOUR


WE HAD NOT BEEN walking long when Manze Dayilla, Tameika and I, suddenly reached the other world. I called it “the other world” because I didn’t know what else to call it. There was a white car parked in a huge, clean, empty street. I looked up. I thought I saw two black women seating in the front. Manze Dayilla crossed the street and headed towards the car. Tameika followed quietly and closely. As I was about to cross the street, a beautiful young woman was passing by. She was perfect, but... perfect for what? I thought to myself. I was confused again and left consciousness. The young woman looked straight into my face and said,
“Don’t you remember me?”
“No” I said briskly.
“I’ve known you for quite some time.” she said.
“You must have lost my number. Come with me. Come with me to my car and I’ll give it to you again,” she said, while pointing to an isolated red car, parked further down the street.
I turned around to follow her. I heard Tameika yelling, “Sofi, where are you going?” Her voice was clear; loud, like thunder. I trembled with fear. I turned around again, refocused on my steps and crossed the street. I joined them in the parked car. It was then that I heard the ringing sound. It was my alarm clock, coaxing me into consciousness. I felt lightheaded and happy. I returned safely from my astrophysical journey, from the far away but near spaces, from the green cornfield, from Haiti, from Benin, or from wherever it was.
It felt good. And, so I kneeled down and prayed:

WELCOME SAINTLY SPIRITS
Oh, welcome flawless spirits
Young, old
Rich, Poor
I am a sinner
I come here before you
I come humbly!

Oh! My sorrows are too great for me to hold
For I look old
My face is wrinkled with life’s madness
Lord, have mercy on me!
And while I am here in this institution
Let the moon give me light
Let the clouds announce your private arrival
So I can search for you until first light

And while I am in this institution
I shall continue to call you majesty
I shall continue to call you majesty
And you shall manifest all over again

Right here in this auditorium
I shall carve a drum in your name
Praises shall pour out of my fingertips
They shall flow like poetry
Or like ancient songs being reborn
And I shall cry...
Oh God, I accept all that you give.
I shall carry it
Regardless of what others may say.
I shall carry it; I will carry the sac and the loads.

Thank you for choosing me!

©fania simon 2003
Poetry in Haiti
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