I was born Anaica in 1776 to an enslaved woman taken from the Slave Coast by the name of Fabienne, and a man from the southern province of Saint Domingue, Jacmel to be exact, by the name of Alphonse Herivaux. Not only was Alphonse my birth father, he was my owner. Alphonse belonged to the “gens de couleur” class of Saint Domingue, the free people of color born to European and African parents. A Frenchman would take a slave woman as his concubine, have children and sometimes give them freedom making the gens de couleur class bigger in size. This particularity is how Alphonse was able to own Fabienne and I. Gens de couleur often owned plantations and large amount of enslaved Africans. The southern province was populated with mostly gens de couleur and their sugar plantations. I was Fabienne’s only child although she was a mother to Alphonso’s other daughter, Esther whom was conceived with a free woman of color. Esther had light brown skin, green eyes, was slender, and tall with long wavy hair. Although we had the same father, my pure African mother gave me genes that hindered me from ever becoming a free person of color. My milky brown skin, my big almond eyes with kinky afro hair designated me to be an enslaved African. My relationship with Fabienne was more of a sister bond than mother and daughter. I believe it was because Fabienne was only of 16 years of age when she gave birth to me. Neither was my relationship with Alphonse that of father and child. My earliest memories of my birth parents were them trying as hard as they could to nurse me to good health. Saint Domingue never had the greatest mortality rates and more slaves would be imported to replace the ones constantly dying due to poor health, unsanitary living conditions, poor diets and harsh working conditions. I was viewed as special and a slave child worth protecting for defying odds.
The Herivaux plantation was my home for the first 13 years of my life. Conversion to Catholicism, labor on the plantation, and serving the white men hands and feet, being given decent meals and health care to insure that I would make it to adulthood was what my life was composed of as property of Herivaux. Often times, Alphonse would gift me with beautiful head wraps and matching dresses to make me happy. Fabienne would tailor dresses to fit my small, brown body. I felt like one of those beautiful mulatto girls. Emancipated, living in luxury, able to get an education. I was one of 3 slave children on the Herivaux plantation with one . Fabiola was a playmate of mine. Alphonse brought her in around the summer of 1785 alongside 2 other male enslaved Africans but neither were her relatives. Fabiola came from a place in Africa known as Senegal, where the Frenchmen established a trading post and ultimately how she made it to Saint Domingue. Fabiola picked up on French language while in the Senegal and we were able to communicate often times.
“Anaica, I want to tell you something. You have to promise to not tell anyone! Do you promise?”
“Yes, Fabi. You’re my friend. I would never… Now tell me.” I was so anxious to hear.
“Well when I pray to the saints when Alphonse makes us, I’m not praying to the ones he tells me to.
“Huh? What else can you possibly be praying to Fabiola?”
“The spirits back home where I’m from. When I die, I hope to be a spirit saving people just like me. These spirits keep us safe when we pray to them and honor them. They’re the ones that’s going to free us one day.”
“I want to be free, too… Can you teach me more?”
Fabiola went on to tell me more about the spiritual system the slaves of Herivaux plantation were practicing behind Alphonse’s back. Vodou came from the Slave Coast and when it reached Saint Domingue, it syncretized with Taino spiritual system and Catholicism. Fabiola taught me all about the different lwa and how they were there for human interaction. Every sunrise, I would sneak with Fabiola to the beach shore to pray to Bondye and the lwa for love, protection and freedom. Fabiola taught me to rid myself of the comfortability of being enslaved. Fabiola gave me self-determination and I grew to hate being pleased with hand-me-down head wraps and dresses from Alphonse’s daughter. I grew to hate being the slave child that was tokenized for beating the odds against the infancy and child mortality rates. I wasn’t enthusiastic about my sugar production labor anymore. Fabienne noticed it. Alphonse noticed it. The entire Herivaux plantation witnessed me go from grateful slave baby of Alphonse to a stubborn, irritable slave. More beatings came and my frail child body couldn’t withstand them. In the summer of 1789, Alphonse caught Fabiola and I praying and chanting in fon. The entire plantation knew we were practicing vodou. Fabiola received tons of beatings and hate from Alphonse for “turning me evil and disobedient.”
“You made my baby girl a demonic, insufferable heathen like you. Anaica was a catholic girl. She listened, loved to serve people and loved working the plantation. Since you became her friend, she’s a lazy, black worthless child. I can no longer take her disobedience and you may end up swaying other slaves. You both will have to go.” Alphonse went and grabbed his whip from Fabienne. He made Fabiola and I stand by trees that were parallel to each other. We had to strip down in front of the entire plantation. The work didn’t stop when we received our brutal lashings. My nose was running, eyes swelling with tears, I saw blood come from my body from the corner of my eyes. I couldn’t turn my head to see Fabiola but I heard her screaming and crying for her life.
Fabiola wailed and begged for Alphonse to stop his enraged lashings on her back, buttocks, thighs and calves.
“SHUT UP!!!! SHUT!!! UP!!!” Alphonse was filled with rage. He dropped the whip and marched off leaving Fabiola and I with raw, bloody gashes all over our calves, thighs, buttocks and back. Esther walked up to the sight of where Alphonse viciously beat us and paced back and forth between Fabiola and me.
“Two devilish little black slaves. You all caused this on yourselves. Look at both of you.” Esther’s words pierced through me like a sharp knife. Struggling to stand, Fabienne picked me up slowly from the ground to take me inside the house. Fabiola was brought in by a slave man that was new to the plantation. Fabienne laid me on my stomach on the surface of a wooden table. Fabienne cut through my dress that was soiled in blood to tend to my gashes. She wet a rag and cleaned all of them, much to my dismay. I was crying and in pain, eventually passing out. I woke up in my room in Alphonse’s estate. Looking around the room and seeing I was alone intensified my anxiety. Fabiola was the first person that crossed my mind. I was sure Fabienne attended to wounds like she did mine. I wanted to know that Fabiola was okay. I needed to see her and hug her. I held on to the bed post to stand up and felt all the excruciating pain that I slept through. Before I could leave, there was a knock on my door. The door was opened before I can answer. A light skin man of tall stature, wavy short hair and light brown eyes walked in. He was dressed in white crisp clothing. He couldn’t take his eyes off me as he looked at everything from my face to the cloth of my shirt and pants sticking to the gashes I received from Alphonse’s lashings. I tried to read his face to look for some compassion and for a second, I thought I saw him smile with his eyes.
“My name is Rene Baptiste. I will be your escort to the Dessalines plantation, your new home. Anaica, you won’t receive any special treatment as you have had here. You will work and be obedient. You won’t be working with sugar anymore but with coffee. You are young so you must be a quick learner. Let’s go, Anaica.”
I looked around for my shoes but couldn’t find any.
“Don’t worry. We will clothe you when we make it to Plaine-du-Nord.”
I was leaving the southern province, what I knew all my life up until this point. Jacmel was my home although I was enslaved. I didn’t care about saying bye to anyone but Fabiola. Rene held my hand as we exited out of the attic room I was sleeping in. Walking down the stairs, I had to go step by step or risk taking a tumble that my body couldn’t handle. Rene had ample amount of patience with me for the aggressive attitude he initially had up in the attic. We walked out of the Herivaux estate. The night started to approach and the sugar production was at cease. I didn’t see Fabienne or Fabiola but Esther and Alphonse stood by the horse and carriage I would be leaving in to go to the Dessalines plantation. Rene took my hand and walked me to the horse and carriage. An older man was in the carriage when I went to take my seat and he looked at me. The man looked to be about 30 years old and was dark skinned, with high cheekbones and thick sideburns. He pulled me up into the carriage because it took a lot of energy for me to climb in the seat. Rene helped me by pushing me up from my back while the man pulled me up. I wiggled myself into the seat to find some comfortability besides the gashes on my body.
“I’m Jean-Jacques. What is your name?” The man in the seat next to me in the carriage already started to initiate conversation with me?
“My name is Anaica.” I looked down at my hands, avoiding eye contact with Jean-Jacques. I felt him gazing and observing my behavior. The tension was thick although it wasn’t antagonistic. Fabiola was all I could think about. I didn’t know what to expect in Plaine-du-Nord. Would I receive good treatment? Would I have a companion? Would I die there? Would it be my last destination? Thoughts ran through my mind as I knew I would leave the Herivaux plantation without the closure I wanted. While waiting for what I feel had to be 20 minutes, Jean-Jacques left the carriage to assist Rene. I saw Rene speaking to Alphonse and Esther casually as if they’ve known each other for a while. Alphonse didn’t even glance or acknowledge my presence. He made sure I didn’t get to see Fabiola again. I didn’t even know if she was still on the plantation or whether she was alive. Eventually Alphonse and Rene shook hands so Rene could make it back to the horse and carriage. To my surprise, Alphonse sat next to me in the carriage and Jean-Jacques sat in the front to give the ride to Plaine-du-Nord.
“Jean-Jacques, no funny business. I don’t know why Dessalines would even trust you to take this trip with me. NO FUNNY BUSINESS.”
“I will get you and this young lady back to the plantation safely.” Jean-Jacques had a slightly sarcastic tone in his response. I wanted to know what this “funny business” was. Why didn’t Rene feel comfortable with Jean-Jacques being a part of this trip? What did he do prior to this? While thinking about Fabiola, I pondered about the kind of character Jean-Jacques could possibly be. Still tired from the very long chain of events, I only stood awake 20 minutes in the ride to the Northern Province.
When I opened my eyes, it was the break of dawn. The sun was attempting to make its appearance by peeking through the sky and making it orange. A woman came to help me out of the carriage. Rene and Jean-Jacques were already out of the carriage. I saw Rene talking to a man who looked to be mulatto, who was also of tall stature. This man had to be around 50 years old and looked very unpleasant. When he turned to look at me, we made eye contact. I put my head down because all of the thoughts running through my mind at once would’ve led me to run far away. This man looked way harsher than Alphonse although he was older and seemingly more handsome. Fabiola was stuck in my mind as I struggled to rid myself of these thoughts. The man made his way towards my direction to introduce himself.
“Anaica, we finally meet. I’ve heard some very interesting things about you. You look innocent but I’ve heard you’re very mischievous. A strong eye will be kept on you. I suggest you remain on your best behavior and get comfortable.”
The word comfortable was thrown around so casually at my old plantation by people who owned me, people who had access to education and luxury, people who were relatively “free.” I was no longer comfortable being enslaved and transporting me to another plantation wouldn’t change this sentiment. The next few weeks consisted of me working in coffee production, learning to sew and home make, and bonding with other enslaved people on the plantation. One woman in particular by the name of Maribelle stood out. She had dark, smooth skin, heavy set, almond-shaped eyes and always wore a white head wrap. Our conversations and interactions were always one of mother and daughter. Maribelle seemed to have taken me quickly under her wing after the first few weeks on the plantation.
“You don’t really speak about your past time in Jacmel but everyone knows why you here. Saint Domingue is quite small, darling. News spread fast about two young slave girls practicing evil vodou.” Maribelle let out a hearty laugh then continued to talk.
“It’s frightening for the masters, y’know? There’s more slaves in Saint Domingue than those disgraceful mulattos and white Frenchmen, darling. A rebellion is always in the back of their minds. They fear that unity! Freedom for them is threatened once we burn the plantations down. This day is coming soon, darling. Bondye sove yo!”
“Do you think we can really defeat them?”
“With our bodies and vodou, we will defeat these evil people who harm us and make us their property. We will get revenge for all slaves in Saint Domingue. You must practice more vodou, darling. How else can you become the best mambo you can be? How else will you help free your people? You have already started in Jacmel. You shall finish here in the north!”
The next few weeks Maribelle and I spent all of our time together on the plantation. When the night came, Maribelle snuck me by the shore where she taught me rituals, spoke to me about lwa, Bondye and her experience as a mambo. Learning so much about vodou only led me to constantly think about the person who introduced me, Fabiola.
“I can’t help but wonder what happened to Fabiola.”
“One day, you two will reunite. In the very near future. Have patience. She is protected. Worry about your survival here on the plantation.”
The next morning, Jean-Jacques was keeping close to me with Maribelle. Jean-Jacques had a lot of influence over slaves on the plantation. He seemed to have unspoken leadership designated to him. This led to brutal lashings from Dessalines on several occasions on the plantation, in the estate and about anywhere. Jean-Jacques followed me into the estate as I went to make the beds.
“Maribelle has told me how fast you’re learning to practice vodou. Vodou is great and a very important aspect for our people but I think also need to learn how to engage in combat. Very soon, you will need to participate in something that requires you to fight.”
“I have no experience in combat at all. AT ALL.”
“You will learn. You will be taught. We need women fighters.”
In 1790, James Oge led a failed rebellion of 300 mulattoes and free blacks who fought to be equal to the white planters and overseers, after
Word about this rebellion got around fast during the Northern Province as it was the site of the Oge rebellion. Dessalines was walking around the plantation with a stern face because he was suspicious of the slaves plotting behind his back. A slave rebellion was brewing upon the Dessalines plantation. I was ready for something to happen any day. The tension on the plantation was so thick, you can cut it with a knife. Dessalines had problems keeping his slaves in order. The more disorganized his plantation became, the more brutal he lashed out against the slaves. He was losing hegemony over his own plantation.
August 14, 1971 was when I made my debut as a mambo. Maribelle, myself and a large number of representatives from other plantations nearby held the vodou ceremony that would ignite the revolution. Dutty Boukman was the vodou houngan that presided over the ceremony. We conspired to kill all those wealthy white men for all their dirty and evil deeds. Dutty Boukman said this prayer:
“Good Lord who hath made the sun that shines upon us, that riseth from the sea, who maketh the storm to roar; and governeth the thunders, The Lord is hidden in the heavens, and there He watcheth over us. The Lord seeth what the blancs have done. Their god commandeth crimes, ours giveth blessings upon us. The Good Lord hath ordained vengeance. He will give strength to our arms and courage to our hearts. He shall sustain us. Cast down the image of the god of the blancs, because he maketh the tears to flow from our eyes. Hearken unto Liberty that speaketh now in all your hearts.”
After a black creole pig was sacrificed to Ezili Dantor, the lwa of motherhood. Cecile Fatiman slit the pig herself and I assisted in the spread of the blood to the others in attendance. The blood was the specimen that solidified the pact to kill all those white men. This blood would make us invincible to any white man trying to stop the insurrection. Cecile became possessed by Ezili 7 Kout Kouto, the most dangerous manifestation of Ezili Dantor. Cecile was dancing to the beat of the drums and we all danced with her.
“7 kout kouto, 7 kout ponya
prete mwen ganmèl lan pou mwen al vomi san e.
7 kout kouto, 7 kout ponya
prete mwen ganmèl lan pou mwen al vomi san e.
Prete mwen ganmèl lan pou mwen al vomi san
san mwen ape koule.
7 stabbings of knives, 7 stabbings of daggers.
Lend me the ganmèl so I can vomit blood
Lend me the ganmèl, so I can vomit blood,
My blood is running.”
For the next three days, the villages where the white men stayed were burned down to the ground. Thousands of white men were executed. I took part in the destruction of the Dessalines plantation. Jean-Jacques ordered us to not kill Dessalines but we burned it down to the ground. We destroyed everything that we knew to cause our suffering. The fire was so bright and long-lasting night and day couldn’t be distinguished. The French Army stepped in to attempt to restore order in Saint Domingue. The French captured and beheaded Dutty Boukman. Maribelle, myself and tons of other vodousaints retreated to the deeps wood south of Le Cap. For the next few years, we would live here as a community. Jean-Jacques would be known as Dessalines dethroning his own former master. News spread about him joining the new leader of the revolution, Toussaint L’ouverture. L’ouverture and Dessalines bonded over wanting the defeat of slavery and the French declared an end to slavery in all of their colonies in 1794. Dessalines became a high-ranking lieutenant following the steps of L’ouverture but the two of them differed in one major way. For many years, L’ouverture allowed Saint Domingue to remain a colony ran by former slaves. Dessalines wanted a sovereign black nation! Not only did I want a free black nation, I wanted to leave my vodou community and take part in battle. Dessalines groomed me while on the plantation to take combat. I felt like I was wasting away hiding in the woods from the French when I didn’t fear them. I prayed to lwa for Dessalines and I to cross paths for two weeks straight.
One night while we all were eating a group dinner, we could hear a herd coming towards us. I squinted my eyes trying to see if these were white Frenchmen. Screaming and scurrying came from everyone eating dinner as I stood exactly where I was eating unafraid. The herd came closer and I could see Dessalines in the front heading towards us. My body was filled with intensifying anxiety from seeing him after all of these years. When I last saw him, he wore the linen that was provided to us on the plantation but now he donned a military attire. His thick sideburns were still very prominent.
“Anaica! It’s been very long sister. It’s about time you show your greatness. Are you ready to come with me?’ Dessalines smiled at me as if years hadn’t passed.
“I’d be delighted to join you in combat.” I looked back at my vodousaint community for approval. Maribelle smiled at me with her eyes. I walked up to her with tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t know if I would see her again and I appreciated her being a mother-figure for me. I walked up to the horse Dessalines was on, and he pulled me up. I sat in the back of him and we headed back to Le Cap. Once we arrived, I was given a battle strategy to attack Napoleon Bonaparte’s hidden base in Saint Raphael.
“You and 99 others will go in and attack the bases from all sides. You will lead in the front by storming into the base and attacking all of Napoleon’s soldiers. Decapitate them!” Dessalines gave me orders that I was so delighted to take.
The following night, I was donned in a military outfit. The hat, the blazer, white pants and boots that made me look like a miniature Dessalines. There were 50 horses for two soldiers each. Just as Dessalines ordered, I led the attack from the very front and others attacked from all sides of the base. My adrenaline pumping, I jumped off the horse and engaged in combat. I had an 8-inch sword that did much damage to every white man in sight. After taking a step back, I can see all of my soldiers viciously attacking Napoleon’s men. We outnumbered them in men and I was the only woman in sight. My soldiers decapitated 4 men, our pants drenched in blood from these devils. Blood was splattered on my face. Gratified, thirsty, anxious, and victorious.
“RETREAT!” I yelled as loud as I can. All of the soldiers dispersed to get back to their horses. My adrenaline pumping as I just led a battle with confidence. We headed back to Le Cap to brag about our victory against Napoleon’s men. I sat behind my comrade who led the ride as I too fatigued to make it back. Half an hour, we made it back to our base in Le Cap. Dessalines helped me off the horse to greet me with a big hug and gracious smile.
“I always knew you had it in you. You have the spark in your eyes that shows you will do anything to free your people. You’ve proved me right and have made me proud. Together, you and I, Anaica will avenge America.”
