When we saw the sloop rowing into Great Inagua’s harbor on Easter Sunday, I thought I was witnessing a traditional sailing event.
They came in with the sails down, rowing two men at each oar, and pulled up to the dock without a motor or any help from shore. After tying up to the sea wall, the men sat down on the wooden deck and waited under the baking sun. My husband took the waiting as a sign that maybe they weren’t Bahamians at all, maybe they came from Haiti.
We’d heard stories of Haitian refugees being picked up by patrol boats off the coast of Inagua.
But these were not refugees, they were sailors arriving to collect a shipping container full of aid.
When they paddled into the harbour, they looked like a moving page from a history book. The rustic watercraft stood out in the foreground of two enormous coast guard ships dominating the harbour with cold steel. The sloop was a lovely sight to behold, with old painted wood and lines made of actual rope.
And you know what else was hard to miss? Their mastery of the trade. The men on board were seasoned sailors that had probably never used a motor to assist in their watery voyages. And why should they? The Haitians have been sailing their sloops through the islands since the 1600s. Whether pirating, smuggling or trading, the sloop is the warp and weft of Caribbean sailing history. The 300+ year old French design is unmatched in maneuverability and functionality. And the Haitians are unmatched in their sailing abilities. The combination moves them through the water with generations of experience and mastery. Although they rarely get any credit or mention.
The Jamaicans and Bahamians I spoke to all agreed that there is no better sailor in the Caribbean than the Haitians. Gosh, what I would give to see a group of them on a boat at one of the lake regattas back home.
Their sailing expertise was one thing to witness, but watching them fit an entire shipping container full of used appliances, bedding, clothes and everything else you can imagine into the sail freighter was another feet entirely. They made all the contents of a full shipping container literally disappear into the bowels of a small sailing vessel.
After two days of unloading appliances in the unrelenting sun, they prepared to sail back to Haiti. Without a motor, they raised their cloth with little wind in a tight harbor, and showed off their mastery of the trade. They sailed their prowess into the sunset.
The visiting sailors in town all stopped on the street to watch the sloop make its exit out of Inagua. It was breathtaking.
As a sailor living in an age of convenience, it’s rare to glimpse a raw endeavor like this, fueled by ancient energy sources and generations of practiced skill. The Haitian sloop is a window in time, a glimpse of maritime history that we were lucky to see in person.
I was star struck to say the least. Adam on the other hand, was a little intimidated. The combination of skilled sailors, fast sloops and an island full of hungry, desperate war torn people that have all but been forgotten by the rest of the world…
Well, you can imagine where I’m going with that. Black flags and scallywags. But take out the ‘muppets’ in Treasure Island, and insert Haitian Crime Boss. Not a pretty sight. The biggest crime boss in Haiti is named Barbecue. And it’s not because he likes to eat chicken.
The locals of Inagua warned us to sail well north of Haiti when we departed. Say no more! My husband hugged Cuba so close, we saw the lights from the southern coast all through the night. It was strangely comforting. And the irony is that I actually wanted to sail to Cuba before we decided on Jamaica, but my husband felt it was too ‘dangerous.’ I’m not sold on that idea but, I respect any safety concerns while we are traveling with kiddos.
”Cuba’s not looking so bad now is it?” I taunted as we made our slow way along windward passage.
We puckered up every time we saw a sailing vessel on the horizon that wasn’t on our AIS. And most of the time, we kept our AIS on silent mode (we could see others but they couldn’t see us.)
When we arrived in Jamaica after 3 days of open ocean, we befriended one of the naval police officers who cleared us in. He shared stories of Haitian sailors he encountered while patrolling the waters. He spoke of 28 foot sailing sloops filled with 35-40 women and children seeking Jamaican asylum. He’d seen babies that were born on these passages, and still they were sent back to Haiti, unwanted by their Jamaican neighbors. He said it was the hardest part of his job, sending them back to a country where the average life expectancy is 50.
”What is the harm in helping them?” He asked as he remembered all the heart wrenching times he sent desperate, hungry people back to Haiti.
”It’s not my job to question the law, just to uphold it.” He concluded.
Before the Haitians are repatriated, Jamaicans load their boat full of aid, but the police officers in Haiti take it all from them when they arrive.
It’s unspeakably tragic what so many people in this world endure. Being the daughter of an immigrant, I understand a small piece of the desperation that fuels long and dangerous journeys to new places. All for a taste of freedom and maybe, maybe, a taste of equality.
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