One of the hottest and most prolific wordsmiths on the lifestyle, travel and entertainment journalism scene, Danielle Pointdujour writes for some of print and digital media’s biggest outlets. While most future journalists had their start in the high school newspaper, Pointdujour’s abilities as a scribe started to get notice while she was still in elementary school. She wrote her very first book when she was a fourth grader and launched it to her classmates on her birthday.

A bookworm growing up, Pointdujour was taken by many novels, but in particular Toni Morrison’s classic The Bluest Eye. She can still recall how she was moved by the classic novel. She credits The Bluest Eye for being one of the books that helped her carve her own writing style and develop an eye for good writing. “Every page of that book made me feel something and helped me connect with the characters,” she observes. “I could see every scene in my mind. Even today when read books, if I can’t feel something or visualize the moment, I can’t finish it. It needs to grab me. When I’m not writing on a specific topic, I like to write in the same format. I want you to feel my words and relate.”

Relate is definitely something readers tend to do when Pointdujour writes. She’s known for her introspective, analysis-filled articles on outlets like Egypt Said So, Clutch, Ebony and Jet. One of the most highly debated articles of the journalist’s career, was an article she wrote for Clutch entitled “Pots, Pans, and Non-Cooking Women”. The article went in on girls of this generation who aren’t active in the kitchen. With that article, Pointdujour didn’t assume the patriarchal society-minded tone of other articles on the subject. She didn’t castigate or ridicule young women for not being “wifey material”, but rather emphasized that cooking is a much-needed skill for survival.

Pointdujour has also written a series of “As Told To” confessionals for Ebony, in which interview subjects trusted her to tell their personal stories about everything from post-quarterlife virginity to paternity and marital secrets. The series is one of the most read and looked-forward=to columns for the publication’s digital arm, drawing plenty of commentary and discussion.

Time after time, Pointdujour shows her ability for knowing what will resonate with readers. Here’s the Howard University alumni, Brooklyn-born daughter of a Guyanese mom and Haitian father, discussing her journey as a scribe…

Did journalism chase you until you had no choice but to embrace it? Or was the attraction always mutual?

Nope, the attraction was always mutual. I love to write and I always seek opportunities to do so. From being on the year book staff, to writing for the school paper…I’m always trying to put pen to paper.

Do you think that in years to come the line between advertising and editorial will become grayer and grayer until finally it’s nonexistent ?
I don’t think the line between advertising and editorial will ever be non-existent, but like most things, it will evolve. The world of journalism isn’t the same as it was 20 years ago, or even 5 for that matter. It changes as the world changes. The line may be gray now, but that’s just because of change. Will the two areas have to find a way to co-exist, especially in this tech-heavy, instant information world we live in? Yes. But there will always be a line between the two—in my opinion.

As the American-born child of two Caribbean parents, were you told that journalism and being a writer wouldn’t be practical as careers? If so, how did you manage to convince your parents that you would be a success at it?

Fortunately no! Well, at least not by my parents. My father and mother always encouraged me to be whatever I wanted to be…as long as it didn’t land me in jail lol. They both encouraged my writing, as a matter of fact, my father probably has everything I’ve ever written, even the digital pieces. My grandparents, however, could care less about my writing. They enjoy it, they like to read it, but my grandmother on my Haitian side would’ve preferred me to be a nurse. And married…with kids. [Laughter]

As crazy as it sounds for a child from a Caribbean family to say, I’ve never really cared about or followed anything my family has wanted for my life. I usually tell them what I’m going to do, not ask for advice or permission. I live for me and do what feels right for me. My father never micro-managed my decisions; he raised me to be independent and to trust my own gut from a very early age. Unless it was something like behaving in school, doing my chores, had to do with life or death or combing my hair—I hated combing my hair—I was free to make my own choices. If I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t, and if I did…I did. Because I was taught to trust my gut, I’ve never made a choice that took me down a wrong path or shamed my family. If I fell, I knew how to get up before they ever noticed I was down. I may not be a millionaire doing the writing thing, but I love it and my family just supports and rolls with it. [Laughter]

Have you been to Haiti?

No, and my grandmother is somewhere praying for the correction of that tragedy in my life as we speak. The side-eye I get every time I go to Abu Dhabi or Thailand, but not Haiti, is unreal. She has a huge home in Haiti that she built piece by piece since I was a little girl and I’ve never been there. Actually, out of 9 grandchildren only one has been, but we’re working on taking a family trip there soon. I’ve seen so many beautiful pictures of Haiti; it’s definitely on my list!

That’s definitely something to look forward to….Do you think that the media has the power it had say earlier this century, or even in the last century?

Media definitely still holds a lot of power! Especially since today media outlets are literally at the fingertips of the world. It has the power to broadcast breaking news at lightning speed and because of all the technology we have access to these days, I feel it is in the middle of an amazing transformation. The downside to the power and transformation however, is that media outlets are being less careful. The race to be the first to break on outlets like Twitter, has caused false info to be released and journalistic integrity to be compromised. Everyone with a keyboard thinks they are media these days. Also. because of things like reality television, false images are portrayed all over the globe and it’s hard to decipher what people and countries are really like. It’s a tough balance.

You write for a great many publications. You’re very versatile. One minute, a Danielle Pointdujour article on relationships appears on Vibe Vixen, and the next minute you’re writing about travel for TravelNoire, or about health and fitness for Frugivore or women’s issues for Clutch. How did you get to be such an all-around reporter and writer?

I think you have to be when you’re a writer. You can most certainly have a favorite subject, for example mine is travel, but you have to be flexible enough to go get and write the story no matter the topic. I’ve written about nude pantyhose for Coco + Crème – I can’t tell you the last time I wore pantyhose [Laughter] I’ve written about makeup – never worn it. But at the end of the day, whatever I’m writing isn’t about me and my preferences, it’s about the audience. So long as I believe in what I’m writing and who I’m writing it for, I can write pretty much anything.

What journalistic piece do you feel is your crown and glory in terms of what you had to put into it, and the satisfaction that it gave you, as a professional and woman of the pen?

Wow, that’s a tough one. My crown and glory piece would have to be a little article I wrote at Howard for our newspaper The Hilltop. I did an interview with publicist Marvet Britto. She was my idol! I had never interviewed anyone important before and I reached out to her honestly not expecting to hear back. She contacted me for the interview and I remember being so nervous! When the article was printed I sent her a copy, she loved it so much she offered me an internship with her company The Britto Agency. I was beyond excited; it felt like validation that I was on the right path because someone I admired respected my work. I remember while interning for her I wrote a bio for a client she had named Ralph Jacob, it was the first celebrity bio she let me write. Ralph called Marvet to tell her how much he loved it and she was so proud that she gave me $100 cash straight from her wallet. Best money I ever earned.

Wow…Do you think a college degree is still a big requirement for those who want to get into publishing and journalism?

Definitely. Unfortunately these days everyone and anyone with a keyboard and the ability to write a decent sentence thinks they are a writer and journalist. The reality is writing is a skill. You can’t just wake up one day and decide that you are now an ace in the field. You need to learn basic writing styles, editing, research and fact-checking skills, reporting, etc, and you need to have your most prized piece broken down to the marrow and drowned in a sea of red pen before you are even close to being a writer and journalist. And even then you’re not done honing your craft. Even the best people in the field are still learning, growing and perfecting their craft, because that’s what it is, a craft.

What’s next for you in your career? Or can I guess…a novel, becoming an editor, going for another degree…

Honestly, I have no idea! Currently I am the Content Editor for TravelNoire.com and a freelance writer for Ebony.com and JETMag.com. A few people have told me I should write a book based on experiences I’ve had during my travels, but I haven’t sat still long enough to even figure out where to begin. I’m really big on luxury travel and enjoy reviewing the amazing places I’m blessed to visit, so I’m hoping I can partner with tourism boards, hotels, resorts and restaurants in various countries very soon. Maybe the Haitian Tourism Board will give me a call!

Click Here to Read Danielle Pointdujour’s Work | Follow Danielle Pointdujour On Twitter |

One of the most acclaimed authors of Haitian descent on this planet, Dany Laferrière was admitted as a member of the prestigious Academie Française, an institution for intellectual heavyweights that has been in existence for a more than two centuries. Laferrière’s novels have been noted by critics for offering glimpses of Haiti through the themes of exile and acculturation in Quebec that he repeatedly explores in his books. He found it necessary to pen The World is Moving Around Me: A Memoir of the Haiti Earthquake, chronicling his brief stop on the island during the catastrophe.

Laferrière’s tomes have earned him several awards, including France’s Prix Medicis Prize for his novel L’enigma du retour (published in English as The Return). Some literary critics have praised the author for his whimsical titles as much as his writing. Several of his books have been adapted for the big screen starting with How to Make Love to A Negro Without Getting Tired, and Vers Le Sud (Heading South).

Your last name is Laferrière. Do any of your ancestors have a connection of sort to that Citadel in Haiti that we all hear so much about?

I imagine that there is a link between me and the citadel because there aren’t too many Laferrières in Haiti. I think it was the architect of the citadel who was named Laferrière. I have not investigated this case because I’m not trying to come from a distinguished family, contenting myself with being an ordinary Haitian.

What do you consider your greatest achievement as a writer?

There is no great achievement in literature. This is different from sport: it is not as clear as a 100 meters race where you’re immediately declared the fastest runner, and the stadium stands up and applauds. We simply write our emotions and we hope that the reader will experience them the way we did. It’s the reader who determines the strength of a book.

Tell us about yourself. Your childhood, and stuff.

I don’t have much to add. I’ve told plenty in my books, and eleven of them, I believe, are translated into English, and in fifteen languages. You must read them, if you want to know me. I worked hard for almost thirty years to stop responding to such questions. Regarding my childhood, I have said everything in Aroma of Coffee. It is up to you to tell me about your childhood and see a link, if possible, with mine and your parents’.

What can you tell us about the writing of your book Aroma of Coffee?

I wrote The Aroma of Coffee after arriving in Miami in 1990. I saw the Caribbean decor of this town, the heat, the trees and it reminded me of my childhood. I sat in a small room and I wrote this book about my childhood in a month. At first, I was taking notes to see if I remembered this childhood spent with my grandmother Da in Petit-Goave. Then I realized that these small paragraphs were not notes, but burning images of my childhood. I published the manuscript as is.

Is there an author whose work that you so admired, that it pushed you to become a writer yourself?

There is no writer in particular who inspired me to become a writer. It’s the thousands of little details that give direction to someone’s life. It takes a tribe to help us finish what we start. These are writers whose spirit, style and heart we love. There are many in my case: Borges, Baldwin, Bulgakov, Romanian, Alexis, Tanizaki, Tolstoy, Diderot, Gombrowicz, Baldwin, Hemmingway, Marquez, Amado, Miller, Ducharme, Miron, Walcott, Carpentier, Chauvet, Woof, Rufo, Graham Green, Bukowski, etc. All of them helped convince me that this was what I wanted to do.

Out of all the books you’ve written, which one has been the absolutely most painful to write?

The book cost me my back is Le Cris des Oiseaux Fous. I finished it with the help of five pillows because of a terrible backache. I thought it was a physical problem when in fact it was the most emotionally painful book. In it, I mentioned leaving Haiti, my father’s exile, and the suffering my mother endured from seeing the two men in her life—my father and me—go into exile.

When you travel to Haiti, what are some things that come to your mind?

When I am in Haiti, nothing else comes to mind other than being in Haiti. Haiti is too alive to give you time to think. There is always something in the house, in the streets—in life—there. It’s when I’m not in Haiti that I harbor thoughts about Haiti. When I am outside of Haiti, Haiti is in me and I am in Haiti.

Your bio says that you lived in Miami for a time. Why did you ultimately choose to live in Montreal?

I first lived in Montreal after leaving Haiti for the first time in 1976. Then in 1990, I went to live and write in Miami (1990 to 2002). In 2002, I returned to Montreal where I’ve lived up to now. I didn’t choose it in 1976. I had to leave Haiti abruptly, as I was in danger of death, just after the death of my friend, the journalist Gasner Raymond.

What is the Haitian community like in Canada?

All is well in the community. It’s mainly based in Montreal, and increasingly in other cities like Quebec. Members of the community operate in all areas: taxis, hospitals—many nurses and doctors—engineers, workers, artists—actors, writers, painters—restauranteurs, shopkeepers.. It is very varied…The President of the council of the city of Montreal is a Haitian poet named Benjamin Frantz. The President of l’Union des écrivains Québécois—the Union of Quebec Writers—is a writer of Haitian origin Stanley Péan, and so on…We can say that after more than 60 years of presence in this city, [the Haitian community in Montreal] is a resounding success.

If you could talk to all the young aspiring authors of this world, what would you tell them?

Read, read, read without attempting to judge. Read to learn. And don’t be like those people writing blogs who give their opinion constantly when they haven’t yet written a single book. When one tries to write, when one tries to do something significant in any field, one becomes more humble. You develop more respect for others’ work. When you’re too hard on others, you’re digging your own hole. You’re always going to have this fear of not living up to your dreams. Instead, look at things this way: you’re a chick who’s trying to fly. You have to learn, take note of great sentences, write simple stories—not to publish, but to study range—like a pianist. Have self-restraint, but don’t be shy. Be absorbed in your work. And if you can’t take criticism, don’t show your work. Protect yourself—and when you’re ready—send it to a publisher—and not another writer, because he’ll be busy with his own books. He’s already given you everything a writer can possibly give—his own published works. As for me, I published through Memoire D’encrier, a book that chronicles my life as a writer and reader for young writers: Journal d’un jeune écrivain en pyjama [Diary of a young writer in pajamas]. It was picked up by [France-based publisher] Grasset. If you want to compliment a writer, don’t tell him he’s a great writer. Let him know by citing passages from his work that you’ve read his books.

You’ve said you are often asked why you don’t write in Creole, your first language.

My answer: Why don’t they translate my work in Creole? I’m referring to a bona fide translation of Aroma of Coffee and some of my other books (Pays sans chapeau, Le Charme des Après-midi Sans Fin, Le Cri des Oiseaux Fous) done ​​by a real writer of the Creole language. The art of writing is the same in any language: you must write constantly in that said language to achieve acceptable results. It’s not enough to be French to write a good book in French, just as it is not enough to be Haitian to write a good book in Creole. The language must work to make him [creatively] discharge. Instead of criticizing a writer for not writing in [his] native language—writers are essentially free beings—we should instead offer to translate his book. And after evaluating your credentials, and seeing that you are up to the challenge, he accepts your proposal. It’s not a matter of faith, it’s an art.

Stefani Saintonge is drawn to cinema. Her blood stream has fragments of celluloid sprinkled all over it, and lots of vintage cutting room dust. If her parents had their way, she would be doing her medical school residency right now, not doing this interview about her career as a Bronx, New York-born filmmaker of Haitian descent. At least, they can be proud of all the accolades she’s received for her work as a writer-director-writer. These laurels include the winning trophy at Essence Black Women in Hollywood Short Film Contest for her coming-of-age short Seventh Grade. Her documentary La Tierra de los Adioses (The Land of Goodbyes) won Best Latin American Short Documentary at Mexico’s Festival Internacional de Cine en el Desierto.

Her next project will bring her to Haiti, her parents’ native land. It’s a project close to the Hofstra University MFA-holder’s heart entitled Babay, Papa Rose.

Kreyolicious: How did your interest in film begin?

I come from a movie-buff family. Both of my parents are obsessed with cinema in their own way. My dad loves the action- thriller- high drama blockbuster type stuff. While my mom loves the indie- foreign- documentary type stuff. Movies are our only bonding activity aside from eating. It didn’t become a viable dream for me until I had to graduate college with a print journalism degree, and the thought of writing news articles for the rest of my life terrified me. That forced me to face what I truly wanted to do with my life and cinema was it. I applied to graduate school and the rest is history.

Kreyolicious: You’re based in New York. Do you think that it’s absolutely necessary that a filmmaker be based in either New York or Los Angeles?

I’m from New York, so I’ve never tried to be a filmmaker outside of this city. With that said, I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary, but it does help in developing a network. Filmmaking is so accessible now that you can do it from anywhere. So it depends on what you want out of film. If you just want to make your own films, sure, live in Milwaukee. But if you want to work on other’s people’s films and connect with super talented individuals, then it’s probably best to be in one of the two.

Kreyolicious: If you could put together a list of five films and five filmmakers who have influenced you, who would figure on that list?

That’s a hard one. That list changes depending on the week and the project I’m working on. Right now I’m preparing for a short to be shot in Haiti about a family reuniting for a funeral. So I’ve been watching dysfunctional family-event films like The Celebration, Rachel’s Getting Married or About Elly. I’m also looking at movies shot with natural light since that will be our situation given Haiti’s electricity problems so Dallas Buyers Club, Y Tu Mama Tambien and Tree of Life are also on my list.

Kreyolicious: What made you undertake the project Seventh Grade?

I had mentor who told me to write about a significant event from my childhood. I couldn’t think of anything so instead I tried to pinpoint when my childhood ended, and for me it was Seventh Grade and all the terrible, confusing, hormone-induced incidents that come with it.

Kreyolicious:: Now that film won every possible prize for short films, practically. Were you surprised at the way it was received?

I was surprised. It was my first narrative venture. I’d gone to school for documentary, but wanted to try my hand at fiction just to see if I could. It was rough learning as you go, but we made it work. I’m glad people connected with it, which is always the goal when creating films.

Kreyolicious: Practically every film project you’ve done touch upon topics of community, migration, and adolescence. Why those themes?

Also…women. I have two immigrant parents who come from a place where community and family is everything. That can be a nurturing space for young women but also quite destructive. I guess I’m interested in that clash.

Kreyolicious: You’re involved with a film collective called The New Negress Film Society. First off, I have to say that this name sounds really cool. Not just negress…new negress. What made you join this initiative, and what does it mean to you?

My friend, Ja’Tovia Gary, is one of the founding members, and she asked me to join. I agree with you, the name is dope. It embodies exactly how we as black women artists confront the world. I encourage everyone in this artist hustle—especially black women—to organize. It can be marginalizing. The saying is correct—there is power in numbers. New Negress is all about concrete support whether it’s through exhibition, promotion or working on each other’s individual projects. Having a network of people you admire as artists who have pledged to ensure your success is invaluable.

Kreyolicious: How do you stay connected to Haiti? Do you go to Haiti often?

I’m working on a short now to be shot in Haiti, which has forced me to go to Haiti more. I was just there in June laying out a foundation, and I will be back in December to stay until the shoot at the end of January. The goal is to have this be a Haiti-US co-production involving the film community based down there as much as possible. I hope this will open a door to continue creating and building connections with the artist community in Haiti.

Kreyolicious: Would you advise a college freshman to major in film in preparation for a career as a filmmaker? Or would you encourage her to major in finance, work in that field for a while, and then use income she saved towards a career in film?

I do not advise the latter at all for two reasons: At the end of the day, the only way to improve at your craft is by completing projects. Many, many projects. If you work in another field for a while, all that time and energy you spent doing something you don’t like was time you should have been using developing your art. Filmmaking is not a hobby. It takes full-time effort. Secondly, people get addicted to comfort. Starting a film career is years of seeing a minuscule return for a massive amount of effort. If you let yourself become accustomed to a fat paycheck every other week, you’re never going to want to change your career to something as poverty-inducing as filmmaking.

If you want to be a filmmaker, then be a filmmaker. There’s no safe path. If you can go to film school, do it. You’ll have four years to practice, develop your art, build a network and create something to potentially launch your career.

Kreyolicious: Filmmakers and other creative people are never idle. Even when they’re sleeping. What are you working on now, and what do you plan to undertake next?

I was fortunate enough to receive a grant to do my next short project in Haiti. We’re shooting in January, just outside of Port-au-Prince. The film is loosely based on my mother. It’s about a woman going to the funeral of her estranged father in Haiti.

Seventh Grade from Stefani Saintonge on Vimeo.

Kreyolicious: You hold an MFA from Hofstra University in Documentary Filmmaking and Production. Looking back now, would you have made the same choice?

I go back and forth on this. Sometimes I wish I had gone to traditional film school so I could have the narrative training that many of my colleagues have. However, documentary film training has informed my aesthetic in exceedingly beneficial ways. The intimacy and authenticity you see in Seventh Grade came directly out of documentary. I plan on merging my training into my narrative pieces even more with my next project. I guess today I’m at peace with the decision. It was a great program, and the choice brought me further than I expected.

[Photos furnished by subject.]

STEFANI SAINTONGE ON VIMEO| STEFANI SAINTONGE’S WEBSITE | Keep up with Stefani’s project in Haiti HERE

To call writer Ibi Zoboi ‘versatile’ is an understatement. Her pen will write a compelling essay one minute, a short story the next, and a children’s book the next.

A recurring theme in her works is identity and culture, mostly as seen through black and Haitian-American identity. What distinguishes her from other contemporary writers and authors with a Haitian background is the science fiction and fantasy factor.

Zoboi founded Daughters of Anacaona Writing Project, an initiative for women of Haitian descent. “The Harem”, a short story she wrote was among the short story collection in the anthology Haiti Noir. Her latest work Bandit, a young adult fantasy novel, has garnered lots of acclaim, as well as the honor of being one of five works nominated for the prestigious Lee and Low New Visions Award.

Zoboi’s A is for Ayiti is part of a series of children’s titles published by One More Book publishing.

Q & A

You are currently working on an MFA in Writing for children and teens.
Yes, I’m in my second semester. Best decision, ever! I’ve been calling myself a writer for fifteen years. I think in my last semester, in a matter of six months, I learned how to write a book. And I’m very much committed to writing for children and teens. This is the age where magic happens. Magic can be real in the mind and imagination of a child–magic for black children especially. I teach creative writing and essay writing in New York City public schools, so I call myself an “Imagination Teacher”. You wouldn’t believe how many of our children can’t fathom a magical world outside of their own realities. They’ve inherited such rich cultural traditions from the American South, the Caribbean, West Africa, and all they can come up with is Harry Potter, sparkly vampires, fairies, and unicorns. This is especially true for Haitian children. Why can’t we have tales of the lougarou and even the Vodou pantheon to instill cultural values? Ti Bouki and Ti Malice are fine, but we need some new narratives, silvouplé!

You were born in Haiti? What do you remember of it?
I remember being raised by a village. Every woman around was an aunt, every man an uncle, and every child a cousin. I left Haiti when I was four years old, but there’s so much I remember. In recent years, before I returned as an adult, certain sounds and tastes, and combination of colors would remind me of home. That’s why I’m so sure that memory is a muscle. And my memory is very dreamlike—vivid but tinged with a bit of magic fog. I guess that’s why I write fantasy. Haiti will always be within the confines of my four-year-old imagination, no matter how many times I go back.

Can you recall the first time you went back?
I went back as an adult six months after the earthquake. I was plagued with a deep sense of loss. I’d spent all these years not having gone back and now Port-au-Prince’s landscape had completely changed. Traveling back to Haiti was like teleporting. Four hours away and you’re in a completely different world. I remember having to adjust my vision—–taking off my glasses and putting them back on again. Port-au-Prince was broken. But not the people. I’d spent time with some teenage girls and that’s when I remembered my own spirit. Jokes for days. And sisterhood. They didn’t know each other but there was none of that cattiness that I see so often here in Brooklyn. And my own reconnection with my long lost half-sister confirmed this as well. Culture is blood, bones, and DNA. What I saw in Haiti wasn’t just resilience. We have a strong sense of who we are. The earthquake happened, people perished, homes in ruins, but we move on. Ou reziye w, as they say. The second time I went was just this past November for Gédé. Now that’s when I discovered Haiti’s magic. There are lots of things looming in Haiti’s shadows. You listen well enough, they whisper to you. You shut your eyes and ears, the move around you like the wind. I went with ears wide open.

How was it growing up Haitian in Brooklyn?
That’s like an oxymoron. A Haitian in Brooklyn is basically…Haitian. There are enough Haitians around to make you feel right at home. The adjustments and the assimilation happened on the outside—–at work and at school. There’s a huge difference between growing up in Flatbush—Little Haiti & Little Caribbean—and growing up in Bushwick where I lived from age five to ten—Little Puerto Rico and Dominican Republic. If I’d spent my early years in Flatbush, I think I’d be a different person. But Bushwick was rough for a little Haitian girl. My mother had held on to her childhood memories of Haiti so she sent me to school wearing the very finest in French colonial schoolgirl attire—stiff, lacy, bright party dresses with matching ribbons. We’re talking 1980s crack era Bushwick here. Despite my name and clothes screaming Haitian against the graffiti and crack vile-strewn schoolyard, I denied it every single time. Someone would accuse me of being Haitian and I’d vehemently protest saying that I was full-blooded Dominicana. This was survival! Admitting to being Haitian was permission for a beat down. There were other Haitians around, but most times, we denied it so we never really found each other unless if our parents knew each other. You remember AIDS the 4 Hs back in the 80s? The saying was that you got AIDS from being a Homosexual, Heroine [addicts], Hemophiliacs, and—drumroll please—Haitian!

I’ve read about the whole AIDS and whole 4Hs controversy. In his book Stone of Hope, the writer Jean-Robert Cadet writes about how he was a cab driver for a bit on the upper east coast and he would tell potential passengers who asked that he was from Martinique. But that’s him as an adult, knowing how to cope. But as a kid, were you ostracized by some of your friends? Did some teachers treat you differently?
There were some African American girls who lived next door to me when I was growing up in Bushwick. I remember one girl inviting me over, then saying, “You don’t know what a barbecue is ’cause you Haitian!” I remember getting that a lot. There were other Haitian children in my Catholic school, but they all seemed to have assimilated much quicker than I did. My mother sent me to school in stiff party dresses and ribbons in my hair. I matched perfectly, but because I was Haitian, I didn’t match and had HBO—Haitian Body Odor. I was smart and soft-spoken. Some other girls I knew would curse them out in Kreyol. I remember transferring to a public school in fifth grade, and because of my name and how I dressed, I was put in the E[nglish for S[peakers of other]L[anguages] class. I didn’t say a word. Yes, teachers did treat me like an…immigrant. Then I took a test and was sent to the top class. I learned then that being smart was power. Again, if I had grown up in Flatbush with all the other Haitians, I don’t think I would’ve had this experience.

At which point in your life did you ultimately embrace being Haitian?
When I moved to a predominately Caribbean and Haitian community in Queens–Cambria Heights. And I went to a mostly white Catholic school where most of the black kids were Haitian. Elementary school kids are gullible. But you can’t fool teenagers into thinking you’re Dominican with a hefty Haitian name like Pascale. But you assimilate nonetheless. I still didn’t quite fit in. Even in the Haitian community there is a hierarchy. You had Haitians with money who sent their kids to Haiti every summer. Haitians who scraped pennies to send their kids to good schools and raised their kids to forget Kreyol and slip smoothly into the folds of society.

I embraced being African and Pan-Africanism and feminism first. I went in through the back door. Understanding Egyptian and West African mythology helped me to understand and claim Vodou culture. I know very little about Haitian popular culture, though—the konpa bands, etc. But ask me about the origins of veves in Taino symbolism or the meaning of Ayibobo and I’ll tell you. No, I cannot name one single Sweet Mickey song.

You’re probably the first, and probably the only writer with a Haitian background, as far as I’m aware, who writes science fiction and fantasy. What drew you to this genre?
I don’t think I’m the first and only, but I may be the only one categorizing my work as such. I’ve just been introduced to the work of Haitian artist Edouard Duval Carrie. I think I try to write what he paints. He draws from Vodou cosmology. There’s a book called Quantum Vodou that describes the cosmology as a science. African spiritual traditions are essentially sci-fi and fantasy. It’s real to us. Possession is time-traveling and teleporting. Our songs and drumbeat rhythms are all about sound vibrations and frequency to incite the right psychological reactions in the minds and souls of the worshipers. But what the categories of sci-fi and fantasy do for me is allow me to push Vodou mythology towards those boundaries. What if Papa Legba and Gédé are fully realized beings in our world? What if Poto Mitan was a real time-traveling portal? I was interested in world mythology first. My stories reflected this. When I was introduced to the work of Octavia Butler and discovered the genres of sci-fi and fantasy, I ran with it.

Do you remember the first book that just wowed you? In terms of how you were able to relate to its characters, and it having a downright profound effect on you?
Yep. Indaba, My Children by Vusamazulu Credo Mutwa. This isn’t a fantasy or sci-fi novel. It isn’t a novel at all. The title indicates a collection of African Folktales. That’s a misnomer. It’s an epic, multi-generational, astro-journey into the collective psyche of the Zulu people with references to Kemet—Ancient Egypt—Yoruba, Ashanti, Mali and Songhai Empires, Nubians, etc. Their oral history dates back to little red people who were annihilated by a sun-wielding goddess all the way through modern day South Africa. There was even an explanation for the Tutsi/Hutu genocide in Rwanda—well, I made that connection—decades before it happened. That book opened up a whole world of rich history and magic for me. I saw stories and myth as having deep, profound significance for the people who tell them. I was able to understand the power of Vodou and its impact on the Haitian Revolution.

You were born Pascale Philantrope. Ibi Zoboi is a name you adopted, it turns out.
Yes, I thank New York’s spoken word movement of the late nineties for this. Before attempting to write novels, I was a poet during a time when just about everybody had a poet/stage name and as homage to the Black Arts Movement, I guess, it had to be an African name. I literally translated my name into Yoruba from an African Baby Names book. It was supposed to be temporary. I was like Ntozake Shange–Paulette Williams— and Amiri Baraka—Leroi Jones—for the time being. I was a Journalism major and would use my birth name for serious articles and my poet name for stuff I’d get in trouble for. But I had a professor by the name of Marimba Ani—who was once SNCC member Dona Richards—write on my paper, “Use the name you want to be called”. Then another creative writing professor by the name of Estella Conwill Majozo—Ma for Mary Mcleod Bethune, Jo for Josephine Baker, and Zo for Zora Neale Hurston—gave me an assignment where I had to find the meaning of my name. What sealed the deal was meeting Haitian scholar, historian, and activist Bayyinah Bello—who once had a very Haitian name too—who asked me if I had another name besides Pascale. And I did! She did not call me Pascale. I was born with and given a very French name. By the time I got to college and was reading so much about Haitian culture and history, I did not feel so “French” anymore. Plus I married a man whose very untainted African name was Zoboi. Pascale Zoboi just didn’t have a nice ring to it. Ultimately, I had met three women who themselves had changed their names and challenged me to consider it. Renaming myself was one of the absolute most empowering things I’ve ever done. And it’s legit, too. And Zoboi is not French as in Dubois, it’s Loma from Liberia. And yes, I know it means “bone wood” in Creole.

Do you think of yourself as a feminist?
No. Yes. I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure out what that word means. I’m a Haitian woman. I will roll my eyes and neck at my husband in one second and bring him a plate of food in the next—he’s made the meal and will wash the dishes too. You know what I mean. On the other hand, I think my husband is a feminist man—extremely supportive, present for his children, highly respectful of women. But that’s how it’s supposed to be. That’s what we need more of. I’m raising our son to be a feminist man. I allow him to cry and be emotional and not have him think that he’s just this little muscular ball of testosterone jumping around. Is Ezili Danto a feminist? She’s a defender of women and will cut you if you betray her. I’m that too. But in Haiti, do we have a word for feminist? No. We just have Ezili Dantò and Grann Brigitte and Ayida Wedo. We have all these different ways of expressing the feminine in our cosmology. We’re fanm vanyan. As long as I look to mythology and its pantheon of women badasses, I don’t need feminist ideology. Maybe womanist if you need an answer.

Womanist? What would you say is the distinguishing factor between a womanist and a feminist? Some people might think that they’re interchangeable.
Womanism was coined by Alice Walker. Womanism includes conversations about race and the role of men, black men in particular. Feminism brings into question the choice for mothers to work outside or inside of the home for equal pay as men. Womanism brings into question the underpaid nannies that help take care of these families for low pay while their own families are neglected. That’s how I see it.

Haitian mommies and papis would rather their kids go into the medical, law, and hardcore science and engineering fields. How do they feel about the fact that you’ve taken this artistic direction in your life?
Thank goodness for Edwidge Danticat for being a model of Haitian literary success. And my mother recently met her. I realized long ago that I’d have to somehow align myself with her for my mother to even vaguely recognize my efforts. I don’t think they really know that I’m in grad school for creative writing. We’ll keep it that way. I’m old school. I like to make my mother proud. She worked hard. But I find a good balance between that and living my dreams. That’s why I have to push myself. My mother’s like, if you’re going to be a writer, you better be a damn good one!

It sounds like your mom is extremely supportive of your writing career. As you realized that you had a gift for the written word, did you show her some of the things that you were creating?
The support did not come until I published a story in Haiti Noir. Then she associated me with Edwidge Danticat. And again with One Moore Book’s A is for Ayiti, which Edwidge was also a part of. My mother took a picture with her. She showed her friends and co-workers. Now I’m legit. But before, not so much.

When you were growing up, did you feel that there was this gender inequality in Haitian culture?
I don’t know if its inequality as much as it is downright misogyny. Haitian women are not passive. We fight. But where you have oppression and poverty, patriarchy and misogyny will reign supreme and at the expense of the bodies of young girls first.

What inspired the short story you contributed to the anthology Haiti Noir?
My philandering father, may he rest in peace. I had just learned that my childhood friend in Haiti was really my half-sister weeks after the earthquake. My mother had only told me just in case she had perished in the earthquake. But she was a survivor. I found her on Facebook. We were indeed half-sisters, born six months apart. I was trying to emotionally cope with all the images of Haiti on the news and was simultaneously watching “The Bachelor” for the first time. Hence, “The Harem” was born.

Who are your favorite authors?
Ayi Kwei Armah, Octavia Butler, Edwidge Danticat, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Nancy Farmer, Tananarive Due, Nalo Hopkinson, Ursula LeGuin, Virginia Hamilton, Toni Morrison, Junot Diaz. I’ll stop here.

From “The Harem” to the picture book A is for Ayiti, to your novel Bandit, you’re one of those writers who are just as deft at writing a novel as a short story. The idea of writing a novel can be overwhelming to some. Is a short story much easier to write than a novel?
Yes, it is. The story arc is much more compact. You can practice plot and characterization with a short story. Novels can take months or years to write and re-write. I wrote several short stories before I even attempted to start writing a novel. Novels are very hard to write.

Do you care to offer some advice to writers out there on how to develop and perfect their craft?
There’s not much else to do but to read and write, then read and write some more. And re-writing is important. Craft books about writing are very important as well. I learned a lot by submitting my work and getting feedback. While getting an MFA is certainly not for everyone, it’s been extremely helpful for me. It’s a huge investment, but it can be worth it for someone who is very serious about writing.

Any tips on how to battle and come out the conqueror with Inquisitor Writer’s Block?
To be quite honest, I’ve never experienced writer’s block. I’ve always been able to sit down and start writing immediately. The words that first come out are not perfect, but they flow freely. I first started writing poetry and I journal a lot, so I really think that helps. Free-verse poetry, free-writing, and journaling—can all be helpful.

Do you go to Haiti often?
No. Next time I go, I’m skipping Port-au-Prince altogether. I need to visit some historical spots to unearth some of Haiti’s magic and have it whisper in my ears once more.

Photos: Provided by author; adult photo by Tequila Minsky

Ida Faubert led a fascinating life. She married twice, that in itself unusual for a Haitian woman of her era. She was born in Port-au-Prince on February 14, 1882 as Gertrude Florentine Félicitée Ida Salomon, the daughter of Lysius Salomon, Haiti’s president from 1879 to 1888 (being a Haitian, his name was actually Louis Etienne Félicité Lysius Salomon). Faubert’s mother was Salomon’s stepdaughter, a matter that was well-known in Haiti at the time, according to historian Charles Dupuy, but wasn’t publicly acknowledged.

According to the book Notes From the Last Testament: The Struggle for Haiti by Michael Deibert, Salomon was born in Les Cayes, and was a member of Haiti’s powerful and emerging elite from that city. Max Laudun in his book To Set the Record Straight: From Slavery, Independence, Revolution depicts him as a man of strategy. According to Laudun, Salomon once offered Mole St. Nicolas to U.S president Chester A. Arthur for use as a base in the 1880s.

When her father fled Haiti in 1888, little Ida was still a child. Lysius Salomon took the family to France where he died without setting foot in Haiti ever again. His grave lies in the de Passy cemetery in Paris.

Haiti’s president Lysius Salomon in a portrait.

As for Ida, she returned to Haiti as an adult, but she didn’t permanently establish herself there, returning to France in 1914. Her first marriage to Philippe Joseph Léonce Laraque ended in divorce. They had a daughter Jacqueline, who died as an infant, and to whom Ida Faubert dedicated an eventual poem. Her second marriage to Andre Faubert produced a son, Raoul.

Ida Faubert published several poems. In the late 1930s, she published Cœur des Îles [Heart of the Islands]. She is highly regarded as a major author in Haiti’s literary cannon. For instance, Renée Brenda Larrier writing in Francophone Women Writers of Africa and the Caribbean cites Ida Faubert as one of the most visible of Haitian female poets, having had her work published in Haiti Litéraire et Scientifique, a major literary journal of nineteenth century Haiti.

Ida Faubert died in 1969 in Paris. Thirteen years before, she had been honored by the French government with the prestigious Chevalier de l’Ordre Honneur et Mérite or Knight of Honor and Merit Order.

Today, many of the Salomon-Faubert descendants live in France, including Jean Faubert, Ida’s grandson from her son Raoul Faubert. Read on to find out what he had to say regarding his legendary and historical family.

Q & A

Were you born during your grandmother’s lifetime?
Yes. I was born in 1937, and having lost my mother from the time I was nine years old in 1946, Ida gave me all her affection, thus giving me the motherly love that was so tremendously missing, from a young and tender age. Raoul Faubert, her son and my father, because of his job, didn’t have time to settle down in a family setting. I was in a boarding school up to the time I was eight years old in Versailles in Paris at Collège Stanislas. Ida would visit me every week and would take me in on Sundays. I was spoiled to the point where I called her Mommy Tout. I knew some of her friends from the literary world. I drew little covers for her writings. Some French and Italian newspapers would print some of her poems and tales about Haiti. I was really proud of that. I lived under the same roof as she did from the time I was seventeen and up to twenty-seven. There were endless letter exchanges between us during the time I was in the military and after I got married.

Raoul took care of Ida until her death in 1969 at Joinville le Pont—Banlieue Parisienne des bords de Marne 94—where she was surrounded with a great deal of love.

The historian Charles Dupuy—as well as others—indicate that your grandmother was actually the daughter and granddaughter of your great-grandfather Lysius Salomon. Do you know at which point of her life did she find that out—if at all. And what her reaction was?
Yes, Ida was very well the daughter of President Salomon, in spite of being quite advanced in age—at 67. Lysius had married a woman a Potiez, who had a daughter, pretty much an adult and a doctor, and it’s that young woman who was Ida’s mother. I never brought up the subject with my grandmother. I didn’t learn of the whole thing until after her death.

Ida Faubert’s grandson Jean Faubert, who gladly keeps her name alive for future generations.

According to Ile a Ile, Ida Faubert went to Haiti at one point, but returned to live in France, where she died. Why did she not remain in Haiti?
In fact, she returned to France before the war of 1914-1918 for her son, and for the wonderful friendships that she had established in France. She was friends with [the French writer] Colette. Raoul was a French Citizen, married, and had to go to war in 1939-1940. There were trips to Haiti that went through Paquebot at the time, and it wasn’t always easy to plan a trip to Port-au-Prince. Raoul made the trip for her. Dr. Jean Price Mars took charge of her properties and assets in Haiti—Turgeau Club. Supplemental income. That property was sold a long time ago.

Did she visit Haiti often?
No. None to my knowledge. But she had a lot of Haitian acquaintances in France who she kept in touch with.

You said she had many contacts with the Haitians in France. Such as whom?
Many names I [don’t recall], but I think the Léger, Blanc, Magnus, Price Mars, Dominica, Potiez, Manuel, Laraque, and Audain….I’m getting old.

Did she ever talk about Lysius Solomon his father?
Lysius died in Paris when Ida was still very young—six years of age—so she had few memories of the father, the man of state.

Who would you say was the love of her life?
Her “pitit mwens”. Raoul—her son—and me.

Any special stories behind any of her poems?

Did she ever consider writing the story of her life?
No. Not to my knowledge.

Ida Faubert with her grandson Jean Faubert at a beach in Saint Jean de Luz, France in 1939.

Are there any special family stories that you have heard about her?
Yes, some anecdotes…none too particularly interesting…except for the one about her going to the beauty salon one day. She went to get her hair dyed and [had a reaction to it and] her head got swollen unfortunately like a balloon, and she had to shun public appearances for weeks.

Would you say she was a feminist?
Yes…especially for her era. She expressed herself strongly at times. Today, she would probably be a member of all these associations.

Do the remaining, the surviving members of the Salomon and Faubert families visit Haiti often?
No, unfortunately. As for myself, I have not set foot on the soil of my ancestors. I have gone to Guadeloupe and Martinique….to give me an idea.

Do you have any plans to go to Haiti? Wouldn’t it be cool to go there for a little family reunion? And even take a look at the Turgeau Club, your great-grandfather’s villa?
Unfortunately, I don’t envision a trip like that. I haven’t had rapport with family in Haiti in years. It was my father Raoul who had relationships with his half brothers born in the 1910s…1915…are they still alive? I, myself, am 76 years old…..Time passes by very quickly.

Left: Raoul Faubert, the grandson of Lysius Salomon and the son of Ida Faubert.

Were you aware of the historical links of your family in Haiti throughout your childhood?
Yes, of course ….I celebrated Haitian Independence Day in Paris at the Champs Elysées with my father and President [Paul Eugene] Magloire.

The death of her daughter Jacqueline had to be a huge blow. Did she ever discuss her with you? Do you think this led to the breakup of her first marriage?
Jacqueline died following a childhood illness. I do not know the name of the virus…and since there has been progress on this disease. The first marriage evidently suffered….I do not know the details. And who could possibly know them?

She divorced Mr. Faubert?
I don’t think so. She and Andre Faubert, her husband, were on good terms, without much contact. My grandfather asked for me, but I had never met with him, because of his life as Ambassador of Haiti in Miami. My father had contact with him, more or less regularly. My grandfather who moved on and had another family. I met some of his kids in France—Claude Faubert in 1968—during the time of the birth of my daughter Patricia Faubert.

And what of your ancestor Lysius Salomon?
Of course, I didn’t know him, but I am proud of him. I’ve read nothing but pleasant things about him and he was perhaps better than some leaders past and present. I have stamps with his face on them.

To visit the website that Jean Faubert has created in honor of his grandmother Ida Faubert and to order her writing anthology HERE. The English version of his site can be read HERE.

[Photo Credit: All photos are from the private collection of Jean Faubert, except for Lysius Salomon photo via Bob Corbetre. ]

Writer Mike Gauyo is riding high on a thick set of creative clouds. The scribe is on the staff of “Fruit”, a trail-blazing web audio drama from web series pioneer Issa Rae. This is in addition to being on the staff of TNT’s popular show “Claws”. We’re living in interesting times where entertainment content is concerned, and Gauyo is more than happy to be part of this revolution.

Kreyolicious: Was it always a fantasy of yours to become a writer?
Mike Gauyo: Wow, great word choice – Fantasy – Yes, I day-dreamed a lot as a kid. Mostly because I was left alone, while both my parents worked crazy hours. In their absence, I spent a lot of time caring for my two siblings and cleaning (or not cleaning). [Laughter] I would create alternate universes in my mind and place myself there. It was my own from of entertainment. There, I could do anything. It was cathartic and still is. But no, it wasn’t a fantasy of mine to becomes a writer. I did’t find writing till later in life. From the time I could walk, my parents were grooming me to go to medical school and become a doctor because kids in Haitian households were only allowed three professions to choose from-doctor, lawyer or engineer.

It wasn’t til the earthquake in Haiti that I made the decision to changed the trajectory of my life. My parents and sister were there at the time. I could not reach them for three days. It was crazy and I feared the worst had happened. It was a really tough time in my life, In the end, thank God, they were all fine, but from that point on I made a vow to live my life the way I wanted and what I wanted to do was write.

Kreyolicious: How did you get involved with Issa Rae’s “Fruit”?
Interestingly enough, going back to my dream board, I had cut out a picture of Issa and put her on it. This was before I had ever met her. A month after pasting her on my board, she posted on her Instagram that she was having a mixer for black writer/creators and to gain entry to the mixer you had to submit a writing sample — Now, I’ll preface what I say next by saying that I had already moved to LA from Boston, I was already working on television for American Idol as their script assistant, and I had graduated college, magna cum laude, with a degree in theaer. I’m not saying if you make a dream board you can just sit back and relax, you still need to put in the work — But back to the story…So, I got into the mixer, met Issa, got a chance to work for her months later on an equal pay for equal work campaign she was doing for women’s right, then months after that, I connected with her again at the Austin Film Festival, where she was schedules to be a panelist and I was just a writer with a script that made it through the second round of the festival. After her panel, we got drinks. She talked about “Insecure”, which had recently been picked up for its first season. I talked about what I was doing and how I was looking to transition from reality TV to scripted. And a week later she emailed me about a podcast series she was doing called “Fruit”.

So the point of that long ass story is dream boards work, but you need to work too. You have to speak what you want into existence or chances are it won’t happen. Even worse, if you’re too scared to speak it into existence then you’ll be too scared to try.

Kreyolicious: What’s it like being on the staff of a show of this magnitude?
“Fruit” is an audio drama that airs as a podcast, so the magnitude in this case doesn’t really have the connotation of being daunting like a series formatted for television might have. Fruit, more or less, harkens back to the days of radio soaps and is formatted similar to the “Serial” podcast. With that in mind, it’s been different, and great, and creative, and the other writers in the room are amazing, and talented and we all work very well together. Two seasons of “Fruit” have already aired on Howl.FM, but the first season of “Fruit” is also now available for free on iTunes. For season one, I wrote episodes 3, 8, and the finale. For those who don’t know, “Fruit” is a scripted audio series about a sexually fluid football player who accounts event from his past, dealing with love, relationships, and the game of football. It’s told in a first narrative. Everyone should check it out!

Above: Mike Gauyo with actor Jimmy Jean-Louis and playwright Jeff Augustin.

Kreyolicious: Do you ever doubt yourself?
Mike Gauyo: I doubt myself all the time. Every time I write a new script, every time I make a decision about what direction to take in my career, and every time by boss on Claws asks me a question, any question. [Laughter]

Kreyolicious: How do you overcome that?
Mike Gauyo: I overcome it by getting over myself and getting out of my own head. Usually, I tell myself I am too grown and(or) bougie to be living a broke lifestyle so let me stop doubting and make this shit work so I make more money because I like nice things.

Kreyolicious: And you’re also part of TNT’s “Claws”. What’s that like?
Mike Gauyo: Working on “Claws” has been great! I’m learning a lot about writing for television. I’ve had the opportunity to bend the ear of some great writers. I get to listen in on notes calls from the network and the studio, which have been invaluable to my own growth as a writer. My boss, our showrunner, Janine Sherman Barrois, is superhuman and the personification of black girl magic. Her work ethic is unparalleled and I’ve been able to learn so much just by watching her.

My position on the show is that of a Writers’ Production Assistant, which includes making sure the writers eat, taking notes on calls from the network and studio, concerning notes on scripts, and, when needed, writing notes on the board in the writers’ room. The great part about that is, while they’re brainstorming, I have an opportunity to chime in and ask questions. I don’t write on this series, but “Claws” is right in line with the type of genre I like to write, so who knows what will happen. I’m speaking it into existence, y’all!

Mike Gauyo will talk about his background, and how he became Haitian-American now…thank you very much. The talented writer is on the staff of the groundbreaking web podcast drama “Fruit”, an Issa Rae production. Creatively, it doesn’t stop there for him. He’s also part of the staff of “Claws”, a much-discussed drama on the popular network TNT. Over the course of the last segment of our conversation, we discussed how he became a writer. This time, we’re going to go back to his childhood, discuss his philanthropy and the methodology he uses to achieve his goals.

Kreyolicious: Tell us about yourself and about what it was like growing up Haitian-American.
Mike Gauyo: Well, I was born in Haiti and moved to Massachusetts when I was 4. We landed in Mattapan, which was like an Ellis Island for Haitians. [Laughter] After living there for a couple of years, we moved to Quincy, then finally set roots in Cambridge, where I attended Cambridgeport Elementary School and Cambridge Ridge and Latin High School. I mention these moves because I went from being in an ESL class with only Haitians (in Mattapan) to being the only black kid in the class (in Quincy), to only then end up in a really diverse environment (in Cambridge). When I think back on it, each place I’ve lived really informs the type of person I’ve become because I’ve experienced both sides of the spectrum. I didn’t really have an awareness of myself as a Haitian living in America until I was the only Haitian, let alone black person, in a class full of white faces. Then it became…”Why’s your last name so weird?…Why do you talk like that? Is that African? What language is that?” Mind you, I already had, and still have, a lisp, so you can imagine all the side-eyes, eye rolls, and facial gymnastics I had to perform to keep myself from cursing people out. But yes, growing up Haitian-American was not so much a struggle, it was just different. You weren’t like any of the white kids, but you also weren’t African-American. So, I’d say we were the original “Black-ish” family – I’ll take my check now, Kenya Barris!

Kreyolicious: Haha. You’ve been to Haiti lately?
Mike Gauyo: I haven’t been back to Haiti since before the earthquake. I used to go every summer between the ages of 10 and 18. I do plan on going back really soon.

Kreyolicious: So, you’re involved with an organization called Alliance HH. Tell us more.
Mike Gauyo: The Alliance for Housing and Healing is an organization that provides housing and healthcare services for the homeless. I recently competed in my second Spartan Race to help raise money for the Alliance and our team was able to raise over 65,000 dollars. It’s a great organization and I was happy to help in any way. Even if it meant putting my body through an 8 mile obstacle course. I don’t know what I was thinking, but it was fun and we raised a lot of money for the homeless. So yeah, no pain, no gain. I’ll be doing two more races this year.

Kreyolicious: Do you ever look back at the Mike of the past and think, “I done changed”?
Mike Gauyo: Yup! [Laughter] And thank God I did. Change is good. In order to grow, a person needs to change. Change the way you think, change your habits, and in some cases, change your friends. The circle you surround yourself with needs to uplift you and provide an environment that is conducive to your own success. The people in my circle are who I lean on and vise versa. When I make it, my team makes it.

Kreyolicious: What changes in you are you most proud of?
Mike Gauyo: I changed the way I think about success. It’s not a destination, it’s continuous, it comes in waves, it’s fleeting. You have to keep working to keep it.

Kreyolicious: And how did you propel them?
Mike Gauyo: Realizing that helps me to keep working and learning.

Kreyolicious: Along the way, what helped you keep on track and focused on your goals?
Mike Gauyo: As soon as I committed to writing as a career, there was really no stopping me. I do things to keep me focused, like I write down a list of my goals and make dream boards. I turned my desk at home into a dream board. On my desk are pics of people who inspire me and who I want to work with, phrases that uplift me, titles or words I want associated with my name, like writer, creator, Oscar winner, husband, father, sexiest man alive…I’ll let you decide if that last one was a joke or not. [Laughter] But yes, dream boards and lists are how I stay focused.

Kreyolicious: On that account…What if someone was building a personal development library and asked for your suggestions. What books would you recommend?
Mike Gauyo: As a man growing up in this skin, in the “United” States of America, I would suggest Barack Obama’s Dreams from My Father, Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man, and any/everything by Toni Morrison and James Baldwin.

CLICK HERE to keep up with Mike Gauyo on Instagram.

Ertha Pascal-Trouillot was the first female to be President of Haiti. She held office for 11 months, from March 13th 1990 and to February 7th 1991.
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As a university student, she wanted to pursue a career in science but pursued it in law and politics, then became the country’s first woman lawyer. She was a judge in many federal courts from 1975 to 1988 before she finally became the first woman justice in the Supreme Court of Haiti. –
Mrs. Pascal-Trouillot became a lower-court judge in 1980 during the Duvalier dictatorship. While serving as Chief Justice she became the country’s provisional president on March 13, 1990, and was made responsible to organize a general election. It was to her credit that she could bring about violence-free elections which brought Jean Bertrand Aristide to the post of president with a 67% win.
Sources:
Wikipedia,Haitiobserver
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