The Emperor of Freedom

My skin is the shade of my ancestors.

A deep, rich cocoa.

A cocoa as rich as Haiti's soil.

A soil that weaves through the streets and moutains of the Island.

If you listen closely, you can hear the cries of my ancestors.

The cries of freedom and strength.

A freedom for all the generations that come after.

"The Emporer of Freedom!"

That's what they called him.

A man who was touched by slavery, but was always a free man.

A man who dedicated his life to his people.

A guiding light.

Guiding his people to freedom.

Grandmothers, grand daughters, neices, nephews, fathers, mothers, cousins, aunts, and uncles.

A fraternity.

A group of 40,000. Not 39,999. That's too small.

But 40,000...that was an army.

A group that worked harmoniously like the strings on a harp.

Killing off any Frenchmen that came in the way of freedom.

Sticks, stones, knives.

Whip, smack, stab.

Jean-Jacques Dessalines sitting up top guiding and instructing his people.

Looking at the Battle of Vertieres like a game of chess.

Moving this piece this way and another that way.

Using his body as a bulletproof vest.

His flag-the Haitian flag- planted on top of the hill.

A hill where the French flag once stood.

A signal of a defeated war.

A war that sent the Frenchmen back to their country with a message.

A message of our strength.

A message of our power.

A message of an unbreakable union.

Jean-Jacques Dessalines.

My ancestor.

My king.

For without him, I would not exist.

Me with my powerful cocoa and all of this.