Season 3, Episode 2: “I Can Speak To My Ancestors Through This” ft Lalin St. Juste

Narration: When I was in high school, I used to go dancing with my friends, and a series of predictable things would unfold.

Bopping to Outkast or Missy Elliot or Lauryn Hill I would be doing a simple two step. Then a few songs in, I would start to get pulled into the music. I’d close my eyes and match my moves to the breaks in the beat, jump up and down when a chorus would drop, fling my arms in sync with the singer’s phrasing. I would get Into it,. And then, I’d open my eyes, and my friends would be staring with looks on their faces saying “you’re too much”. Then, I’d get small and tell myself I was too much.

And I did this all the way up until my very first performance as a singer about a decade later. It was a simple community show in a coffee shop, just vocals and bass. And there, just like on those dance floors, I got pulled into the music. My body melded to the music, just like it was in high school. Only this time, when I opened my eyes, I had this clear certainty that I wasn’t too much. I was just right.

Music gave me a place to put my big energy. My self-judgement melted. Singing healed a tender wound. That was the day I knew that music was medicine.

I love talking to artists who understand this too, who can share stories about how music healed them and through that, help us to experience our own capacity to heal too. That’s why I called up the Haitian American vocalist, composer, songwriter Lalin St. Juste, who knows this better than just about anyone.

My name is Meklit and this is Movement, music and migration, remixed.

Meklit: What was LA like when you were a kid? Was there music in your home?

Lalin: Hmm. How sweet. I get to reflect on where I grew up, which was Altadena, California

Narration: You may know about Altadena because it’s been in the news lately after the wildfires. Altadena, where Lalin grew up, is a historically Black neighborhood in Los Angeles County. Right up against the San Gabriel Mountains, Lalin’s childhood was a constant conversation between city life and wildlife.

Lalin: I was close to the liquor store and the cash checking place, but then we're also by a mountain that has bears and coyotes and there's parrots flying around.

So, oh, and, and horses. People would ride horses, black people, brown people. On horses walking down the street.

Meklit: Wow. I had no idea, that is, what an image.

Lalin: Yeah. I had such a beautiful experience growing up there, seeing us, you know, making moves. Yeah. Black and brown folks. And growing up, I would be in a wonder of this place because I didn't know a lot about the history. All I knew was Altadena, there was white flight at one point, and people like my mom were able to buy homes. And so there were black people everywhere in West Altadena.

Narration: Even though she was surrounded by other Black people, Lalin felt different than her neighbors. Her family were the only Haitians she knew of in their community.

Growing up in the 80s and 90s, If you came into Lalin’s house you would hear all kinds of music. Her older brothers listened to hip hop and R&B. And occasionally her mom played Haitian Kompa music.

Lalin: And once a year we would go and see live Kompa and somewhere deep in LA all the Haitians would flock. There'd be food and a live band. And I would dance with my mom and see how you dance Kompa a little bit. There's the old school, not the new school which you're seeing, which is very, very sensual. Mm-hmm. Very close, very gyrate-y. But back then it was a bit different. So that was my exposure.

Narration: Lalin grew up with her mother and grandmother. In her first 5 years, Lalin’s grandmother, Dame Virtulie was at the center of her life. When Lalin’s older brothers went to school and her mother went to work, she’d spend her days with her grandmother. Lalin can still picture her face.

Lalin: She was this six foot tall statuesque.

Meklit: Wow.

Lalin: Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Lots of moles on her cheek. I would sleep in her room and we had a very, very close bond. She was kind. Soft spoken and she would take me, dress me up in my little girl dresses and take me to the Kingdom hall. 'cause she was Jehovah's witness by that point. And she had cancer. And I would sometimes put her wigs on my head because, you know, she had lost her hair and was wearing wigs.

Meklit: Wow.

Lalin: And then towards the end of her life, I was about probably five or six she left to go die in Haiti.

Meklit: Oh, wow.

Lalin: Mm-hmm. And that was my first heartbreak. And I grieved deeply for her. And that's how I found my voice through singing was because I had to do something with this grief. I missed her so much. We were hanging out every day, and then now she's gone. And so I sang to her and that's how I started singing.

Narration: Little Lalin didn’t know it yet, but this moment of making up songs to grieve her grandmother, that was just the first step on a big healing journey with music. Singing would continue to connect Lalin to herself, her ancestors, and her ancestral homeland.

Meklit: What was your and your family's relationship to Haiti like when you were growing up?

Lalin: So, my mom went back to Haiti for my grandmother's funeral and she went back, I believe one other time. But otherwise, she has not traveled back and forth to Haiti and growing up I would be told that there's no need to go.

You are here, Haiti is not necessary for what you are doing in your life. The language is not necessary, and going there is dangerous and not necessary, and Vodou is not what God wants. For the country. And so that's how I grew up.

Narration: During the 1980s, about 800,000 people of Haitian descent were living in the United States. They left Haiti primarily in response to authoritarian rule, violence, and economic issues. Lalin’s mother alone sponsored over 30 family members to immigrate.

Lalin: There's been this mass exodus and some would go back and forth. Not everyone held that viewpoint. There's still a lot of love, but there was just so much pain around this place, so much pain and so much internalized racism and xenophobia and the impacts of religion.

Narration: Haiti was dealing with the long shadow of colonial rule. But in the US, Haitian immigrants faced anti-Black racism and xenophobia.

This racism was intensified by the stigma and misinformation about HIV- AIDS at the time. In the early 80s, the CDC claimed that Haitians were a high-risk group for AIDS. In 1985, the CDC removed Haitians from that list, but the damage had already been done.

Unconsciously, Lalin absorbed these messages as a young person.

Lalin: I have a memory of my mom and my grandmother speaking Creole in public and feeling embarrassed, and I was only five years old. And so there's so many factors that go into the formulation of our consciousness and our self-esteem. And so it's like, okay, we must assimilate. Don't speak the language. Focus on English. And United States is where you can make things happen. You can't make anything happen in Haiti.

Narration: Over time, Lalin would notice all the ways that assimilation manifested in her family.

Her mother was a proud Christian. She also knew a lot about Vodou, but Lalin noticed that even when her mother would grow the traditional herbs, the knowledge was tucked away behind a veil of silence. So Lalin had to seek that out on her own.

Lalin: The seedlings of my Haitian pride did start to blossom with starting to learn about the Haitian Revolution in middle school on my own. The Haitian Revolution came about through ceremony. Through song, through the Drum.

This particular night on August 14th, 1791, there's a priestess named Cecil Fatima, a priest named Boukman, and they sacrificed a black pig for a loa, a spirit named Erzulie Dantor. Erzulie Dantor is the patron spirit of Haiti for this very reason. Then Boukman gives a speech denouncing the white God and really calling forth for people to utilize spirit, our ancestral spirit to champion us towards freedom, towards our liberation.

And so, it was a massive ceremony, hundreds of people in attendance, and from then on up until 1804, the battle raged from that very moment. You know, and you have these stories about fighters in the revolution who are mounted by these spirits. And then Haiti, as we know, became the first black republic in the world.

And so that's why I continue to incorporate different types of ceremony into my life, into my practice, because that is the lineage is my ancestors, you know, doing something that has been outlawed. You know, you are not supposed to touch the drum. You're not supposed to sing these songs and doing it anyway.

Meklit: Wow

Lalin: Mm hmmm. And so then by my early twenties. I'm like, oh, this is a beautiful culture. This is who I am first and foremost, because I always felt

Meklit: Mm-hmm.

Lalin: I mean, I was different from everybody around me. The food I was eating, the way I dressed even somehow, and I'm like, okay, this is a powerful place. And I want to get closer to this place. I wanna understand who I am and I wanna understand this country.

Narration: In her 20s, Lalin moved to Oakland, California and started taking Haitian dance classes. There, she began learning Vodou music. She was invited to sing with a Haitian folkloric dance company led by artist Portsha Jefferson.

Lalin: They had the very first performance called Rebirth.

Meklit: Oh my God.

Lalin: Yeah.

Meklit: No it wasn't.

Lalin: Yeah. And so we're singing these songs, one of which ends up in my EP many years later. But like, we're singing these songs that are about initiation, about going into this next stage. And so we are dressed in white and I'm learning these songs with other women, and then we're performing it and I'm just, I'm just, overwhelmed with emotion. I'm like, what is happening to me?

We'd come off stage and I'm sobbing and it's this energy to like sing with all these drums to see the dancers, you know, telling these stories, this ritual. I'm singing in Creole, I'm singing these songs and it feels like something I've never felt before. It feels like a return, it feels like a rebirth. And I, and I'm like, okay, Haiti is, is inside of me.

Meklit: Mm-hmm.

Lalin: And it sets the stage for my journey of reclamation.

Narration: She committed to that journey so thoroughly, that she made that transformation in a more literal way. She changed her name to Lalin, the Kreyol word for moon. It was a symbol of the path she was on. And there was an important next step on that path. She wanted to finally travel to Haiti.

Lalin: My cousin was going, and I was like, okay, I'm going with you. But it was a very spiritual experience because, well, one, I'm, I'm landing in this place and I have a photo of me being in the car leaving the airport wide-eyed. And I'm like, I can't believe I'm here. I can't believe all these years. And I'm here and I'm looking at everybody and everyone's looking beautiful

Narration: Lalin and her cousin spent a few days in the capitol, and then they traveled to the countryside.

Lalin: And it was my first experience with like an outhouse and having to squat.

Narration: And in the countryside Lalin had an unforgettable, unexpected experience.

Lalin: And my cousins, my aunt, his mom is a Mambo, is a priestess, and her mom is a priestess. And so there was a big party that they were getting ready for and I remember the very first day I started with going to mass, a Catholic mass in the morning, I remember being really hot and that was all in French.And I was like, oh.

And then we go to the cemetery. Then we go somewhere else to a tree and, and a riverside. And my aunt starts channeling the spirits, you know, starts getting mounted as, as it's said. You know, different personality, smoking a cigarette, and we move to another tree. And I remember, you know, there's singing, and drumming.I started to feel lightheaded and I started to feel my teeth starting to chatter.

Meklit: Wow.

Lalin: And, they're like, okay, let's take you back to the house. No, you're not ready for this.

Meklit: Was it, was it like you were about to get mounted?

Lalin: Yes. They're like, wow, let's take you back. And then, so I go back and I rest, but then that night. The drumming continues over at the house. A pig is sacrificed and it's my first experience of being in that type of ceremony. I see my aunt's mother. There's a whole James Brown moment where she's dancing.

Meklit: What is a James Brown moment mean? Is she singing a James Brown song or was just the movements were like,

Lalin: Well, what I mean is, at one point, you know, it is like she passes out essentially and they come and bring like a cape and wrap around her. I dunno if you remember that used to happen with James Brown.

Meklit: Yes.

Lalin: And then walk, walk him off the stage and he is so. That happened to her. She is, I'm just watching all of this and they're cooking the, cooking up the pig. And I remember conversations with the grandmother and talking to me about watching this mosquito coming in to the house and how that is spirit.

Those are our ancestors. Everything around us is spirit. And it was just a very profound time and such a beautiful return.

Narration: Lalin’s trip to Haiti has stayed with her, and she holds her ancestors and ancestral traditions close in her life and in her music. That shows up with crystal clarity in her latest solo project: the 2022 EP titled Vertulie, named after her grandmother. Early in the album she calls in her ancestors, naming Dame Vertulie and a lot of people in her lineage.

Lalin: It's my way of paying respect, it’s my way of honoring, it’s my way of channeling that magic and expressing that magic that is in my bloodline. The very first song is My mom Reciting from memory, Psalms 91, something that she's done ever since she was a little girl for protection and something my grandmother did for protection and her grandmother did for protection.

And then I'm moving that song into Ayizan Belekounde, which is a vodou song for initiation. And that's the song that I learned in Rebirth and brought into here. And of course when my mom heard it, she's like, oh, vodou. You putting my Bible verse with vodou. But it's creating that, again, another opportunity for that healing space.

And the last song is dedicated to Haiti. It's a very, very short, sweet song. I'm singing in Creole, you know, a little imperfectly, just saying, this place is so far from me and yet so close. Because when I sing I feel it and I feel the spirits with me.

Meklit: I've heard you talk about the way that the practice that you're doing through music is also about healing your bloodline.

Lalin: Mm-hmm.

Meklit: What does, tell me about that. What does that mean for you?

Lalin: Mm-hmm. It means that we're so accustomed to thinking about time in this linear sense, and that in reality we can go forward and we can go backward. And so in engaging in this practice of reclamation through sound, through incorporating my heritage in my music, and remembering my heritage in my music, it's a way for me to also heal what has come before me.

I can speak to my ancestors through this. I can feel them and I can facilitate healing for them through me. My grandmother, for example, was a very quiet woman, and the fact that I have taken on her voice to be amplified throughout the world.

Or the fact that, you know, my mom, who has said very sad things about Haiti and Vodou, but then as I am sharing my music and my experiences through sound, she's starting to share stories about ceremony that she's been in. She's starting to show me dances that she would do. It's a way to create a space for what hasn't been created before.

Narration: Music has created a lot of healing in Lalin’s life thus far. But I keep thinking about a foundational place in Lalin’s story that needs some healing right now.

Meklit: We're coming a little bit full circle because we started out talking about how you were growing up and I recently saw a video, it was on your social media and it was of you walking through the family land in Altadena.

Lalin: Mmmm.

Meklit: I was wondering if you could tell us. Like what happened there?

Lalin: Yeah. The Eaton fire happened in early January and devastated large parts of Altadena, including our family home that has been in my family for 37 years. It is my mom's pride and joy. Mm. She has no problem telling you that she bought this house on her own single mother, working multiple, multiple jobs, struggling.

We had to move outta that house lots of times. Lots of times. And we brought people in to rent rooms and you know, it was a feat. This is the origin story of just like, we did this. You know, she paved this way and allowed for a roof for so many family members to come and exist inside of, as they're getting their feet in this country.

So then to go and see it now was devastating. And you know, this is the place that I grieved my grandmother. I would hang out with her in the backyard and swing on the branch of the avocado tree.

So as I was driving down, seeing house after house gone, and I'm reconciling the memories of what I had and what is there now. It was just heartbreaking. Altadena has such, so much wildlife, you know, and one of them being a lot of peacocks.

Meklit: Really?

Lalin:Yes, wild peacocks.

Meklit: Wow.

Lalin: I was wondering about the peacocks. I would cry thinking about them. And then I was standing at the house and the first one I saw was a all white adult peacock.

Meklit: Yeah. I'm almost cry, I'm almost, I got the chills. I'm almost gonna tear up.

Lalin: Mm-hmm.

Meklit: Wow.

Lalin: Mm-hmm. And I saw some others after that and, they were just, you know, grazing. I was like, oh, wow. It's, again, this theme of rebirth.

My mom is like, we are rebuilding this house. I did not work this hard. I'm determined to leave a legacy, which is important for people who immigrate to this country, trying to change the whole course of everything and leaving poverty to build wealth in this country.

And so it's been. Such a symbolic and heartbreaking, devastating experience that so many people are impacted by. And I'm praying that so much magic can still remain, and I know that it will. And also there's a lot of work to do to maintain that.

Narration: Aside from her solo music project, Lalin co-leads a project called 7,000 Coils and a physical space called Blaqyard in Oakland. They hold Black, queer communal practices like sound baths, spaces to rest, rage rooms to break things and feel release. They build altars to ancestors, work with plants, and even run a record label.

Lalin is also the lead-singer in the Bay-Area-based electronic, R&B, indie-pop band, The Seshen. You can listen to The Seshen or Lalin’s most recent solo EP Vertulie on Bandcamp, or wherever you find your music.

This episode of Movement was produced by Emma Alabaster and myself, Meklit Hadero. Our senior editor is Megan Tan. Our sound designer and co-founder is Ian Coss. Our co-creator and podcast godmother is Julie Caine. Our broadcast partner is The World. We are distributed by PRX.