Cartagena Had Me Thinking… Haiti Chérie

I’ve spent the better part of my life chasing cultures. There’s something intoxicating about discovering how people live, eat, celebrate, create art, and tell their stories. While I appreciate North American, European, and Asian cultures, my heart has always gravitated toward the Caribbean and Afro-Latin America. That’s where I feel the rhythm is a little deeper and history speaks a little louder.

So, when I recently found myself wandering through the colorful streets of Cartagena, Colombia, something unexpected happened.

I wasn’t just discovering Colombia.

I kept seeing Haiti Chérie.

The resemblance was impossible to ignore.

The colonial architecture instantly reminded me of Cap-Haïtien. The narrow cobblestone streets, the balconies draped with flowers, the weathered walls that have witnessed centuries of history. It all felt strangely familiar. Even the everyday hustle looked like home. Street vendors chasing customers, taxi drivers negotiating fares, artisans displaying their crafts, families doing whatever it takes to earn an honest living. Different country. Same resilience.

The climate didn’t help either. Heat that hugs you from sunrise to sunset. Mountains overlooking turquoise waters. Beaches calling your name every afternoon. In both places, diving into the sea isn’t a luxury. it’s survival.

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Art, too, tells a familiar story.

Cartagena’s streets burst with paintings splashed in vibrant colors and bold brushstrokes. Yet, as much as I admired Colombian art, I have to admit my bias. Haitian paintings carry a different kind of soul. They’re unapologetically expressive, overflowing with color, spirituality, struggle, folklore, and nature. You don’t just look at Haitian art. You feel it staring back at you.

Now, let’s talk about food.

I could easily declare Haitian cuisine the undisputed champion… but I’ll resist the temptation.

I’ll let your taste buds settle that debate.

Music is another interesting contrast. Colombian rhythms are energetic and fast-paced, practically demanding that you move. Haitian music, on the other hand, takes its time. It’s smoother, more romantic, and knows how to make even the toughest soul fall in love.

And before anyone asks…

No, I’m not getting into a detailed discussion about Colombian women.

I’m trying to stay out of trouble. I’ll simply say this: They’re beautiful.

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One of the most fascinating experiences was visiting Palenque, the first free African town in the Americas. Walking through its streets felt like stepping into Haiti’s Artibonite Valley. The African roots are impossible to miss. The drums, the dances, the traditions, even the way people relate to one another. All echo a shared ancestry.

Many residents continue to preserve African spiritual traditions passed down through generations. I watched tourists enthusiastically dance with local spiritual practitioners, sit with them, ask questions, and even purchase herbal remedies and spiritual potions.

Ironically, some of those same tourists, including Haitians who proudly identify as Christians, would never set foot inside a peristyle or hold a conversation with a Vodou priest back home.

Funny how spirituality becomes “culture” when it’s abroad but “taboo” when it’s Haitian.

That contradiction deserves some reflection.

Where Colombia truly separates itself from Haiti isn’t in its people or culture. It is in its institutions.

Despite its own difficult history, Colombia has achieved a level of political stability that allows it to welcome millions of tourists, invest in infrastructure, improve security, and expand social programs. Stability creates opportunity, and opportunity attracts investment.

Haiti possesses every natural gift imaginable: history, culture, beaches, mountains, art, music, and perhaps the most resilient people on Earth.

What we lack isn’t beauty. It’s unity.

I firmly believe that when this generation of Haitians, both at home and across the diaspora, comes together with a shared vision, Haiti will rise again. Our greatest resource has never been beneath our soil. It’s our people.

I’ve often described Haiti as a breathtakingly beautiful woman wearing worn-out clothes, surrounded by successful children scattered across the world.

If those children simply came together to care for their mother, the world wouldn’t just pity Haiti. It would finally see her and love her.

Celebrate her and savor the extraordinary beauty she’s always possessed.

By Guerrier Aluc, MCJ

Culture 509..