Like many women in Haiti’s northeast, Marianne shoulders the work of farmer, caregiver and grandmother

FORT-LIBERTÉ — Every day at sunrise, when most of her children are still asleep, Marianne Victore ties on her wool hat, slips into her long dress and walks more than a mile to her rice fields at Cité Nébert—near the entrance of the northeast’s capital city. For the 57-year-old farmer, like a sacred ritual, this daily trek is more than just agricultural work — it is survival, dignity and strength rolled into one.

With a sick husband and five children —Miryame, Fredeline, Loudrige, Anne Flavi and Donaldson Bijou — depending on her, Marianne has become both breadwinner and backbone of her family. She manages the household, tends to her crops and still finds energy to be a grandmother to three.

“It’s a huge weight on my shoulders,” she says. 

“The weight of the house, the children, and my husband.”

Her story is a powerful reminder of Haitian women’s quiet strength. According to the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), women make up nearly 47% of the country’s agricultural labor force yet receive little recognition or institutional support. 

In Fort-Liberté, Marianne’s rice harvest is more than a livelihood — it is part of the region’s fragile chain keeping food on local tables. 

Agriculture accounts for about 20–25% of Haiti’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP) and nearly half of employment, the World Bank reported in 2020. But women farmers, despite being central to production and food security, control little land, earn less than men, and face barriers to credit and modern tools.

Carrying the family alone

Marianne once shared the workload with her husband, Jean Frenel Bijou. His illness, however, forced her to shoulder the entire burden.

Now, Bijou watches from home, proud yet saddened by his wife’s relentless struggle. His current health condition remains a constant source of sadness for Marianne. 

“Before he fell ill, we worked together in the garden. It was much more joyful,” she recalled. 

“I would like to sit and take care of him all day. But I can’t — the house depends on me.”

Her children pitch in when they can.

“When my mother is planting rice, if we are not at school, we help her by cooking or doing other things,” said her youngest daughter, Flavi.

Marianne’s journey in agriculture has been one of adaptation. After setbacks in corn and pistachio production, Marianne switched to rice — a crop better suited to the Coicou plain, adjacent to Fort-Liberté at less than two miles of distance, and more reliable and profitable for her family’s needs. She does most of the work by herself.

“I plow the land, I clean it, I dig the soil, and I uproot the bushes to make the land ready,” she explained proudly.

Marianne’s about 124-acre plot now produces up to half a ton of rice per year. In good years with enough water, she harvests three times this amount; in bad years, only once.

 “It’s a never-ending cycle, and every day is a new challenge,” she said.

The challenges are constant with the cost of fertilizer, tools, seeds and irrigation, often forcing Marianne to choose between preparing the land and paying for tuition for Falvi, her youngest daughter.

“Prices rise faster than she can keep up, and sometimes I can’t afford what she [Flavi] needs,” Marianne admitted.

“When there’s water, I harvest three times, but in bad seasons, I can only harvest twice, sometimes only once,” she said. 

Despite the hardships, however, Marianne’s determination inspires those around her. Neighbors often stop by to lend support.

“I try to visit Marianne whenever I have a break,” said neighbor and long-time friend Fanius Augustin, known as Kabare. “It’s important to give her courage and hope.”

“How can a woman work so hard in these conditions?” asked another neighbor, Davide Joseph. “It makes me appreciate her even more.”

Her brother, Gesner Victore, donated half of the land she cultivates to her.

 “I see the difficulties she is enduring. I hope this will give her some respite,” Gesner said. “ I am so proud of her heroic strengths.”

Her children echo that pride. 

 “My mother’s dream is clear: she wants us to live with dignity and devote ourselves to our studies,” said her daughter, Myriame, a theology student.

Her work highlights both the precariousness of the farming system and the urgent need for greater recognition of women farmers and support for their role in rebuilding the country’s agricultural system. Currently, she receives no assistance from either the Haitian government or non-governmental organizations (NGOs).

Marianne’s main dream is to ensure a stable future for her children and husband. She firmly believes that everyone deserves a dignified life, even if it means sacrifice.

“I aspire for my family to have a normal life, even if we can’t get everything we want. I want my children to have access to what they need,” she said.