It is evident by the legacy of the African societies we stem from that we are culturally-rooted in community, fairness, and justice.
Growing up in a Haitian household, the concept of community-based survival was ingrained from a young age. Stories and practices passed down through generations spoke of collective efforts long before Western academics formalized them with complex terminology. Building livelihoods and families was, and remains, a communal endeavor.
I vividly recall observing my brother participating in “sòls” with his friends, initially puzzled by their workings. While the mechanics were unclear to my younger self, I understood that sòls were simply a part of Haitian life. However, sòls possess a deep and extensive history, linking Haiti to a broader African heritage. I came to realize that the sòl, like many traditions, reveals powerful narratives about community resilience in the face of persistent oppression, particularly through economic means. Understanding even a fraction of this history illuminates the strength inherent in our communities and reconnects us with the power of our traditions to challenge oppressive systems.
For those unfamiliar, a sòl is a collective money-saving method operating on a rotating, typically short-term, cycle. Each member of a group contributes a fixed amount of money at regular intervals, such as the first of each month. One designated member receives the total pooled sum from everyone in the group. This process rotates through the members until each person has received the lump sum. For instance, in a sòl among 5 friends with a $100 USD contribution, given monthly, each member contributes $100 each month. The designated recipient receives $400. This cycle continues until every member has received their payout, marking the sòl’s completion.
As a child in America, I questioned the purpose of sòls if there was no apparent profit or gain. I soon learned that sòls transcended mere cash savings. They served as a vital support system for members facing immediate financial needs, such as purchasing groceries or covering rent. Those in more stable situations could afford to receive their funds later in the cycle. There are accounts of individuals in larger sòl groups utilizing their pooled sums to settle debts, finance higher education for their children, or make down payments on homes. It’s even said that sòls played a significant role in enabling homeownership within the Haitian community in the United States during the 1980s.
Models akin to the sòl have existed for centuries. A well-documented example, noted by scholars, is the esusu system originating from the Yoruba people of pre-colonial Nigeria. The esusu (also known as adashi, ajo, or esu depending on region and group function) shares striking similarities with sòls, operating on a rotating payment system. However, esusu groups could be significantly larger, sometimes encompassing up to 200 members and spanning several years. Variations of the esusu institution existed. Some, like the esu model, were formed based on shared characteristics such as occupation, family ties, or residence. One specific variation provided lump sums exclusively for funeral expenses, recognizing funerals as a particularly costly life event. Other variations catered to farming or household needs.
Even a brief overview reveals the integral role these systems played for ordinary people within their societies. In pre-colonial Yoruba culture, wealth accumulation, as valued in Western societies, did not automatically confer status or respect. Instead, an individual’s social responsibility and contribution to the community, among other core principles, were paramount in earning esteem. A 20th-century anthropologist observed that the esusu system served as an incentive for wealthier individuals “to make their surpluses available to those in the community who were in greatest need.”
The increasing impact of warfare, slavery, and European colonization in the 19th century brought instability across West Africa, disrupting the ability to maintain esusu cycles. Western researchers often dismissed the model as primitive and economically illogical, predicting its eventual replacement by Western institutions like banks. However, the persistence of sòls and similar credit associations throughout the Caribbean and Latin America – known as partner, sou-sou, sociedad, sub, and other regional names – demonstrates the resilience of these practices. These systems endured because enslaved Africans carried these traditions to the New World during the transatlantic slave trade.
Contrary to the narrative that Africans in the New World were compelled to abandon all aspects of their African identity in favor of European norms, they actively maintained many traditions, albeit adapted to the brutal constraints of enslavement and often concealed from slaveholders. The esusu is a prime example of this cultural resilience. It wasn’t solely Yoruba communities who brought these banking concepts to the Caribbean. Africans from Benin and Togo also transplanted their own forms of banking and collective saving to Saint-Domingue, along with their values of communal cooperation (konbit).
Marcia Annisette, a Trinidadian-Canadian accounting scholar, argues that these diverse savings and credit institutions functioned as covert practices and informal economies, allowing enslaved Africans to circumvent the constant control and surveillance of their finances. History demonstrates that restricting Black people’s financial accumulation is a tool of oppression. During the Duvalier regime in Haiti, sòls managed by Haitian people became even more critical because the government had outlawed gwoupmans (associations) and cooperatives – mechanisms for communities to collectively benefit from shared investments. This era witnessed a surge in the use of sòls and credit unions.
Even today, political corruption threatens the effectiveness of these accessible, grassroots practices that sustain the economy for ordinary Haitians. Rising prices in Haiti, driven by inflation, undermine the fundamental purpose of sòls. As one Haitian individual explained to Woy Magazine, “there is no way to save in gourdes because you will only lose.” By the end of a sòl cycle, the gourde’s value may have depreciated, resulting in financial loss and requiring more money to purchase basic goods.
The Haitian market and economy continue to face exploitation and threats from corrupt political forces driven by greed. However, the Haitian people remain resilient. This perseverance is evident in the women who are the backbone of the market and the protests demanding systemic change. The enduring legacy of African societies reveals our deep cultural roots in community, fairness, and justice. Sol Money, and traditions like it, are powerful testaments to this heritage.
