Short Adventures in Port-au-Prince

Alas, there is so much to see and do in Port-au-Prince, that vast city that operates seemingly without order. I stayed at a guesthouse in Delmas, got to see and drive around various parts of the city, and really experienced riding in tap taps. Unfortunately, I did not bring a decent camera, nor did I make it to Iron Market and other important areas to me. And many landmarks and parts of the city I did experience or at least see a part of, such as the Neg Mawon statue, the Christopher Columbus statue, Lalue, Pacot, and Carrefour were not photographed on the smart phone.

I did appreciate the view from the guesthouse in Delmas, though. It was a much nicer view than the surrounding area, full of horrible streets, little light at night, and sometimes loud street parties with sound systems blaring. It was great to see the energy and liveliness, but shocking to see people staying up so late into the, even on weeknights. I guess it makes sense when you think about it. Why not party it up on weeknights or hang out in the streets into the late hours, so few people can find formal jobs that pay enough to live anyway? 

Unfortunately, I missed many 'must see' parts of Port-au-Prince, and never made it higher than Petionville. I really wanted to make it to Kenscoff, but the gods did not favor me this trip. The city's overcrowded, filthy, and even in Petionville, polluted. I saw everything: prostitutes at the nightlife scenes in Petionville, overpriced dining for the middle and upper class (and foreigners) near Place Boyer and elsewhere in Petionville, black pigs eating trash in Petionville, dogs roaming the streets all night in Delmas and other parts of Port-au-Prince, you name it. As a young Haitian doctor explained, there is so much poverty, unemployment, and concentration of people in Port-au-Prince that some areas are full of 'idle' men who sit around all day, playing dominoes and drinking.

Despite all of the aforementioned problems of Port-au-Prince, I see a lot of potential for change. And there are seemingly endless construction projects in and around the capital. Place Boyer in Petionville was nice, the Champs de Mars is beautiful in parts, public spaces seem to be heavily utilized, and the motos, taxis, and tap taps seem to make driving and transportation possible in the numerous blokis and wild traffic. I was not prepared for Haitian driving (so different from my experience of 'rough' driving in South Africa), but I grew accustomed to it and enjoyed how carefree and fast some private drivers could be. The tap taps were always colorful and featured interesting themes. Port-au-Prince is covered with graffiti in nearly all neighborhoods, which I found useful for getting a 'feel' of the political sentiments of the Haitian people. From what I recall, there were lots of artists expressing their support and disdain for the Martelly government. 

I could not snap a decent photo of Henri Christophe in the Champs de Mars on my mom's smart phone. It was sad, since of all the Haitian Revolutionary figures, he is one of the more interesting ones. Even young Haitians in their 20s agreed with me about Henri Christophe, though one man was quick to remind me of Christophe's origins in Grenada. Haitians are rightfully quite proud of our history, even if today many younger generations of Haitians, like people across the Caribbean, do not learn enough about their cultures in school. I hope that with advances in literacy and improved schools, Haitian children will learn the details of the Haitian Revolution, contributions of Henri Christophe, and the long history of Port-au-Prince and its monuments.

I loved how public spaces in Haiti were so heavily used by the people. These adolescents playing football near the Petion statue was so perfect for me for encapsulating everything that's beautiful about Port-au-Prince. In the midst of poverty and political obstacles, Haitians still take time to enjoy football. I saw lots of students in this area, too, as well as street vendors, the picturesque view of the mountains outside the city, and couples resting. 

To be honest, I never experienced the 'nightlife culture' of Petionville, but I did have the chance of seeing an Irish pub there. It was nothing special, but I enjoyed spending time with an old Haitian-American brother, an American woman doing research in Haiti, and two Haitians she introduced me to earlier. It was very casual, laid back, and full of mirth and light-hearted discussion. The margarita was nothing to brag about, but the bar was not crowded (I think it was a Monday or Tuesday night), so we could actually hear each other! If I recall correctly, subjects discussed included the popularity of African-American rappers in Haiti, Haitian versus US ways of picking up women and dating, as well as the new 'tourism police' instituted by Villedrouin. To be honest, seeing a specialized police force monitoring an area actually made me feel less comfortable, just as seeing the Irish pub's private guard with a rifle was a bit disconcerting. 

Another mediocre photo of a monument in Petion's honor. This was taken at the same place by the youths playing soccer with an inferior ball. From what I recall, Petion was considered a more popular Haitian leader, and all Haitians seem to praise the man as a 'founding father' even though he helped organize the assassination of Dessalines. Talking with my uncle in Kreyol about Haitian history and politics was difficult because of my weak grasp of the attractive language, but he seemed to think much higher of Petion than of Boyer, who he called a dictator. 

Again, my uncle was the one who took us around most of the time in Port-au-Prince and Petionville. The St. Pierre Square area during the day was very nice, especially because we had to hide from the rain for almost 20 minutes in an area where gardeners sold colorful flowers. I enjoyed it because I discussed with my uncle and mother our family history. In addition, he showed us the busy streets of Petionville during the day, as well as other parts of Port-au-Prince. He only speaks Kreyol, but I think he said the above building is one of importance to the government. I think it's the Casernes Dessalines, which I unfortunately did not take enough photos for posterity. It was more than a little depressing and harrowing to recall all the destruction of the 2010 earthquake and see where the National Palace once stood. 

I believe Place Boyer was recently renovated, and prior to that, was inhabited by displaced 'tent people.' Nowadays, it is a mostly quiet public area full of vendors, children playing, relaxing couples, groups of friends, and this bust of Boyer. I don't think it looks anything like him at all, but who am I to judge? I suppose it was inevitable that Petionville would pay homage to the founder of this once exclusive and elite suburb (don't get me wrong, that side of Petionville still exists, but certainly it is fully integrated into the expanding metro area of Port-au-Prince from what I saw). Anyway, while there, we had the worst pate from a vendor, and I spoke to my uncle about how Boyer was a dictator and supporter of the aristocracy of the skin. If I understood his Kreyol properly, he said the people of Petionville identify with Petion and Boyer, while those living below the hills in areas like Delmas (where my uncle resides) always identify with Dessalines.

My mother insisted on seeing this relatively new Best Western hotel in Petionville. We had heard about and read that Haiti, especially with the tourism focus of Martelly's government, is building and expanding hotels. Well, this was a most bourgie of hotels, but featured excellent air conditioners that were comforting after a day wandering around Petionville in the heat. It's too expensive for my taste, but my mom wants to stay here next time she's in Haiti. Oh, and I think I shook hands with a singer from Zenglen who was staying at the hotel. My uncle recognized him immediately and asked to shake his hands, but it wasn't until afterward that I understood this random guy was a musician from a well-known Haitian band. 

Pacot seems like a really interesting area of Port-au-Prince. The streets are not as horrible, there are some nice houses and apartments (although the nicest apartment by far I saw in the Port-au-Prince area was my Haitian-American friend's flat in a building owned by an Arab Haitian). This above photo was taken at a side street and I was just in love with the narrow streets in that area. The Oloffson is in that area, the French embassy, the blan-dominated Yanvalou bar, and apparently the setting for Raoul Peck's upcoming film. Other interesting areas I saw or passed through were Lalue and even parts of the run-down Carrefour and Croix-des-Bouquets. I loved in Carrefour one could live and build right on the sea, even if the traffic that way is horrible and not the safest. 

We also drove by Cite Soleil, not staying too long. I had the pleasure of seeing an industrial zone, driving by a power plant (controlled by a foreign company), and seeing the busy interior of a warehouse (one of 3 or 4) owned by a Haitian that redistributes imported food. The guesthouse owner took us that way to show us where he gets the food for his business, as well as discussing the various construction projects and developments about to hit Port-au-Prince. He was very optimistic about things, and seemed pro-Martelly, but that's to be expected since he caters to non-Haitians and tourists (who would tell tourists negative things about the current president when his business depends on the capitalist views of Martelly and his image of a stable, safe Haiti for foreign investment and tourism?). 

What else did I see in Port-au-Prince? Well, the people are tremendously diverse. It was as if every slice of the Haitian pie was represented there. The people were generally hospitable, always greeted me and each other, and were friendly. I never witnessed a crime, only saw a few beggars (the only time I was ever 'harassed' by beggars was poor children outside of Bassin Bleu, near Jacmel, and they were well-meaning and desperate and didn't bother me at all), people seemed to look out for each other. Sure, there were putrid smells in the streets, lots of trash, cows, goats, and pigs roaming the city, and a certain sense of insecurity from the warning words of my aunt and uncle, but Haiti is supposedly one of the safest countries in the Caribbean. 

One of my great regrets, however, was not checking out any museums or art galleries while Haiti. Moreover, I would have liked to see Iron Market, see my Auntie's old house in Carrefour, and get out of the city some more for the mountains. I did eventually make it to Jacmel, was able to go to Fonds Parisien at night, and see a bit of Arcahaie, but I never got to see the pine trees up in the mountains near Kenscoff and other villages. I also had the misfortune of never seeing a fete patronal, like a US friend and her Haitian driver experienced in Mirebalais. Undoubtedly, Haiti's beauty comes alive in the countryside and small towns, but Port-au-Prince has retained some of its old charms, despite all the problems that come with over-concentration of power, wealth, and 'opportunity' in the capital. I also loved reading the street signs for references to important figures in Haitian history and culture, such as Jean Price Mars or Frederic Marcelin. 

Fortunately, I did get to meet some relatives I never had the pleasure of encountering before. Above, my mom with her cousin and his son while the picture below is of my baby cousin. Again, I met several interesting people at the guesthouse and elsewhere, including a young Haitian doctor locally educated, as well as his colleague who studied in Santiago de Cuba. He explained to me that Cuba's medical program with Haiti actually meets the interests of Cuban doctors who want an 'out' of Cuba, as well as helping Haiti by training doctors who are in such short supply. It's great to met Haitian doctors who plan on staying in Haiti. 

But I digress. Port-au-Prince is full of talented, resourceful people and communities who know what they need, as I witnessed in one community of former 'tent people' now living in a small area on the outskirts of the city. During a community organizational meeting put together by a woman who hosted an American critical of the condescension, paternalism, and unhelpful NGO structure, I saw firsthand how poor Haitian communities always had a spirit of solidarity and strong associations. Haiti needs Haitian voices to be heard in reconstructing the country, and until that happens in a way that foreign imperialism and local authoritarian practices cannot silence, I cannot see any systemic change happening. 

Arcahaie and Its Environs

I actually did not see much of this town, spending most of the time driving through and staying at a large estate for an hour or two. The family that owns it started an orphanage and little school that took in about 19 or 20 children after the earthquake. The property is large, beautiful, and full of plantain trees, goats, chickens, and a small school and lodgings for the children. The family that owns the property is currently building a 2 story house for the older couple that started the building. 

En route to Arcahaie, we drove past Cite Soleil (after make a stop at an industrial warehouse where a Haitian man redistributes imported food) and saw some of the construction going on over there. We also drove past what looks like an impressive sports facility outside of Port-au-Prince, not too far from Titanyen, where many displaced people after the earthquake were pushed to. It was a barren land and certainly did not look like a good place to relocate victims of the 2010 earthquake. The nice thing about it was the ocean view, I guess. 

Seeing the crowded Cabaret on market day was more exciting and interesting, although I foolishly did not take any pictures of this busy small town market. Vendors, stalls, a small blokis, and just about everything you would want to buy in Cabaret was out for sale. Bright colors abounded, and an orderly disorder triumphed (at least, to my unaccustomed eyes). It was nice to see a crowded market outside of Port-au-Prince because it was so much cleaner and did not stink. Cabaret is another place I must see again.

As for Arcahaie, I did not see much. We drove around a bit and the nice guy who owns the guesthouse (he was the one driving us around) took us to an area where he purchased some land. He told us that the Haitian government wants to develop part of this area for tourism, and I can see why. It's relatively unspoiled by pollution or overcrowding. The area he showed us only had a few large, private homes and several lower-class residents washing their clothes in the stream that flows into the ocean. Nonetheless, I wonder how those local residents feel about government plans to turn their homes into tourist resorts and forever change the lovely beaches. 

Although I know Arcahaie is the town where the first Haitian flag flew, we didn't have time to see the monument the Haitian government erected. We drove back to Port-au-Prince and did not face any heavy traffic most of the way. The guesthouse owner's mother returned with us to sell plantains in Delmas, because so many people sell fresh plantains around Arcahaie she would face less competition in the Delmas neighborhood. 

Arcahaie is a nice small town. Though I did not see much (and perhaps there's not that much to see there), I was generally pleased. The town is near the coast, less polluted, has a slower pace of life, and struck me as in a good location in terms of less traffic on the way back to Port-au-Prince (unlike Jacmel and routes heading toward Leogane and the south that go through Carrefour). 

Unlike Fonds Parisien, another small town I visited that is not too far from Port-au-Prince, the people of Arcahaie seem to be better off in that they have more access to freshwater, and less barren agricultural land. Fonds-Parisien, to be honest, I only saw at night when there's no electricity, but looked less appealing. I suppose Fonds-Parisien has that Mission center and is close to the Dominican border, where so many Haitians cross into Jimani and seek work. The good thing about Fonds Parisien is that some of the new housing is at least designed to be well ventilated, and I had the pleasure of meeting a young Haitian-American architect who had designed some of the houses. 

Seeing Jacmel

Jacmel is a beautiful city. In addition to the city's lovely architectural tradition, winding roads, and lively arts scenes, the natural beauty surrounding the small urban area is breathtaking. To get there, we were driven by a very kind Haitian doctor we met through a fascinating American doing research on community organizations and alternatives to traditional NGOs. We had to drive through Carrefour and a few other areas near Port-au-Prince before we reached the road to Jacmel. That road was very dangerous because of heavy fog in the night, so we crept uphill very slowly while the sounds of the coqui enchanted us. The road to Jacmel really does need more lights, especially since a taptap apparently fell over the mountain and almost everyone inside died that same weekend I was there.

When we finally arrived at Jacmel, we stopped by Lakou New York in the night. Some beggar asked us for five dollars (US), but we just said no and kept walking. Apparently, Lakou New York was finished recently and is a beautiful little area or promenade with a beach. The kind doctor explained to us that the nearby restaurant retained its tradition of hosting prostitutes, travelers and tourists eager to find cash and a good time. 

We spent the night in lodging discovered for us by our new doctor friend. Before that, we stopped by his girlfriend's family for some delicious, homemade Haitian food. The family owned all kinds of old Haitian records and I was able to practice my Kreyol and Spanish with the daughters of the family, highly educated young Haitian women. The family showed us that typical Haitian hospitality that made the night more welcoming and amplified the beauty of Jacmel. 

Unfortunately, we didn't get to explore much of the city itself, since the first thing we did the next morning was take off for Bassin Bleu after eating soup joumou for breakfast with the hospitable Jacmel family. We didn't really know what we were getting ourselves into that day. And despite warnings, we decided we had to see it if we are going to be in the Jacmel area. It had rained the same day we ascended, so the ordeal to see Bassin Bleu was very difficult. Nonetheless, the drive to nearby Bassin Bleu was beautiful (the mountains, colors, and magic of the countryside is mesmerizing). 

After seeing Bassin Bleu and paying our guides, I heard a small twoubadou ensemble perform. That was exciting and not so common a sight in Port-au-Prince. The band even had the Haitian version of the Cuban marimbula! Unfortunately, I didn't catch a photograph of the musicians...

We drove around Jacmel again, stopping by the friendly house of our friend's girlfriend. They treated us to dinner and we relaxed, appreciating the area. We ended up stopping by the beach for about 20 or 30 minutes, just enjoying the breeze and trying to avoid being bitten by too many mosquitoes. After that, we dropped off our friend's girlfriend and returned to Port-au-Prince. Our stay in Jacmel was too short, so I'll have to return someday. I want to see the house where Simon Bolivar stayed, even though it has apparently fallen into ruin. I also want to see more of the distinct architecture and historic buildings.  Oh, and the delicious coffee! Haitian coffee is rich and of a type quite uncommon in the US. I never tried it before until just last week, and it is delicious. 

I particularly enjoyed some of the older buildings in the town center, as well as driving by the Hotel Florita. The city seems to be quite proud of its heritage and tranquility, making it a perfect getaway from the crowded, polluted and sometimes dangerous Port-au-Prince. The only downside was the blackout at the place we were staying overnight, and the extremely loud konpa from a nearby bar that kept me up all night. I loved how the narrow streets and main streets hosted large numbers of motorcyclists. In addition, many of the people in the area looked like my godmother and grandmother, who had ancestors in the Jacmel area and used to live in Jacmel itself or the La Vallée de Jacmel. Next time I come this way, I hope the road to Bainet has been improved so I can see Bainet, La Vallée, and more of Jacmel. 

Hotel Oloffson

I had the great fortune of finally seeing this famous hotel for myself recently. The beautiful gingerbread mansion features many beautiful rooms, a nice little bar, and the beautiful mural in the main hall where RAM performs. Alas, I did not have the pleasure of hearing RAM there, but to walk around this famous hotel that inspired Graham Greene's The Comedians was of great significance to me. Here is another photo, where RAM performs on Thursday. 

Ti Grog Moin

A classic...

Some Randy Weston Gems

Robin D.G. Kelley is right, Randy Weston's "Zulu" does indeed sound a little like "Manteca," and nothing at all like South African music. As for "Pam's Waltz," which Kelley states is based on the calypso-styled quadrilles of the West Indies, and is quite delightful. Weston's music is so darn heterogeneous, there's always something for someone to love. The product of Jamaican immigration, Garveyism, calypso, folk, African, Caribbean, Latin, North African, and African-American traditions, Weston's music is cosmpolitan and pan-Africanist to an incomparable degree. I highly recommend "Niger Mambo" for a look at how Weston has been influence by highlife as well as Latin music.

El Aji Caribe

For some reason, Damiron's piano merengues are a tad more compelling than the usual merengue instrumentation. In addition, songs like these are dark, fit for dancing, and remind me of some konpa music. The prominence of the piano (or keyboards, as in some 1970s or 1980s konpa) is like something one could hear in the music of Richard Duroseau or in the sounds of some other mini-jazz (such as Les Vikings, or Tabou Combo).

How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents

Reading How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents has been exhilarating, and a necessary balance to the mainly male-centered works of Junot Diaz. In Alvarez's well-known novel, we see an immigrant narrative of a family forced to choose emigration because of the Trujillo regime's constant presence and attempts to kill the patriarch of the family, Don Carlos. Thus, like so much of immigrant literature, the focus of the novel is on identity and finding meaning in the 'new land.' However, the novel does more than explore the contours of Dominican-American identity. Issues of gender, race, color, language, patriarchy, and sexuality are relevant in all sections of the novel. Moreover, it's structured in an intriguing fashion: it moves backwards in time chronologically, thereby tracing the troubled lives of the four Garcia girls from their adult years in the United States back to their childhood in the Dominican Republic, a period where Trujillo's secret police sought and killed some of their relatives.

As in Junot Diaz's Brief Wondrous Life, the shadow of Trujillo and the unequal power distribution of his regime lurks behind the scenes, though Trujillo never appears as a character (except one allusion to his daughter being a neighbor of the family compound). Somehow, the dictator manages to exert an influence that begins to affect everyone's behavior, including the children (the harrowing scene where two secret police (guardias) show up at the house for Don Carlos is an excellent example). And, likewise, aspects of the patriarchal culture of the upper-class family the four girls descend from mirror that dictatorship: male heirs were favored, males were given more freedom, women were to abstain from sex until marriage, etc. In addition to the widespread misogyny and sexism that characterized Trujillo's regime (and many families of the Dominican Republic), Sofia's experience with an illegitimate cousin, Manuel, prove how women are subordinated in very real ways by a culture of machismo (cousin Mundin is another outstanding example of Dominican masculinity being cultivated in horribly sexist ways, since he plays the role of catalyst in the loss of innocence of his cousins, Yoyo and Sofia). Clearly, a female-centered narrative such as this novel provides a fascinating way to study the effects of gender and sexism on maintaining the dictatorship, as well as the conflicts the family faces in the US as the daughters mature and embrace their sexuality and 'liberation' in ways their parents do not support.

Issues of race, color, and xenophobia in the Dominican Republic and the US also shape the novel. The family faces racism in New York (being called spics by white children and adults), poverty (Don Carlos struggles to get his medical license and find work when the family first leaves the Dominican Republic after narrowly escaping capture by Trujillo's men), and alienation. Simultaneously, while becoming victims of US white racism (including from the more 'liberal' types like a college boyfriend of Yolanda's who assumes 'Latin' women are easy and whose parents believe the Dominican would be like a geography lesson for their boy, an intersectional example of racism and sexism), strict class and race boundaries within the Garcia family's elite background dictate a type of condescension and racism towards the servants and those of Haitian descent. Thus, as Dominican-Americans, regardless of color, face racism and xenophobia in the Diaspora, Dominicans in the Island perpetuate another form of oppression against each other and Dominicans of Haitian descent.

 For instance, Chucha, a Vodouizan survivor of them 1937 massacres ordered by Trujillo (again, Trujillo is omnipresent in this novel), taken in by the generous grandparents of the girls, is looked down upon by the servants in the household because of her 'blue-black' color and descent, as well as being a practitioner of Vodou (entitled 'voodoo' in Alvarez's novel). Despite loyally serving the family since 1937, she is looked down upon by other similarly lower-class, dark-skinned Dominicans (the skin color or hair texture of the servants makes it quite obvious they are Afro-Dominican, being described as 'black' like Nivea or Chucha, dark-brown like Haitian-descended Pila, and having kinky hair, like Gladys. In this case, one can see how classism, racism, colorism, and xenophobia influence the Dominican and Dominican-American self-conceptualized identity. Even in the Garcia family, Laura is constantly bringing up their Swedish descent, her pride in conquistador ancestors, and praising the light skin and blue eyes of one of the daughters. This slavish devotion to white skin and privilege obscures the racial complexity and need for unity among Dominicans, especially in a dictatorship that based so much of its power on demonization and 'de-Haitianization' of the border with Haiti.

Perhaps this is why the two servants of Haitian descent play such prominent role in the early experiences of the Garcia girls before leaving for New York. They are a constant reminder of the classism, colorism, sexism, xenophobia, and immigrant experience the Garcias will undergo in what Chucha refers to as a land of the unliving, white zombies. Indeed, Chucha even prays for the girls on their last day 'home,' showing them the very same statue or 'talisman-like' figure that appears to be crying, the very same 'paquet congo' and her Vodou faith that sustained her all these years, losing contact with her family in Haiti and barely escaping death at the hands of a Trujillo-sanctioned massacre. The irony of this must not be lost, since the Garcia family was perilously close to a similar end under the same dictator. Pila, on the other hand, introduces Yoyo, or, Yolanda, into the coal shed where her innocence and the beginning of her longing for 'home,' take shape. If Pila's story of losing her eye and Yoyo's fears of the black cat (which manifest in nightmares after she flings the kitten out the window and steals it from the shed) symbolize her longing for home, then these women of Haitian descent, like the Garcia girls in the US, will continually struggle with locating 'home,' their identity. In fact, to make things worse for Pila, she disappears after stealing from the Garcia family, only to be brought to justice swiftly because of what I presume to be vitiligo, which marks her like Cain, just as skin color and national origin mark the Garcias in New York.

Unfortunately, this novel would have been better off focusing entirely on Yolanda than the entire family. Maybe if published as separate but interconnected short stories, the novel's structure would have been less jarring, but this is certainly a powerful read. The prose is simple and direct, the metaphorical language accessible, and the character of Yolanda very strong. Due to a lack of similar development for the other sisters, one cannot help but disinterested in some parts of the novel, but the working backwards chronologically worked quite well. It allows one to see, as Diaz observed in his famous novel, how Trujillo lives on in the minds, hearts, and behavior of Dominicans in the Diaspora, with devastating results for women. Their horrendous experiences with abusive, sexist, and racist US men, in conjunction with the struggle of assimilation, language barriers, intra-family squabbles, and the plethora of issues plaguing the Dominican Republic, demonstrate how everyone in the family is capable of becoming a little 'Trujillo,' capable of acts of great malice and abuse of power.

Oran Oran

Roberto Rodriguez's tribute to Jewish-Algerian pianist Maurice El Medioni, "Oran Oran" epitomizes musical cross-fertilization across three continents. Spanish and North African music have a centuries-long history of exchange and mutual influence, but West and Central African influences appear via the Puerto Rican and Cuban influences on Maurice El Medioni's music. According to Hashim Aidi, Maurice El Medioni was exposed to jazz and 'Latin' music through Puerto Rican and African-American soldiers during WWII, and that added another layer of complexity to the musical 'stew' that is his sound. Thus, it is only natural that Latin jazz artist Roberto Rodriguez would pay homage to this legend who was clearly influenced by Latin sounds.

Anibal Bravo and Felix Cumbe

Delectable merengue for Friday. Check out this lively 'live' performance for more, featuring the song's writer, Felix Cumbe. And this for more of this catchy tune (but this is of better quality). Cumbe gives the song something of a konpa feel, too, especially in the saxophone. 

Maestro Issa

Enjoy this fascinating documentary with priceless video footage of various Haitian and Cuban music legends performing and explaining the development of Haitian music in the 1950s. It's a lovely documentary on the influences in 1950s Haitian music during la belle epoque. Issa El Saieh's orchestra took in influences from Cuban music, Vodou, jazz, Haitian mereng, and made magic in pre-konpa Haiti. The important links between Haitian and Cuban music get a lot of attention, too, demonstrating what I like to call 'CubAyiti.' We even see Bebo Valdes play piano, Daniel Santos sing, Beny More, Martha Jean-Claude, Celia Cruz, and many other legends.

Randevou Chanpet

There's an infectious quality to Haitian music that makes it irresistible to dancers. And, when accompanied by an older-styled band, the vitality of the rhythms are perfectly complemented by horns. The images of happy people dancing are certainly charming, too. Songs like these exemplify what I love most in Caribbean musics. Perhaps part of my love for the song is a certain similarity in the keyboard with Malavoi's "Jou Ouve," one of my favorite songs? Or maybe it's really "Pousser la Vie" I am thinking of?

Haitian Ritual/Monkies and Butterflies

Interesting jazz exotica from Ted Heath and the London jazz scene. According to Robin D.G. Kelley, this song was not composed by Kenny Dorham, but instead was one of Guy Warren's compositions stolen by Dorham. It's not really Haitian-sounding at all, but Guy Warren was a Ghanaian drummer who certainly was familiar with 'authentic' ceremonial and religious percussion, chants, and popular music of West Africa. Anywho, it's interesting to hear exotica allusions to Haiti in a jazz idiom, written by a West African.

The second song, "Monkies and Butterflies," another Guy Warren composition, is more interesting. It's a mixture of highlife and jazz sounds, female back-up vocals, and a style eerily similar to early Fela Kuti. As Kelley states in his superb Africa Speaks, America Answers (which happens to be the name of the Guy Warren album recorded with white American musicians in Chicago), Kuti was known for borrowing Guy Warren's records. We can detect Warren's talent for percussion, rooted in his experience of drumming in highlife bands (He was in E.T. Mensah's band in the 1940s!) as well as personal experience in folkloric and 'traditional' genres. Check out this intriguing song that Kelley also highlights for being an eclectic mixture of jazz, highlife, 'traditional' and classical influences.

According to Kelley, Warren's music wasn't 'African enough' for the stereotypes marketing and promotion of the 'African Invasion' in 1950s American music, so he was never commercially successful and found the support he needed. Amazingly, a West African drummer with no formal training, Olatunji, became known in the late 1950s for being 'authentic' and meeting preconceived notions of what US audiences expected from Africa (savagery, percussion, sexuality, 'primitiveness). Thus, even though Warren's eclectic taste included chanting and singing in West African languages, 'traditional' and ceremonial rhythms and melodies, and urban dance styles, his interest in jazz and classical music marked him as not 'African enough.' It's a shame, his music is stimulating and certainly more 'authentic' than Olatunji or most of the 'African' rhythms one could find in 1950s jazz from US musicians. 

Little Niles and Anacaona

It's been a salsa and jazz kind of week. It certainly helps that I am reading Robin D.G. Kelley's excellent Africa Calls, America Answers right now, too. In the book, Kelley explains how "Little Niles" is a North African-inflected composition named for Weston's son, Niles. I never knew that Weston personally knew African-American jazz bassist (and oud player) Ahmed Abdul-Malik (who claimed Sudanese ancestry, but grew up in Brooklyn with Weston). Apparently, Ahmed Abdul-Malik introduced Weston to North African and Middle Eastern scales when they were both young, and later played in Weston's Trio as bassist in the 1950s. Randy Weston's interest in North African music also contributed to the rise of Gnawa music in international music circles (Weston lived in Tangier for years, organized a jazz festival, and recorded with Gnawa musicians), a process described excellently in Aidi's Rebel Music. 

 As for the other song of the day, "Anacaona" is a tribute to a legendary Taino woman, in a salsa-styled song with jazzy ornamentation. Although I will admit I was never a huge Cheo fan until hearing of his demise back in April, I thoroughly enjoyed Afropop's short list of his best songs. One of Puerto Rico's best soneros, Feliciano rivals Ismael Rivera in my book for greatest salsa vocalists. Love the piano solo, too. 

Ayiti

Just finished Roxane Gay's short collection, Ayiti. Some of the stories were no more than 1-3 pages, so it was a quick read. She writes eloquently about Haiti from a diaspora, in such a knowing and loving way. She clearly loves her heritage. Of course, she knows about everything that plagues Haiti, but when it comes to Haitian dignity, pride, and respect, her characters demand it. Again, like in Bad Feminist, there is humour in the tale as well, particularly in the short chapter about her father's thick Haitian accent, or the young Haitian immigrant, Gerard, who faces accusations of H.B.O. in his American school. The best 'treat' of the story collection, however, is her early form of An Untamed State lacking the depth and character background of the novel, as well as without the sordid details of Miri's rape and torture while kidnapped.

Life & Times of Michael K

Whoa. It's amazing how Coetzee manages to write a novel both about and not about apartheid with few overt references to race. Life & Times of Michael K is a thin book, yet requires laborious reading due to slow-moving prose. However, it's effusive and detailed, painting a picture of the Cape Peninsula I had the fortune to see part of during my time in South Africa. In addition, one sometimes feels Coetzee 'hammers' some of the central themes of the text later on through the thoughts of the 'simpleton' protagonist, Michael K (read this review and check this one out for some other interesting criticism of the novel's debts to Kafka, etc.).

Nonetheless, it's a fascinating experience to read an anti-apartheid text with such a universal message, the struggle to live unfettered in camps, behind high walls, the struggle to be free. That very same struggle seems to transcend racial lines, too, even in a minority-dominated South Africa in the midst of war and unrest. That is best exemplified by the presumably 'white' doctor at the camp in Kenilworth, who also desires to live free, to live life without being in the confines of camps, literal or metaphorical. I believe that theme, that universal struggle to be 'free' is better explored in this fine essay, the wish to escape 'all camps.' Naturally, this theme relates to apartheid South Africa in horrific ways, just as it could be seen as allusions to the earlier history of 'rehabilitation' and labor camps in World War II, the Boer War, or even the German genocide in colonial Namibia. Similarly, the ordeals and experiences of Michael K, from living in a cave to the dugout on the abandoned Visagie farm near Prince Albert (possibly where K's mother lived, he'll never know), the labor camps, the streets of Cape Town or Stellenbosch,

For another fascinating review of the novel, the recently deceased Nadine Gordimer puts things into perspective from a South African anti-apartheid activist and literary background. She emphasizes race and the political oppression and violence of state terror (apartheid) as shaping social relations in profoundly negative ways that prevent relations between blacks (including Coloureds, such as Michael K) and whites taking the shape of anything besides master-slave. She also highlights the importance of gardening and examines some of the political implications of the novel, especially pertaining to how Coetzee perceives (or perceived, at the time) the future of South Africa.

Overall, my own opinion of Coetzee's work is positive. I am always intrigued by his densely layered prose, his fervent attention to describing the veld and landscape, and, even in this novel, his keen interest in animal rights (think of the killing of the wild goat on the Visagie farm). Intertextuality in the novel also intrigues me (the Kafkaesque allusions), as well as Coetzee's penchant for universality in a specifically South African setting. Much like Michael after leaving the cave (which seems like an obvious Plato reference), we, as readers, are led on an allegorical path out of the cave to see the world beyond the shadows of tyranny, to find meaning.

Home Is Africa

Although so much of Africa-inspired 1960s US jazz was not really based on African musics (instead, jazz artists often used Latin or vaguely Latin rhythms, which are certainly indebted to Africa), one must love the sentiment, solidarity, and pride US-based jazz artists felt for the African continent in those revolutionary years. Our home is, indeed, Africa.

Bad Feminist

Everyone should read Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay for cultural and feminist criticism. She has a gift with words and retains her humor throughout. She even manages to make subject matter that would usually bore me to death interesting or engaging, such as the essay exploring her love for competitive Scrabble. Who would would have thought Scrabble could be so entertaining, funny, and meaningful? She also grapples with issues of body, sexism, rape culture, popular culture, film, and race, illustrating that no topic is beyond her grasp. She deftly critiques films dealing with slavery or black history (The Help, Django Unchained, 12 Years a Slave), analyzes popular literature (including the seemingly meaningless or trite, such as Fifty Shades of Grey or The Hunger Games) and manages to find depth and merit in all.

She weaves together her own life story with several chapters, thereby inviting the reader to see how we are all a collection of messy contradictions that make us 'bad feminists,' therefore offering a way for us all to embrace ideals espousing gender equality while remaining human. Thus, Gay can enjoy or at least accept that listening to misogynistic lyrics in popular music, or feeling fettered by some gender stereotypes, does not disqualify one from being a feminist. In addition, she critiques classism, heteronormativity, racism, and other flaws in much of mainstream feminism, while remaining open-minded and calling for building bridges. Perhaps the only flaw in the text was not due to the author, but my own ignorance of much popular culture, which made some essays a challenge to 'get' because I knew nothing of the subject matter. Nonetheless, Gay's style stayed accessible throughout, a true triumph. Moreover, Gay gave me her copy of the text!

The Thing Around Your Neck

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's The Thing Around Your Neck is an addictive read, but weakened by some of the Nigerian-American short stories being too similar. At times, one forgets the distinctions between those tales, even though some address certain themes of sexuality absent elsewhere. Otherwise, the collection of short stories entertains, informs, educates, and reminds one of the importance of diaspora and the changing face of immigration in the United States. African immigrants, especially Nigerians, have been coming to the US in greater numbers and the black immigrant experience is still neglected if not completely ignored in mainstream literature, so Adichie's collection serves as a useful foray into the experiences of Nigerian immigrants. Furthermore, she delves into issues of race, which, for African immigrants, is importance to acknowledge for improving relations between African-Americans and black immigrant communities. This is a theme that comes to the forefront in the brilliant novel, Americanah, but one can detect signs of that theme already in The Thing Around Your Neck. 

In addition, Adichie's vindicationist retelling of recent Igbo history through the lives of an Igbo woman and her educated grandchild, was a thrilling read. Obviously shaped by Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart, she retells the story of British conquest of the 'primitive tribes of southern Nigeria' with an excellent, intertextual short story. Similarly, Adichie, a product of a middle-class Nigerian background, challenges stereotypes of Nigerians and Africans in general with some of her tales, which tell the tale of educated, professional individuals or families struggling against corruption in Nigeria and racism and classism in the US. The struggle for democracy and equality in Nigeria remains just as relevant for Nigerians in America as the struggle for finding one's 'place' in the US, the battle to assimilate without losing one's heritage.

Other highlights include "Jumping Monkey Hill," which speaks to the dominance of white, Western lens for elevating or promoting a 'proper African' or 'really African' literature. The white Englishman who puts together the literary conference in Cape Town dominates all reviews, imposes his own standards and definitions of Africa on the assortment of writers, and is taken more seriously despite his racist and sexist stereotypes of Africa. Alas, the hegemony of Western images of Africa retains its potency, despite valiant and numerous critiques from the best of African writers for decades (such as Chinua Achebe, who deconstructs racist images of Africa in 'classics' like Conrad's Heart of Darkness). The tale about religious and ethnic conflict in Kano during a riot also stands out for Adichie's keen eye for challenging internal divisions in Nigeria. This is of course a much larger theme in Half of a Yellow Sun, but nonetheless critical for Adichie's other fiction about one of the most diverse African countries.

The White Tiger

I haven't read a novel that brought modern India to life in quite some time. The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga accomplishes that quite well through the life of an Indian male from the 'Darkness' of rural India. Our protagonist, not meant to be perceived as a 'hero' for his moral shortcomings, Balram, rises from the bottom to becoming an 'entrepreneur' in the 'new India' where outsourcing and capitalism 'thrive' in urban areas. The novel is very much influenced by Ellison's The Invisible Man, but one can also clearly detect a Hegelian 'master-slave dialectic' that informs the novel. Through murder and abandoning the 'traditional' mode of class and caste relations, a lower-class man whose father dies from tuberculosis in a horribly corrupt and impoverished India, proves to the Chinese premier that in India, becoming wealthy or a successful 'entrepreneur' relies more on nepotism, graft, and crime than anything else. And through a Hegelian master-slave dialectic, we see how liberty requires becoming a 'man,' overturning the master to become free, even if one does it to become another master over other slaves, a point that is relevant to all post-colonial states.

In addition, Adiga's prose is addictive in this relatively short novel, full of humor, disdain, pride, and longing to escape the chicken pen, described as India's greatest invention by Adiga. Clearly, this dark, yet humorous novel, lacks a positive or uplifting ending, but speaks to the rather dismal state of affairs for India's vast majority, and for the vast inequalities of the world we live in. Yet, it is also optimistic in the rise of the 'brown' and 'yellow' races of Asia, who are seen as presenting a challenge to the white man's hegemony in the global economy and politics. Placed in that context, one can see why this novel was so popular in 2008, a time when nearly everyone was predicting a post-US hegemonic world order where India, China, and other non-Western states would become global players. Moreover, the novel does not pretend to glorify or 'hide' the ugliness lurking behind the common, romanticized visions of India present in the West. Sure, this earned Adiga much criticism, for only highlighting the negative in India (caste, religion, and class divisions that fuel poverty, corruption), but it's a part of India (or any nation, for that matter) that must made visible to improve conditions and speak to the universality of the coop in which we are placed. In that light, this novel is a disturbing reminder of how rampant capitalism has wrought destruction in all corners of the world, from Lagos to Bangalore, Delhi to Rio de Janeiro.

Geffrard in 1878

Source

Former president Fabre-Nicholas Geffrard, 1859-1867. Geffrard, like so many 19th century Haitian presidents, was a military man or came to power through the military. And like many other Haitian presidents, Geffrard was overthrown and chose exile to Jamaica, which must have made Kingston quite the interesting city for Haitian political exiles and future dissidents. From what I recall from other sources, Geffrard established a law school, put on a 'tough' face against Haitian Vodou for international observers (read this), established relations with the Vatican, endeavored to attract African-American immigrants, and relied on the British to put down an early coup before finally fleeing to Jamaica under Sylvain's successful coup in 1867. 

Seeing Roxane Gay

I had the rare fortune of meeting and hearing Roxane Gay speak this week. It was a beautiful opportunity, and free at a local bookstore. Gay spoke for a little less than 90 minutes about popular culture, her essays, her love for The Hunger Games, sexism, and the need for open dialogue among different waves of feminism to strengthen the 'ocean.' In short, she was brilliant, down to earth, accessible, humorous, and warm. Although I had only read An Untamed State, I knew right away this is a writer whose nonfiction and fiction writing go hand in hand, especially since both share her gift for storytelling. After the talk, I endeavored to purchase her Bad Feminist to get an autograph but, alas, the store sold out quickly. Being the amazing person that she is, Roxane Gay gave me a copy of her book for free and was glad to meet fellow Haitians! I also asked her about how her Haitian background shaped her feminism and briefly discussed how An Untamed State was semi-autobiographical with great delight. I knew as my mother and I happily left the bookstore that tonight would be one of the highlights of the summer.

We Should All Be Feminists

The amazing Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie eloquently speaks about gender inequality around the world. I love she can be so academic and truthful with a sense of humor.

Pran Plezi Nou/La Asesina

I think the above DP Express song is the same as "La Asesina" by Bonny Cepeda. Not sure who wrote it first, but DP Express did a better job with it.

Joe Arroyo and Haitian Sounds

Colombian-Haitian musical kinship is beautiful. And without a doubt, Joe Arroyo seems to be the epitome of Colombian salsa eager to embrace its Caribbean roots. Check out "A Mi Dios Todo Le Debo," "Musa Original," "Panama Me tombe," "Lina," "Yo," and "Yuvidu." It seems like Arroyo loved Haitian music, as well as zouk and other genres from the Caribbean and West Africa.

Combo Congo

A lovely fusion of Haitian kompa and Congolese music.

Orchestre Tropicana

A beautiful song. Also, if you listen to "Petit Jean" you can hear "Maquino Landera," a silly bomba immortalized by Cortijo y su Combo in 1950s Puerto Rico. This band clearly listened to music from Cuba and Puerto Rico...

Ansanm Ansanm

A nice acoustic cover of one of my favorite Ti Manno songs.