Adventures in Port-au-Prince

Although it could never have equaled Havana, I cannot help but wish I could have visited pre-Duvalier Port-au-Prince. Or even pre-2010 Port-au-Prince. I spent a week in and around the Haitian capital visiting relatives, checking out museums, and enjoying Haitian cuisine. And a quick trip to Mirebalais was entirely worthwhile for an opportunity to enjoy the beautiful view of the capital and the tranquility of Saut d'Eau. However, one cannot escape the dirt, dust, filth, and horrid roads of the Haitian capital. Much of the city appears in need of serious rebuilding efforts, 9 years after the catastrophic earthquake. The overcrowded, cramped quarters of a city filled with concrete hovels and fatra in the streets is so disheartening compared to past photographs of the city, with its gingerbread homes, clean and almost pastoral Champ de Mars, and more interclass spaces. While one should never romanticize the past, especially in consideration of the numerous fires that devastated the city and the existence of slums long before the earthquake, I endeavored to appreciate the city while remaining open-minded about the realities of urban life for much of the world's population in the 'Global South.'

Believe it or not, I actually find much of Port-au-Prince somewhat okay and parts of it must have been beautiful even if its full of concrete buildings and homes which will bake their contents. Many areas are colorful, residents spend much more of their time outside their homes than inside them, and a few areas (like Bel-Air) had some of the remnants of the aged wooden homes which were once numerous. The earlier architectural styles and gingerbread homes are more impressive and intriguing, but I find the city to be pretty, colorful, and lively in many areas. Tabarre, Delmas, Pacot, etc. have nice areas and homes here or there, interspersed in the misery and behind walled enclosures. The pedestrians were either friendly or ignored me, although every now and then I caught some stares (perhaps they thought I was a Hindu or from Latin America, not exactly sure). But traveling with my mother or her relatives seemed to make it clear enough I was a familiar other. Indeed, I think Haitians who heard me speak Creole or French were bemused by the spectacle. Locals at a nail/hair salon in Tabarre appeared to enjoy the presence of my mother, her sister and I, since I was uncomfortable and bored for 3 hours as my mother received a pedicure and manicure. They discussed politics, hair, the lack of kouran, etc. while listening to the radio, watching mediocre French television, or greeting visitors and friends.  

In fact, I never felt unsafe in Haiti, despite warnings from the US about robberies and violence. A somewhat aggressive street vendor who was desperate to sell followed us around Champ de Mars from a careful distance because he knew my mother would eventually break down and purchase one of his paintings. But other than that, people were friendly. Even when my mother was crushing another person as we crammed into a taptap, most were agreeable or entertained by the sight. Locals sometimes stared at me, presumably because they don't see too many foreigners taking taptaps or camions, but if with relatives, I was accepted or a source of bemusement. Indeed, one older man on a camion decided to get into an argument with a young woman about the lack of respect her generation gives to his, and they looked at me while discussing aspects of it (including, dare I say, references to Papa Bush's groping of young women), inviting everyone to participate. 

Visiting some of the museums in the capital was also relatively easy and worthwhile. MUPANAH was perhaps too small in terms of the collection of historical objects and exhibits. Soulouque's crown, the alleged anchor of Columbus's Santa Maria,  as well as various items from the colonial era and revolutionary period were on display. The rest of the museum consisted of various paintings by Haitians, encompassing a diversity of styles and periods. This was a pleasant experience showcasing the nuances and complexity of Haitian painting, not just the folkloric or Vodou-themed works so famous. It was a comfortable, air-conditioned experience that we had to pay for at a discounted rate (somehow, we convinced the staff to only charge us the student rate of admission). The Bureau d'Ethnology was also interesting, although rather small and officially closed when we visited. The friendly security guard let us in so we could walk the grounds, appreciate some of the art on display and read the exhibits about Vodou. 

Perhaps the best museum I visited, however, would have be to Parc Historique de la Canne à Sucre, which was free for us (perhaps the employee was just in a good mood or doesn't charge locals?). Built on part of what once was a colonial plantation, Chateaublond, the descendants of the Auguste family turned it into a museum. A number of objects related to sugar production, the operation of the plantation, rum, and air conditioned rooms provided some interesting context and visual detail as to what some of the large-scale estates of the Cul-de-Sac plain must have looked like. There was also a room full of items and photographs of or pertaining to Jacques Roumain and his family. For those interested in the history of Haiti, what sugar production looked like in the colonial era, or just something to do, this site is definitely worth visiting.

Other things seen or accomplished this time in Port-au-Prince were limited, although seeing Yanvalou again was interesting because the DJ incorporated live percussion seamlessly into his music. Petionville looks like Petionville, and I spent some time at a bourgeois restaurant with an American friend and his circle. His upper-class Haitian friend likely found me amusing, and the feeling is mutual. Next time, I would like to actually go inside St. Pierre Church in Petionville, as well as see Fort Jacques and other parts of Port-au-Prince. Lycee Petion I would also love to see, although I did catch glimpses of it while riding in a car. The Port-au-Prince wharf would also be interesting to see, since I caught snippets of it from afar via camion, but couldn't convince anyone to accompany me. The legendary Iron Market and the main cemetery of the city were also on my list, but, alas, I could not convince any relatives to go there. Besides, some of these areas near the centre-ville looked very rough, with every now and then some old wooden home, small workshops or schoolchildren walking home to suggest its history and vitality. 

Supermarkets and restaurants catering to the middle-class, elite, and international crowds were endlessly amusing. One such place near the airport had a group with an incredibly loud Trinidadian woman. What was this lady doing in Haiti is unknown, but she was definitely a spectacle. Supermarkets had just about everything one could find in the US, and I often spotted "Syrian" Haitians as well as foreigners at these spots. Restaurants outside of the few wealthy areas tended to cater more to the middle class or perhaps comfortable working-class. Their fare was basically just Haitian food, waitresses were kind yet curt, and many suffered from damaged or malfunctioning bathrooms. No biggie! The better ones had hand sanitizer available and at least one functioning sink. The truly amazing thing about Haitian cuisine is how filling small meal portions can be. Hard not to lose weight when traveling down there. 

Younger Haitians were also enamored with trap music and quite religiously follow trends in American popular music, adding another interesting dimension to American cultural influence. Haitian youth I spoke with, like a cousin, loved Cardi B, hip-hop, and just about everything their counterparts in the US or other countries consume. Even though many do not speak a word of English, they enjoy the rhythm, attitude, and cultural capital of American popular music. Outside Port-au-Prince, such as Mirebalais, the only music I heard was compas, but that's another story, since the restaurant by Saut d'Eau kept replaying the same song over and over again (Marie, map marye w, I believe, was the chorus). Talking to one young Haitian in particular was instructive, since we engaged in armchair sociological dialogue about the nature of Haitian social inequality, class, color (I think he called me a mulatto because I had mentioned the bourgeois spaces in Petionville I visited), the Levantines, the political and economic disasters, and the roadblocks to greater involvement of the Haitian diaspora. All in all, a very informative conversation, just as my conversations with a development consultant in Petionville were. After 1986, and again in 2004, Haiti lost opportunities for breaking out of past patterns.

Hopefully the aforementioned rants above illustrate to some extent what Port-au-Prince is like. It breaks one's heart to see the conditions so many endure, but it really is a beautiful island (especially when you leave the capital). Seeing some of the museums, walking the Champ de Mars, visiting relatives, and relaxing were lovely experiences. Nonetheless, I could not help but wish I had seen this city several years ago, perhaps decades, when things had not deteriorated to the extent they have today. Seeing piles of trash with pigs feasting was not a pleasant experience last time I was there, and it was just as shocking today, in 2019. These issues, plus the ongoing fuel crisis made my mother more fearful of her homeland than she usually is, but supposedly that's a common experience for Haitians who have spent too much time abroad and then return to visit relatives. Next time, I will try to see Cap-Haitien and other areas of the country, such as a return to Jacmel.