The Autobiography of Nicholas Said and Ambivalent Modernity

Said, via Wikipedia

Nicholas Said's relatively short autobiography is one of the most interesting textual sources produced by a native of Borno. The author of this slave narrative was kidnapped by Tuaregs and sold into slavery in North Africa. From Tripoli, Said accompanied a Turkish master who ran a tobacco shop, on the pilgrimage to Mecca. Along the way, Said traveled to Egypt, Sudan, Ethiopia, today's Saudi Arabia, Somalia, and Muscat. One almost wishes he told us more about the Ethiopian traders he met in Khartoum, or about the African pilgrims en route to Mecca in Sudan and Ethiopia. Alas, that was not his focus, but it would have been interesting if he met others from Borno in Sudan and Ethiopia. After his master's shop is burned down (with half of Tripoli's Turkish bazaar), our protagonist is sent to Izmir, where he is sold to a politically connected Turk who then takes him to Constantinople. After brushing shoulders with the cosmopolitan elites of Constantinople, he is acquired by a Russian diplomat and aristocrat who takes him to the Russian Empire. 

Via travels with a Russian employer, he traverses Europe, experiencing all the aesthetic, technological, and cultural advances of mid-19th century West. Eventually, when in London and planning a return to Borno, a Dutch client offers him employment for an extended trip to North America and the Caribbean. Visiting US cities, the Bahamas, Haiti, and Jamaica, Said and his employer return to the US and Canada, where Said is abandoned after loaning his boss funds. Stranded in Canada, he is encouraged to go to Buffalo, New York, where there are more "colored" people. Thus began Said's experiences in the US on a permanent basis. Perhaps due to the delicate post-Civil War conditions in the US South, Said does not disclose his service in the Union Army. One is also struck by the number of elite or royal people Said claims to have met or served, including receiving a gift from the Czar Nicholas I. One almost senses in this a Kanuri cultural practice of dependents seeking wealthy or powerful men as patrons, and perhaps Said's namedropping was a reflection of that. Or perhaps it served as a counter to US racism, as a "black" man, though in a servile position, was valued and respected by cosmopolitan European elites and experienced little to no racial prejudice. One can sense some tensions, perhaps tied to his race, with European domestics in Russia, and we can be sure there was a lot more that happened to Said in Europe or Turkey than he's willing to admit. Alternatively, Said may have looked to the famous "Negro" of Peter the Great as a model for refashioning his life in the Russian Empire.

So, what does Nicholas Said's biography tell us about Borno and the experience of Borno's peoples in the modern world? First, Said himself represents Borno as a political project encompassing a variety of ethnic groups, including the Kanuri, Shuwa, Kanembu, and, in the case of Said, "Mandra" (Mandara) and Molgoy. Molgoy were a people whose ruling chief accepted a tributary relationship with Borno under Mai Barnoma. Said's mother, Dalla, was the daughter of a Mandra chief. Yet despite these non-Kanuri origins, Said seems to identify wholeheartedly with Borno and refers to the Borno or Kanuri language as his vernacular. Perhaps this a reflection of his father's military service under Shehu al-Kanemi, which meant Said grew up in Kukawa, the capital, and socialized with a son of Shehu Omar. Either way, this is an interesting example of how multiethnic the empire of Borno was, and to what extent people from "pagan" tributary or vassal states in the region could ascend the ranks of the military and social status. 

After all, Mohammad Ali ben Said was the son of Barca Gana, a famous general who defended Borno against the Fulani, Bagirmi, Wadai, and other enemies or raiders. Indeed, it was presumably through his father's prominence and connections with al-Kanemi and his successor that Said was sent for schooling to Malam Katory, a reputed scholar described as being well-versed in Arabic, Persian, and Turkish. Presumably having such a respectable teacher in Arabic was expected for people of elite origins in Borno. Moreover, it was open to people who were not of Kanuri, Kanembu, or Shuwa origins, though Said clearly thought the Kanuri were the ruling class or caste and not above oppressing Shuwa, Kanembu, or other groups.

After establishing how internally diverse and dynamic Borno society was in the 19th century, it's important to consider Said as a native of Borno in the volatile 19th century world, experiencing steamships, railroads, European architecture and science. There is a long-running, underlying current of racial uplift in Said's autobiography, perhaps acquired from his experience in the US with African-Americans and whites. In his own manner, he attacks the argument of African inferiority, while implicitly casting Africans as primitive and the "race" as one in need of elevation through education and uplift. This is the basis for sensing some ambivalence in Said's experience of 'modernity' and tradition, one in which he can praise aspects of Borno and the Ottoman Turks while cursing African Islam as retrograde. Indeed, in Said's retelling of Borno's past and the history of African achievements in technology and handicrafts, he seems to think the palace ruins at Gambaru and Ngazargamu were the achievements of pre-Islamic Borno. Consequently, one can sense an ambivalence in Said's autobiography in terms of religion and race in a changing world. Thus, he can praise the example of the Haitian Revolution as an achievement for our race while wishing Haiti remained colony.

Experiencing the trans-Saharan slave trade first-hand, and 2 distinct but connected routes that carried him from Tripoli to Mecca and back), it is fascinating to see how someone who was reared Muslim and received an Islamic education for at least 2 years struggled with Islam. After baptism in Riga, at the pressure of his Russian aristocratic employer, Said appears to have gradually adopted more severe and dismissive attitudes to Islam. The religion of his homeland, indeed, is blamed for bringing destruction, fanaticism, and slave raiding. Since his audience for the autobiography consisted of Christian Americans in the 19h century, perhaps one can see Said embellishing or exaggerating his religious sentiments or identity. Yet he could have been sincere in those beliefs, and struggled to make sense of the "contest" between Christianity and Islam, the former better for Africa (and the "race"). In this light, it is interesting to compare Said with Edward Blyden. Unlike Blyden, who was not a product of an Islamic West African society, Said presented himself as a Christian who rejects Islam's influence in the continent. Blyden, on the other hand, saw Islam as preparing Africa for eventual Christianization, and in the meantime, promoting education and moderation for moral uplift. Like Said, Blyden did not truck with "fetishism" but both claimed to be for the race. Both also saw in the "mulatto" an implacable obstacle to countries like Haiti. How is it that two men with extensive traveling and education, both in favor of improving the "race," develop ambivalent attitudes toward Africa in the modern world while stressing the benefits of opposing religions? And what does this suggest for the role of Borno in the larger theme of Islam and modern Africa?

Saut d'Eau

Saut d'Eau ranks high on the list of serene, tranquil beauty. Although I could not get a good photograph of the two waterfalls on my cheap cellphone camera, the entire area around it is breathtaking. A kind Haitian doctor who was taking some relatives there invited us to join them on the ride from Port-au-Prince on Saturday, and we leaped at the opportunity to see a different part of Haiti. Since I had never been to Mirebalais or the Central Plateau, I was hoping to see some of the town, nearby Saut d'Eau, and the Lake Peligre Dam. However, since we did not leave Port-au-Prince until later in the afternoon, we really only had time to see Saut d'Eau before sunset and enjoy a meal at the nearby restaurant. 

However, it was entirely worthwhile. Driving out of Port-au-Prince, we were witnesses to some of the post-earthquake housing built on the outskirts of the city, beyond Croix des Bouquets. The homes actually look rather nice, although one cannot help but think their great distance from Port-au-Prince proper ensures isolation from employment in Port-au-Prince. After passing through there, we drove up a mountain and enjoyed a mostly even road until we exited Mirebalais. The view of Port-au-Prince from the mountain was spectacular, while Mirebalais offered its quaint charms of provincial Haitian life. The roundabout intersection featured some old government buildings and the city appeared lively. We even stopped by the solar-powered hospital in Mirebalais to check out this joint venture of Partners in Health and the Haitian state. 

And, finally, the main show? Saut d'Eau itself was mesmerizing. Even though the waterfall supposedly did not exist until after the 1842 earthquake, one feels as if one is entering a sacred space that must have been a site of religious pilgrimage to pre-colonial peoples of the island. Once there, local guides will help those who can to climb the waterfalls. I could only go halfway up the waterfall because I didn't feel safe traipsing over slippery surfaces, but the entire experience was unforgettable. After cleansing ourselves in the sacred water, we enjoyed a Haitian meal at the nearby restaurant before packing up and driving back to Port-au-Prince. Although our Saut d'Eau experience was not that of the busy pilgrimage in July, when Ville Bonheur comes to life, seeing this region of Haiti and the natural landscape left an indelible impression in our minds. 

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. 

Haiti Tourism Ad

People have been discussing this for the last week or so. I do not agree with the emphasis on tourism to somehow solve Haiti's economic woes, but its certainly nice to see images of Haiti that undermine stereotypes. Perhaps more people should visit Haiti just to rid themselves of the horrible stereotypes about the country.

Watts Towers

I was recently in Los Angeles, and had to visit the Watts Towers. Here are a few photos of the Towers and the surrounding area.

Placing Haiti in a Caribbean Context

One of the interesting aspects about being in Haiti is discussing Haiti's relationship with the Dominican Republic and other Caribbean nations with Haitian people, not Haitian-Americans. For instance, when the issue of Dominicans treating Haitian-Dominicans and Haitian migrants like slaves came up, some middle-class Haitians my mom spoke to were very silent. It was as if they were reluctant to reveal their true feelings about it and chose silence as the best option. One upper middle-class Haitian man who has family in Florida actually said something along the lines of, "Well, who could blame them" for Dominican animosity toward lower-class Haitians coming to the Dominican Republic without skills or money.

It seems that Haitians who go to the Dominican Republic for education do not face discrimination, at least according to that older Haitian man and a younger, educated Haitian doctor. Undoubtedly, classism and class privilege of some Haitians shields them from Dominican 'anti-Haitianism,' but even some of them opposed the high numbers of Dominican construction companies in Haiti after the earthquake. And those from poorer families in the smaller towns and countryside frankly told my mother and I that many of them end up going to the Dominican Republic to find work, even though it clearly pains them. Alas, if history were better taught in the Caribbean, I am sure Haitians would have a more critical stance on the Dominican Republic's treatment of marginalized Haitian labor, as well as how the Haitian state has profited from the exchange for decades.

It was interesting to hear from these Haitians about their travel experience in the Dominican Republic, too. Many had been to Santo Domingo, Puerto Plata, and Santiago. The young doctor told me that many Haitian women are in Puerto Plata, and one of their sources of income across the border is actually braiding hair. The roads in the Dominican Republic are better, too, so driving to Santiago or Santo Domingo is not a problem at all. I also had the fortune to meet a lower-class Haitian with education who lived in Santo Domingo for years. He spoke Spanish, Portuguese, English, and, naturally, Kreyol, with ease. He told me he had found work with a Brazilian embassy in the DR, and picked up Portuguese while there. Unfortunately, I did not get to interrogate him on what brought him back to Port-au-Prince or his thoughts on that recent discriminatory ruling against Dominicans of Haitian descent.

Besides the Dominican Republic, Cuba came up a few times. I met a Haitian doctor who trained in Santiago de Cuba. Of course, he spoke fluent Spanish so I tried my best to conjure my Spanish skills and fall back on Kreyol and English to ask him about the Cuban medical program in Haiti. It seems like Haitians get medical training and experiences out of it, while Cubans get a chance to leave Cuba. Indeed, the dormitories at the state hospital I saw once housed a Cuban medical team! Oh, and there are still many people of Haitian origin in Santiago, according to what he said. They seem to be proud of their Haitian heritage, according to Dr. Patrick Bellegarde-Smith, and the Haitian culture survives to some extent. Anyway, the Cuban medical teams have done excellent work in Haiti training doctors and already being on the scene when the earthquake struck. Alas, a US nurse told me that the Cuban-trained doctors are seen as better by the Haitian people than doctors educated in Haiti, just as white doctors were considered better than Haitian-American or African-American doctors by Haitians (according to a Haitian professor I spoke with recently).

Jamaica and the rest of the Caribbean also entered discussion a few times. Jamaica's influence looms large in Haitian music because of reggae (I heard a live reggae band perform at Yanvalou in Port-au-Prince), but also a brief discussion of tourism and Bob Marley with one young Haitian. I admire his love for Haiti and his own business plan (he wants to take in more clients and show them around Haiti, as well as study in the US to help himself and his country), but it sounds like there are lessons from Jamaica's tourist economy that should serve as a warning to Haiti. As for the rest of the Caribbean, Guadeloupe and Martinique came up because the guesthouse owner's parents lived in Guadeloupe for several years. Indeed, Haitians seem to be more easily integrated or accepted in Guadeloupe because of language, or so we were told. Maryse Conde's novels set in Guadeloupe reveal a more nuanced picture, but it sounds like Guadeloupe is a lovely island where many Haitians find work and better circumstances than in Haiti.

Yon Bel Ayiti

I think I heard this RAM song at least 5 times in Port-au-Prince. The guesthouse owner loves RAM and plays it quite often, but I heard it elsewhere, too. Haitians of my demographic, just as South Africans I met who were in my generation did not show much interest in earlier forms of popular music. I only met one Haitian person who absolutely loves 1970s konpa, otherwise most of the younger Haitian folks I spoke with loved nouvelle generation konpa, rasin, and hip-hop. Indeed, one young woman in Jacmel played various examples of Haitian hip-hop for me, but most of it sounds too derivative. For that reason, I think older styles of Haitian music and 'distinctly' Haitian forms like RAM are excellent examples of Haitian music. 

My love for older styles of Haitian music probably impressed my uncle and a few other folks I met, but I can get into RAM, too. Still, I prefer older styles with jazz, Cuban, and Caribbean influences, as well as konpa. I suppose I should listen to Zenglen after shaking hands with one of their members in Petionville, but I'll take things one at a time. Oh, and I forgot to mention Wanito. A very kind American woman I met at the guesthouse actually met him through a friend, and showed me a video of him performing. His music reminds me of US pop and R&B (simple, sweet, overproduced), but in Kreyol. Sometimes he has a reggae and acoustic influences (listen, this too) . Read an interview here. 

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.