By Victor C. Kirk
There was complete surprise when Mayor Romaine requested that I find for him two Louisiana Queens that would participate in the Haitian Carnival Ball. His office would make hotel and travel arrangements for the two queens, their escorts and underwrite the costs for my wife and me. My first thought was Michele Davis, Miss Southern University. Her creole heritage would ensure open arms and a kindship to the deep Haitian roots found in South Louisiana that permeates not just the culture, but the architecture found mostly in the shotgun homes you see around numbered streets off St. Charles and within the French Quarters. Someone recommended Rusanne Jourdan the reigning Miss Louisiana U.S.A. Extending an invitation to her would cement her victory in the Louisiana pageant held in Monroe and boost her international appeal ahead of the Miss. U.S.A. contest. They both were beauty showstoppers and ready-made celebrities awaiting Haitian television. The mayor was so smitten by them he presented to each of them a ruby necklace as his thanks for their participation. At the initial meeting with the mayor, Rusanne wore a tight fitted red dress to compliment her blond hair and Marilyn Monroe swagger while Michele dawned blue and gold and an infectious smile that went well with those hazel eyes. Hearts of males inclusive of the mayor, stopped beating in the room when they arrived, and the onlookers gasped at the presence of a group from Louisiana where carnival celebrations are historic. A first for the Haitian carnival I presumed.
The mayors team designed and constructed a Tap Tap as the float for the Louisiana Queens. The Tap Tap is a traditional means of public transportation in Haiti. For readers who did not chop or pick cotton in North Louisiana, imagine a small ford pickup truck with the bed covered by tall open slats that both protect one from the sun while allowing the breeze to enter. The tap tap periodically stopped to allow passengers to get off at the location they desired. But one affixed atop a trailer peppered with the traditional green and gold and silver of a typical Mardi Gras celebration added further recognition and uniqueness to the presence of Louisiana in a carnival celebration. Needless to say, we were invited back for year two of the carnival.
On subsequent trips abject poverty came in full view as I felt a need to visit outside of the mayor’s immediate office at city hall. Never unescorted by security guards I did manage for the first time to see why the WHO (World Health Organization) and Doctors without Borders and every imaginable not for profit organization in the world chose a human rights or health care project for their mission in Haiti. This was not the poverty you see in Chicago or Houston or in Monroe along the railroad tracks dotted with shotgun houses or the Riverwalk or off the side streets in downtown Monroe. This was poverty defined by undeveloped nations. It was different than that that I witnessed in Costa Rica or happened across in Cancun or Porta Vallate or even the poverty I saw while traveling within the neighborhoods that butt communities near the border with Venezuela. This was the poverty you think of when you hear that the minimum wage is $3.00 a day. The poverty you imagine when at a festival the bathroom is behind the bleachers and unisex, and the nearest bush will do. Even there you have company, or you shared the space with an unexpected resident who knows the spot well for it is a community asset.
My ideals of bringing to Haiti a portable toilet manufacturing company that was based out of Dahlonega, Georgia were quickly dashed as we struggled with the cost of electricity, the lack of intensity of bag gas (a sugar care by product) converted to fuel. I built; as a demonstration for the city council meeting, a portable toilet the business partner shipped to Haiti for the presentation. While assembling the toilet, my reality took another hit when the Haitian youth helping me made a comment. After finishing the demo toilet, he spoke with a glee on his face – wow, this is big enough to live in.
I felt that I had befriended the mayor. As such, I would periodically call him on his cell phone to keep in touch. On one call to him the national news gave in detail that rioting in Haiti was underway as Baby Doc was toppled from power. He was eventually provided sanctuary in Paris, a favorite shopping stop for his wife Michelle and her cohorts. It was rumored that among the baggage loaded into the airplane with Baby Doc and his family and closest advisors, was $900 million in U.S. cash. The Haitian treasury was said to have been emptied.
I was in Houston when I heard the panic in the voice of Mayor Romaine. “Victor, this the last time we will talk.” I am heading to a safe place and will remain in hiding for quite some time. Give your wife my regards. It was wonderful to have met you. The connection ended.
Politics makes strange bedfellows.
