Part 3 (Twazyèm): REBELLION
Networks
Delmas Highway
As Kevin steps up and into the passenger-side door, a young Haitian woman slides across to the middle of the seat. Kat looks out her window and shifts the Land Cruiser into reverse. The young woman is holding a large Algebra textbook in her lap. He says, “Komo o ye? Non mwen se Kevin.” She looks up at him, smiles, and replies in perfect English, “Hi Kevin, my name is Jocelyn. How are you?” Kevin’s eyebrows raise in surprise before he starts to laughs, “Well then. I’ll stop torturing you with my horrible Creole!” Kat tries to stifle a chuckle, which just makes Kevin’s double-take even funnier and they all laugh together.
Jocelyn returns to the formulas in her notebook and Kevin watches in his passenger mirror, as Kat backs the rig into an impossible three-point turn. Kat’s name isn’t anything like “Kat” and the Haitians could never pronounce it much less spell it, so everyone refers to her by her Haitian nickname, misspelled to avoid any confusion! She got the nickname because the Haitians think her skin and hair color are like a tabby cat. And she has this sort of glide/prowl of a cheetah, so it all works.
Kat avoids a few street urchins, who go to great lengths to pantomime how close they came to death due to her reckless driving. She rolls down the window and starts bantering with them in rapid Creole that Kevin can’t quite follow. But before long, everyone is laughing and the kids are in the truck bed and on top of the camper shell. They shout and wave at surprised pedestrians who can’t quite fit together what they’re seeing. Kat casually maneuvers the over-sized truck through the scrum and onto Delmas, holding a stately pace as she drives her traveling circus down the mountain toward the Big Top.
When they’re tucked in with traffic Kat asks, “So, did they fire you for thought crimes?” Kevin chuckles, “Kind of difficult, when they don’t pay me in the first place.” Kat snaps back, “Colonizers. Am I right?!” The two Americans roar in laughter as the Haitian kids lean in the little window between camper shell and driver cab to see what’s going on. Jocelyn smiles at the joke but continues working in her notebook. Kat points at Kevin and says something like “gro neg” and “kay” and everyone laughs even more. But Kevin knows it’s with him and not at him, so he laughs along. Sprinkling a few Creole phrases into the mix in a way that doesn’t seem to offend anyone.
Kat closes the window to the kids and asks, “OK, seriously. What’s your play here? You’re welcome to crash at our guest house in Petionville, but that’s not really a long-term plan.” Kevin replies reflexively, “Seriously. What did I step into here? This escalated way faster than expected… I still can’t believe our mutual friends managed to get you here on time, based on that ridiculous coded hostage call I made over open air!” Kat laughs, “I think you mean my friends, but you might make the cut!” Kevin chuckles, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I was voted off an island.” He thinks for a bit and seems to make a decision. “How about this. Drop me off at that Mother Mary safe house near the Cathedral. I’ll stow my stuff and make sure the priests know what’s up. Then I’ll make my way to Miragoane by tap-tap and find your house. Can’t be that difficult to find a house full of blan!”
As she takes an opportunity to wedge the Toyota into the left-turn lane, Kat is quiet until the horns stop blaring and then replies, “Not a bad plan. When you get to Miragoane, just go to the police station and ask where the blan live. They all know!” She glances over at Kevin, “But you’re going to make it out there by tap-tap, with your Creole?!” Just then, a garishly painted camion nearly takes off the driver’s side mirror. Kevin shifts in his seat nervously, “Well, OK, but I can read a map. Once I get on a tap-tap, it’s just a straight shot west to Miragoane. I can sign-language my way there if I need to.” He looks over his shoulder out the passenger window reflexively and continues, “But really? Show up at the police station and hope for the best? I just barely survived watching “Do The Right Thing” at the downtown cinema. Thank all the loa, no one could read the French subtitles or understand the English. But my dumb white ass stuck out like some sort of Mal Leve! No one seems to be in the mood to talk with the White American right now.”
Kat grins, “First off, it’s Miragoane, not Port. Our police are basically just a local club / fraternity. They don’t care what you or anyone does, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the Colombian trade. And we don’t have an airport or deep-water port, so no one really cares what we do unless we start an uprising or something. And no plans for that right now!” Kat and Kevin burst into laughter and sort of sing-song quote together from an imaginary hymnal, “Because THAT would be wrong!” and laugh uncontrollably for a few seconds. But then Kat suddenly gets very serious and continues, “How about one tweak. I drop you in the vicinity of the Cathedral and then forget where that Mother Mary safe house is. Then I have plausible deniability. How do I know what you did after I dropped you by the Cathedral? I just assumed you were going to get some Dominican fried chicken.”
Kevin’s face breaks into an even bigger smile, “I know I read all the LeCarre novels and WW2 resistance manuals. What were you reading?!” Without skipping a beat, Kat says, “Banned books, of course!” Kevin breaks into a huge grin, “You mean like 1984, Politics of Jesus, and War Against the Poor?!” With a sly grin, Kat replies, “Sure. That’s a good start. Plus some Chomsky and Sun Tzu. But if you connect with those liberation theology base communities? Get some real language fluency and some useful skills from those guys? You’ll be in the REAL game!”
As Kat pulls the Land Cruiser up in front of the gleaming National Cathedral, Kevin steps out of the truck and the gaggle of street kids clamor down from the pickup bed. They’re joined by another swarm of kids from the Cathedral Park, and there’s a bit of shouting and turf-explaining until everyone decides to see if the blans will hand over some cash. Kat’s way ahead of this game, and is already pulling away from the scene as Kevin is surrounded by a sea of dirty faces asking for ti kob. But Kevin has one good Creole phrase that never fails. It acknowledges the kids but also sets a fair boundary. He can’t pretend that he CANNOT help, because of course he could. But since he can’t help everyone, he simply says, “M pa gen anye pou ou.” Delivered correctly, it stops any further discussion. Then he drags his footlocker up the hill toward the safe house that he can see from the steps of the Cathedral.