Part 3 (Twazyèm): REBELLION
Protect and Serve
Mirogoane, Police Station
Kevin’s quite anxious about approaching the police station, despite his measured bravado with Kat. He’s starting to question this whole plan. But he can’t lose his nerve now. When is the next tap-tap returns to Port? And where would he go anyway? He tries to remember the headline from yesterday’s Le Nouvelliste. Which side is the US on? Which side are these cops on? Which side is he on? Shouldn’t he know that?
But, none of that seems to matter here in the pitch dark with nothing but a generator and single bulb illuminating four pairs of dark glasses and matching gun barrels. For some reason, political commentary seems irrelevant. Every day there are new rumors of another coup attempt before Aristide’s inauguration and sleeper agents activating in every Protestant church. So yeah, things are getting a bit sporty. But hey! An American is always an American and not to be trifled with, even in this dust speck of tropical paradise. Those creepy Macoute cops in there don’t know what he is either, but apparently they know where the blan live. So he does the brilliant, ballsy, bullshit thing. Take it to the limit, ONE MORE TIME!
Kevin straightens his back, fumbles around with his backpack straps, digs a pack of smokes out of his pocket, drops them, picks them up, pats all his pockets for a box of matches, finds them, uses three to get a flame and then accidentally lets it burn out. He sighs in frustration. Lights it again. Drags it deep to get a good coal going, mutters “Once more, God, if you’re still there.” Adjusts his crotch situation one last time and slowly walks to the dimly lit doorway, toward the flickering reflection of sunglasses and gun metal waiting inside. He’s about to take his first step onto the first step, when he hears a female voice call out, “Hey blan!” He turns and sees Kat with her permanently ironic grin, “Glad you could make it. You’re not in Kansas anymore!”
Kat’s house
It’s very late/early night/morning. Kevin, Kat, and Dirk are sitting atop Kat’s house, on the flat roof, lying on bamboo mats and looking at the stars and sharing war stories. Kat works for a faith-adjacent NGO that focuses on educating young women (Education NGO). This seems harmless enough and is great for fund-raising, but patriarchy has deeper roots than Duvalierism in Haiti so like so many places in the world, teaching a young (especially!) woman to read and write is a revolutionary act.
Kat and Dirk explain expansively over rum, cane sugar, and coconut cocktails, that Education NGO isn’t aligned with any specific national interest or religious group. Many of its staff are American but like most NGOs in Haiti, the boots-on-the-ground are a band of UN misfits. Kevin asks, “But who funds you? It’s not like there are grants out there for any of this.” Kat laughs, “Well, we’re ecumenical enough to coordinate with any faith-based mobilization.” Dirk snorts and interjects, “Yeah, mate. But also feminist enough to make the Yank fundajelicals uneasy and vague enough to confuse the US Embassy.” Kevin grins mischievously, “Yeah, I’ve seen how much the missionaries and alphabet agencies love when someone goes off script.” Kat exclaims, “Exactly! They just can’t understand our motives. But “ask forgiveness later, maybe” works in a wild-west failed state. With so many rival clans, everyone needs a truly impartial back channel to the embassy or financial resources in Zeta Zuni.”
Kevin and Kat had connected at one of the crazy house parties that spring up spontaneously, whenever the right combo of hippy/outlaw/NGO/left-wing types find themselves together with not much better to do after the lights go out. This two-story house with secure courtyard can easily sleep a dozen Americans or a small Haitian village. Kat and Dirk are on more permanent assignment and will be in country for another year or five, depending on funding. The annual rent for The Miragoane Stronghold (their hilarious term) is what it would cost Kevin to rent one of the two-bedroom houses in Carrefour for six months, which he’d spend in one month in one of the up-scale new Petionville apartments that the missionary wives keep recommending.
Kat has been in country long enough to have affected that classically French female vibe (complete with Gaelic shrug). Her look is one part hippy-adjacent and two parts west coast swimmer. While most American women look like they’re wearing hastily constructed pioneer outfits made of random curtains, she’s leaning into the light, flowing, peasant dress vibe. Even though she’s visibly blan, her attire and attitude helps Haitians understand that she’s not just another white woman visiting Haiti for an experience.