The Road to Mirebalais

Last Wednesday (yes, the day after Bingo Night) I was up and out of the house by 7:00 am. Dad and I were making the drive out to Mirebalais to handle some property business. Even though it was a business trip, I just wanted to be comfortable so I threw on a tank top, cargo shorts, my converse and my favorite Kangol newsboy cap...and I'm ready to do some business. After picking up my Godfather (Uncle Yvan) and Patrick (security) we were on our way.


Mirebalais is a small town up and over the mountain range northeast of Port-au-Prince. We had to make our way through PAP to get there and at 7:30 am, the streets were already filled and crowded with tap-taps (Haitian taxi's) and marchands selling everything from fried bananas and sugar cane to T.V. antennas and...was that a Rolex watch???? The spirit of Haiti is alive and well.


At some point, we hung a left and circum-navigated the airport, squeezing between it and the infamous Cite Soleil (PLEASE don't get a flat tire now!). Touissant Louverture Airport basically marks the end of Metroplitan Port-au-Prince and is the gateway to the countryside and the beaches. After that, civilization seems to taper off and you almost feel like you're somewhere else entirely different...almost. The second leg took us through what felt like a small desert. The land is much flatter and there are cacti everywhere. One of the pictures I took was reminiscent of a road trip to Vegas...straight roads that seem to go on forever. Off to the left there is a large complex of military housing set against the foothills of the mountains.


After making another left we started making the step and winding climb up the mountainside. Large trucks, called "canter", that haul rocks and sand for construction make their way passed us down the mountain and we passed a few taxi's loaded with Haitians, their bundles, bunches of chickens and whatever else they can tack on. Port-au-Prince was to my right and got smaller and smaller by the minute. Pretty soon, the landscape changed again and we found ourselves in the lush mountains. Goats are wandering all over the place (their so cute, I wanna take one home!). The houses here, if you can call them houses, are virtual huts and are barely standing errect anymore. They lean precariously to the side, clinging to the hillside on which they're perched. Some are the color of the earth, while others still have bright colors of pink, teal, or blue still visible through years of weather and wear. Little kids stand along the side of the road, many with no clothes on. The streams that run through here are crystal clear and look oh so inviting. The locals tend to their laundry and there was a family spending the day together frollicking in the refreshing water. And occassionally there is a roadside cemetary with their above-ground tombs and mausoleums. They probably wouldn't be very visible in all the overgrowth if it weren't for their bright paint. But what struck me right away and the hardest was how many tiny tombs there were in proportion to adult sized tombs. Not too any babies make it to adulthood out here. :/


Surprisingly, the roads are unbelievable smooth and well paved. What the heck is that all about? It's nowhere near the pockmarked roads found in PAP. You would think the messy, untamed roads would be found in the countryside with little population and almost no need for a good road. But, this is Haiti we're talking about here. Whatever rules you have lived by, whatever customs you were conditioned with, whatever lifestyle you were accustomed to...throw them out the window.


Soon, we came upon a brightly colored sign that read: Bienvenue a la ville de Mirebalais (foundee
en 1702). Almost simultaneously, it seemd, the roads went to hell...no more nice, smooth asphalt or pavers. Just bumpy and rocky. The main route into town is lined with banners for festivals passed and pending and the hustle and bustle of rural haitian life. After several blocks (are there really blocks in Haiti? Hmmmm) we reached the town plaza: a large square that is the center of business and social activites. There's even a large "American-style" playground for the kiddies. Of course, there's the main church taking root along the square, watching over its parishioners with a keen eye, and La Mirage Hotel takes its place on the far corner. We pulled into the Commisarant's station to make a phone call to confirm with the judge that we had made it into town and would meet him at his courthouse in Saut D'eau, a neighboring town, at 10:00 am (in about 20 minutes). The gates to the bureau are heavily guarded by U.N. soldiers (why is it soldiers look so damn handsome in their uniforms and artillery?!?!). There are two men standing just outside the gate to the bureau but parked on the left, just inside the gate, is a gigantic tank marked with gigantic U.N. letters and perched on top of the tank is a soldier manning a gigantic gun...no, rifle...no, I think it was a bazooka...waiting.
So, Dad made his phone calls but had to leave a message because the judge never picked up the phone or called back. We had to hope he received the message and would meet us as scheduled. We pulled out of the Commisarant's bureau and headed down the road opposite of where we arrived from. Oh look, the roads are paved again...only this time, not without its battle scars...those pesky potholes. Normally, the road would be fairly straight but you would never know it with all the swerving we had to do. The landscape here was a bit flatter on the right but closeby surrounding mountains reminded you of your altitude. After about 10 minutes we came upon a round-about in the middle of god-knows-where...but shaped more like a triangle. In the center was a well which served as a source of water for the locals. Several men were diligently hard at work beautifying this triangle. We made another left, then a right, and the asphalt ended...again. The road (more like a path), didn't even have broken pavement: it was completely rocky and not flat. Thank goddness for 4-wheel drive! This craziness went on for about 20 minutes and as my innards were shaken like a martini. I expect to return from Haiti with abs of steel. Anyway, the scenery became more and more rural (was that even possible?!?!). Rickety fences made of, well, twigs, marked the entrances to rickety houses...tiny, one room houses where even I (shorty) would have to duck my head to get inside. And with the exception of the occassional motorcycle donkies and horses are the main means of transportation. We must have looked like space aliens in our champagne colored, Korean made SoonYang SUV with fair-skinned passengers.

After passing through the "downtown" section of Saut D'eau, we made a right down another, even narrower and more unkempt path. Runoff rain water or an old flood had clearly divided the road into uneven portions of mud and grass. But the surroundings were lush and beautiful with its array of tropical fruit trees and mahogany. The sun was barely able to shine through and we were covered in shade. We were even greeted with a surprise of a couple modern homes behind well, built-to-last stone walls and iron gates. Someone with money found their Shangri-La out here. Not a bad choice, I must say. After a short drive down this primitive road it ended before diving off into a ravine. On the left was the courthouse of Saut D'eau. A slightly contemporary building of painted white concrete, encapsulated by high walls. One large step brought you to a semi-circular stoop and double doors of painted red steel took you inside to a waiting area. The wall straight ahead was lined with artisan crafted benches of wood. To the right was an office marked "Etat Civil". To the left was a desk with a receptionist and behind her was a hallways and doors marked "Juge Titulare". That's our guy. A couple people were already waiting on the benches by the time we got there but Dad was greeted by Juge Elysee Titulare in the recepetion area. As Dad went into the judge's office, I waited on the bench with my Godfather. A couple minutes went by and Dad came out of the office. "We have to wait", he said, "There are a couple type-o's" and my Uncle Frantz's last name was mispelled, which is kind of funny because two other brother's have the same last name and their names were not mispelled.
Being in the back country also means there's no electricity. So Miss Receptionist had to retype the entire legal sized document...on a typewriter. I don't remember the last time I was one of those!
I passed the time by soaking up the sites and people watching...one of my favorite passtimes. Locals would make their way in and out of the courthouse. But one patron caught my attention. She rode up on a donkey and tied it to a tree outside. She was dressed all in white, crisp and clean: a white ruffled skirt, a white button-up blouse with a white sash around her waist, and a white "bonnet". I knew right away she was a Manbo (a female vodou priestess) which was confirmed when she was addressed as "Manbo" (DAMN, I'm good!). She carried a yellow basket, similar to the hand-held ones you use at the grocery-store. It was filled with stuff but she had it all covered up with a towel. The only thing I could make out was a coffee mug peaking out from one of the corners at the bottom of the basket. What the heck was in there?!?! I was dying to know. What made it even more intriguing was that she neatly placed it under one of the benches in the reception area as she was called to a back room. She didn't take it with her the way a woman would never leave her purse behind. What was in there?!?! Was there rhum? Giant Tarantulas? People's souls? If there hadn't been so many people around, I probably would have stolen a peek...fascinating stuff!
TWO HOURS LATER, the document was finally finished. Yeah, that's right: 2 whole freakin' hours to type ONE page. I was so hungry I almost ate the paper. But it was finally finished, the document signed, mission accomplished. Let's go eat. But where?!?!
Luckily, my Aunt Florence had called and suggested a hotel outside of Mirebalais. This time, Dad drove a little faster over the rocky roads and zipped along the paved one. Another half hour later, we pulled into the Hotel Wozo...an oasis within an oasis. Pink bungalows surrounded a refreshing pool shaped like a chili pepper. Fountains pouring into it made the relaxing sound of trickling water...a much needed welcome after the rough roads. The open-air restaurant was sitting a few steps up high, overlooking the pool and bungalows. We were the only customers there. The hostess, waitress and bartender were gathered around a T.V. watching a soap opera and hadn't even noticed our arrival. They obviously don't get many visitors.
We took a table next to the rail overlooking the pool. I wanted to jump in so badly but I hadn't taken a towel or a change of clothes....I will next time. Instead, I went down and stuck my feet in the pool as we waited for our food after polishing off an ice cold Prestige beer. Their beers are kept ice cold here, and I don't know that I had tasted any better in a loooong time. I ordered my favorite dish (OK, one of them) Griot, which is fried pork. Uncle Yvan ordered Kabrit (goat), Dad ordered chicken and Patrick ordered fish. A side of fried plantains and a simple salad of lettuce and tomatoes and a heaping plate of rice and black beans made for a delicious lunch...well worth the long wait. After lunch, we asked to be shown a couple rooms. We may want to return here with the rest of the family for a weekend getaway. The rooms are small and simple but seem comfortable enough. We'll see. I think I'd rather stay at the beach.
The weather started turning, the skies got dark with large, ominous clouds and the thunder started rolling in. That was our que to hit the road and head home. The drive back through Mirebalais brought strong winds and lightning strikes became visible ahead. Within a half hour, the rain was pouring down in sheets as everyone scrambled for shelter. Haitians don't like the rain. The road was virtually deserted within a short time. The rain came so fast, parts of the road were flooded and almost washed out completely. But we made it safely back up and over the mountains again. The weather was clearer on the front side of the mountains but you could see the rain pouring down over Port-au-Prince in the distance. This time, instead of cutting in front of Cite Soleil, we cut across the backside of the airport through Croix de Bouquets and passed right in front of the old Duvalier compound. It's a beast...almost a fortress with its massive high walls. A quick peek through a partially opened gate revealed the tall grasses of an abandoned lawn. But the place is so big I wasn't able to catch a glimpse of the house itself. The Duvalier compound is a reminder of Haiti's tumultous past...one of them anyways.

And so ends the journey of a long day. I hope to return to Mirebalas soon and spend some more time... snooping; fulfilling my curiosities of a mysterious world...one that's a galaxy apart from my own. Until the next adventure...