Blan Fét

I was watching one of the few House episodes I have remaining, when I was startled by the sudden buzzing of my oh-so-fabulous Nokia Digicel phone (it is highly reminiscent of the one I had in high school, minus the antennae, and complete with a very cool version of the snake game… but I digress). Seeing as I don’t get all that many callers, particularly in the evenings, I was somewhat surprised, but after picking up (which as many know, I never seem to do), was quite glad to have done so. Turns out some of the other Americans in town (who Jackie was oh-so-kind to introduce me to) were planning a get together for the following evening, or as Nathan explained, “us blans are planning a party.” The reasoning for a random party on a Wednesday night? The impending departure of two of these said blans the following day. Considering my packed schedule/extremely exciting nights, I eagerly agreed.

Around 6:30ish last evening I moto-ed it over to the hospital compound where they all reside, special reserve Haitian rum in hand. We had a delicious dinner (I have now eaten there some four or five times and am continually impressed/especially pleased… it is quite nice to have some fresh vegetables in addition to the typical Haitian fare of beans and rice). A little after 8PM we strolled over to the dance hall/night club, Ka—they had convinced the owners to open especially for the occasion. The turnout was considerable; in addition to the six of us blans and our Haitian acquaintances, there were dozens of other regulars ready to dance. And, shockingly, I took several turns on the dance floor, myself (whether or not I would actually call it dancing is another matter, but regardless, thank you Mr. Barbancourt). In between, I definitely enjoyed watching everyone else glide gracefully and effortlessly in ways I can only dream of moving.

We did have a minor 5 minute blackout mid-party, but since the sudden cessation of electricity is a common occurrence everyone just casually waited it out until the generator was quickly fixed. Interestingly, most cell phones down here have a pretty powerful flashlight (so I learned last evening), an extra feature that is consistently put to use. Two other fun things to note (1) our party planners decided to drive their microwave over to the dance hall, so as to supply every table with some popcorn and (2) although most of the guys here are considerably less sketchy than those typically found lurking at clubs/bars in the States (the fifty year-old with a come-over in the city, for example, or the line of lurkers that predominate along the walls of Franklin street, planning their sneak attacks from the sidelines), it is still nice to know one has at least two decent excuses—“Sorry, I don’t have a cell phone/phone number” (which is actually possible) and “Oh, I’d love to meet up but alas I’m leaving the country.”