chapter 18a 

(Phase One of the Uproar) 

Moïse Berri 

and the reconstruction of the Haitian 

Space Agency 

by Jude Jarda 

18a 
Phase One of the Uproar 

It's the end of the afternoon. Cyril Lavache is on his way back home, driving slowly on the muddy and rocky Darbonne Road. The cobbler's moral is at its lowest in months. The coach transporting his daughter, Violette, never made it to the Petionville bus terminus. Cyril stopped by the La Visite National Park to spend a moment of silence with his inner self. He then went for a walk on the beach in Marigot, alone with his sorrow, his memories and a profound feeling of guilt and dysphoria. 

As he gets close to the newly constructed power plant of Mizerikod, Cyril Lavache sees a column of smoke coloring the cloudy sky. The Haitian National Police and the MINUSTAH are guarding all the roads that lead to the small commune. The officers seem clearly overwhelmed by the amplitude of the disorder. Something major is happening. The shoemaker must show and prove his identity three times before reaching the Jacques-Roumain Bridge, which is partly obstructed by a recently burnt-out ambulance. The authorities are actively chasing dozens of bandits, packs of intimidating ruffians and a bunch of underage hooligans with no respect for common law; all of them mingling among the law abiding civilians like wolves amongst sheep. Cyril Lavache is carrying his unloaded service firearm. No one requested to frisk him. So he keeps for himself the fact that he is a part-time member of the local police. 

It seems that law and order have ceased to exist in Mizerikod. Pillagers are doing the inventory of their loot on the steps of the open-air market, right in front of the UN servicemen. The latter seem way too busy looking for the more dangerous, nastier and armed outlaws spreading chaos all over the place. Tires are still burning on Capois-la-Mort Boulevard. Fences made out of diverse objects are causing a headache to the volunteer firefighters. A peaceful march lead by weeping women calling everyone to calm down and to embrace each other's differences is held near Place-des -Présidents. That non-aggressive protest merges with a flock of hostile students demanding equality and justice for all right here and right now. Some devoted military policemen dismantle a barricade on Jean-Baptiste-Riché Street, but another one is erected almost immediately at the corner of Joël-Desrosiers and Dumarsais-Estimé. 

Cyril Lavache sees barber Fresnel Beltias and his buddy, Isidore Mullet, going uphill on Nord-Alexis Alley, carrying a lightly dented washing machine. 

“What happened here, guys, why is the commune upside down and everybody running like chicken without heads?” 
“Are you plugged on 120 or 220 at your crib?” the barber asks. “That electrical machine is the best you'll find when it comes to household appliances. It's made by the good people of… ooh! the logo is gone, but I think it's China. That beauty would fit perfectly in your living room, Boss Cyril.” 
“What caused the explosion and the destruction of the power plant, Fresnel, that thing was just built and inaugurated, like... yesterday?” 
“You missed something grandiose, Boss Cyril. The proletariat evolved from a larva state of conscience to something beyond butterfly. Uniting its many voices, the working class citizens of Mizerikod screamed and asked for the end of injustice, unfairness, widespread corruption and inequality. This is the beginning of a new era, my good friend. There is no doubt about it; we've just relived the Bois Caïman ceremony all over again, I tell you. We felt the spiritual presence of Boukman Dutty and Jeannot Billet. Didn't we, Isidore?” 
“That thing beyond butterfly, you're talking about, Fresnel, does it have a brain with enough grey matter to control its own wings?” 
“The urban legend mentions a bald head naked fellow at the command of the revolution. I personally believe that only a strategist of the likes of Mao Zedong is behind all this sudden change.” 
“Myth or not,” Isidore Mullet says, “the Blue Boys Action Squad has no chance fighting the incoherence of the uprising, Cobbler.” 
“The same individual who demands the immediate departure of all the NGO's that keep sucking the life out of Haiti wants all the banks to reopen right away. Like if the banks were not NGO's themselves,” Fresnel Beltias continues. “That same person pledges for a better coordination between the government and the IBRD, like if they were not aware or their noncooperation system. Back to our problems down here at our level, more ambulances would be needed to transport all the newly traumatized villagers to a psychiatric facility for a quick summary evaluation. We saw truckloads of soldiers fleeing town with their wounded and hitting the road for the capital. You could see in their eyes that they had seen things no human being should witness for the sake of its mental equilibrium.” 
“By the way, Cobbler, I want to mind my own business, but since when do you drive around in a stretched Lincoln Town Car,” Isidore Mullet asks, sounding a bit jealous. “Did you hide to us a recent lottery gain or did you sell one of your kidneys to a German tourist? That ride looks exactly like Billionaire's limousine.” 
“Elzéar Michelet wanted me to go and sell it for him to a car dealer in Port-au-Prince, near the Saint-Louis de Gonsalgue Institute, but the guy paid me in cash to get away from his lot as fast as possible. I just needed a car, any car actually, just to go and pick up my daughter in Saint-Marc and convince her to renounce solving her problems with violence.” 
“Well, what do you know! The world is a very small place. Violette came back to Mizerikod while you were gone,” Fresnel reveals to Cyril Lavache. “Let's call that the good news. Now, ready or not for the bad news, your daughter was admitted at the clinic of the Baptist Mission, victim of some kind of malaise you often see in primigravida women. That's the scientific word Doctor Lola used to describe her condition. I thought you knew about this, Boss Cyril, sorry to bring it like that to you.”