Sequence 18a 

 (The Uproar) 

Moïse Berri 

and the resurrection of the Haitian Space Program   

by Jude Jarda 

Sequence 18a 
 The Uproar 

It's the end of the afternoon. Cyril Lavache is on his way back home, driving slowly on the mucky and debris-filled Darbonne Road. The cobbler's morale 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 large column of smoke coloring the gloomy sky. The Haitian National Police and the UNPOL 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 his ID three times before reaching the Jacques-Roumain Bridge, which is partly obstructed by a recently burnt ambulance with Ontario plates. The authorities are actively chasing dozens of bandits, packs of intimidating ruffians and a bunch of underage hooligans with zero 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 law enforcement. 

It seems that law and order have officially ceased to exist in the town of 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 Alley. Fences made out of diverse objects are causing a headache to the volunteer firefighters. A peaceful march led 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, no delay. 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 Road, 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 volts 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, so it must be Chinese. That beauty would fit perfectly in your living room even if you don't have one anymore, 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. The Japanese do that with their emperor's reign. 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, Jean-François Papillon, Jorge Biassou 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. The nakedness probably means something intellectual we're not worthy nor ready to understand.” 
“Myth or not, philosophy or just cow dung” Isidore Mullet says, “the powers that be have 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. As if the banks were not indirectly NGO's themselves,” Fresnel Beltias continues. “That same person pledges for a better coordination between the government and the IBRD, as if they were not aware of 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 their mental equilibrium.” 
“By the way, Cobbler, I want to mind my own business, you know I'm a live and let live, live and let die kind of guy, but since when do you drive around in a stretched Lincoln Town Car,” Isidore Mullet asks, sounding a bit jealous and profoundly suspicious. “Did you hide from us a recent lottery gain or did you sell one of your kidneys to a German tourist with lupus? That ride looks exactly like Billionaire's limousine. Like I say, I'm just being curious here. If you're connected to really fucked up shit, I don't want any part of it because I might learn something from you I wasn't suppose to learn.” 
“Enough with the drama, Megabyte. Elzéar Michelet wanted me to go and sell it for him to a car dealer in Port-au-Prince, near the Saint-Louis de Gonzague Institute, but the guy paid me in cash to get away from his lot as fast as possible. Now that you bring your apprehensions up, the poor guy was indeed terrified, his bones creating audible noises. 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. Living with constant remorse is not for a fragile and sensitive person like my beloved daughter.” 
“Well, what do you know! The world is a very small place. Violette came back to Mizerikod while you were gone looking for her,” Fresnel Beltias reveals to Cyril Lavache. “Let's call that the good news. Now, ready or not for the bad news, your pupil 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 used at the Baptiste du Calvaire clinic by Doctor Lola to describe her condition. I thought you knew about this, Boss Cyril, sorry to bring it down like that to you.” 

©Jajjazz ©Jude Antoine Jarda