I went to the grocery store last night, in search of a particular item. The place was packed with people shopping for New Year’s parties. The lines were endless. The shelves were almost empty; people were stocking up—in case some unexpected event forced them to barricade themselves inside their homes for all of 2016. I can’t blame them; the world is full of crazy surprises nowadays.
I decided to try my luck at a nearby 7-Eleven. I asked the cashier if they carried the item I needed. He said, “sure.”
“Fantastic!”
The guy said: “I detect an accent. You’re not from here, are you?” You know I welcome every opportunity to say “I’m from Haiti.”
Catherine Flon, Dessaline’s goddaughter- sews Blue and Red to create an independent Haiti’s first (and current) flag)
The man’s eyes widened. “Sak pase? Nap boule!” he said. Now, it was my eyes that popped open. “You speak Creole,” I asked, with the excitement of a kid on Christmas Eve.
“Of course, I do.”
“How did you learn to speak my language?” I wanted to know.
“I lived in Haiti for many years. I taught English at a school there. I was in Saint Marc.”
A line of shoppers formed at the checkout counter. We both looked at the people, and returned to our conversation. He needed to get back to his post. I went with him. As he worked, we talked in Creole. “I’m so happy to meet you,” he said. “I don’t have anybody to practice Creole with.”
“Neither do I,” I wanted to say but didn’t.
“Where in Haiti are you from?” he asked.
“Petion-Ville.”
“I know Petion-Ville very well. Where in Petion-Ville?”
“I went to Anne Marie Javouhey,” I began.
“Oh yes, that’s right next to Lycee Petion.”
“Yes!”
Do you know Eglise Saint Pierre?”
“Of course. It’s a beautiful church. I used to go to the park across the street all the time. It was peaceful there. I want to go back someday, Incha Allah.”
“You have an accent, too. Where are you from?”
“Ethiopia.”
“Now, that’s a place I want to visit one of these days.”
The man continued: “You will, Incha Allah. God first. Everything comes after that. People say Haiti is horrible, but that’s not true. It has a lot of problems. The government needs to figure itself out, but Haiti is a beautiful place. The people are genuine and generous. Forget about the food.”
“Ah, you ate too much griyo?”
“No griyo for me. I’m Muslim.” He reached for my hand to shake it. “My sister, you made my day.”
“Mine too.” We’re both smiling like diplomats.
“You have to come back to visit, Incha Allah. I’m here every day.”
“I will.” And I was not fibbing. I had to go. We shook hands again. I walked out, thinking how wonderful it would be if all of us in this crazy world could let people believe in whatever they choose. What a world it would be, if we could just shake hands and let one another live in peace.
It’s amazing how our side of the island tends to bring people of all races and nationalities together. I love that about Haiti. Happy Independence Day, my dear!
Nou Bèl. Nou La! T-shirts Get the T-shirt. Spread the message.
Haiti Cultural Exchange kicks off a fantastic series today, 9/19/15: Revolution/Revolisyon. HCX could not have selected a better artist to get this program going. Here is a video of her Tedx Talk in 2013. If you’re in Brooklyn this afternoon, stop by the Brooklyn Public Library.
Saturday, September 19th | 1-3pm
Brooklyn Public Library | 10 Grand Army Plaza | Brooklyn, NY
Take the 2 or 3 train to Grand Army Plaza
The following statement was written by Gina A. Ulysse for Haiti Cultural Exchange:
A Little Meditation on Revolution and Liberty
If there were two words most emblematic of Haiti and Haitians, revolution and liberty would be my choices. One is our rightful claim to glory, a glory still denied, as pursuit of the other remains quite elusive. Overused terminologies, archaic narratives born of socially limited gazes ascribed to us, continue to fail to capture complexities that have always been ours. Revolution and liberty are not just part of our foundational scripts— a fundamental factor of global history, which ultimately forged reordering of humanity #1804— they are also a persistent common thread in our dailyness, expressive practices, which are in constant states of renewal. For us as a nation, a people diverse, an unevenly positioned part of a growing and overstretched diaspora lòt bò dlo, revolution and liberty have been discursive and practical blueprints integral to how we see, make and remake ourselves and our differences. Indeed, we can boldly assert that we hold near monopoly to unmatched creative survivalism. Yet, while we bled and gained our freedom from slavery, we certainly cannot claim to have ever possessed full liberty. The unfinished business of the revolution is a universal quest for blackness, a relic with too often fatal impact on a massive scale that is felt and lived every single moment of every day by one too many. We have become too intimate with struggle that has taken form in economic enslavement, occupations, dictatorships, exile, statelessness, faux performances of democracy, and torment. Indeed, we endure turbulent times inside and outside our borders and diasporas. These oppressive restrictions demand alerted and open consciousness, inventive and critical responses, strategies, and dedicated action. We have never been reducible to our conditions. We hold promise to achieving self-possession, pou nou vin mèt-tèt nou. It is in every breath that comes out of bodies pondering aspirations determined to tap into that revolutionary spirit to envision and chart new paths to fuller liberation.
My daughter’s eyes were fixed on the red letters that flashed at the bottom of the TV screen: CNN.
I was glued to the couch, watching Andersen Cooper broadcasting the news from Haiti.
Here and again a reporter would put a microphone near someone’s mouth. The person—a Haitian—would say something in Kreyòl; a disembodied voice would give a creative translation that was nothing like what the person had said.
“No. No. That’s not what the person said.” I would shake my head. My mouth was dry. My eyes burned from not sleeping. I could not stop watching. My daughter wanted to understand. She wanted to understand why I was suddenly so interested in the television—something I had banished to some corner of the house.
I agonized about allowing my little girl to watch the people wandering around Port-au-Prince with tragedy drawn on their faces like massive Ash-Wednesday crosses.
The blood and mud looked like old play-dough. I thought my daughter was far young to see these graphic images. I told myself she would have nightmares. Watching this horror would transform her. She is only five years old.
Five year-old children in Haiti are different; they’re older somehow. Surely there’s some type of math that would substantiate this, particularly when you factor in a 7.0 quake, 30 plus aftershocks, and the estimated number of casualties. The story developing in Mommy’s country now is a must-see. It’s an epic blockbuster.
I sat my daughter down next to me. She watched intently a pre-recorded news segment which showed dazed and dusty people wandering about aimlessly. The bad thing had just happened.
There were no bandages to cover the scary playdough on survivors’ eyes, arms, legs. There were no shrouded human forms in the middle of the street—not yet. The heaps of half-dressed mannequins with muddy hair and missing limbs had yet to be piled in wheelbarrows and dump trucks.
“Mommy, are those real people?” my daughter was confused, incapable suddenly of making a basic distinction. She blinked hard, adjusting her eyes.
“They are real people,” I explained. “They are real as you and I are.”
A man walked across the screen with a baby in his arms. The baby looked like an antique doll that had fallen off a shelf and lost a few parts.
“Is that little baby sick, Mommy?” my daughter wanted to know.
“Yes, the little baby is sick.” The truth would have to be rationed carefully– told in increments — over time.
“Tell Them I’m Still Here” words spoken by Maxo Simeon inspired a Short film by Katia D. Ulysse (Estimated release date, December, 2013)
“How can we help them? Do you think they need snacks? And juice boxes? Do you thing we can give them each a Happy Meal? And then they’ll be ok, right?”
“This will take a little more than snacks and juice boxes, honey. Not even a Happy Meal will fix this one.”
New Year’s Day 2013 is but a blink away. It’s almost time to put that stockpot on a three-rock fire and make your best Independence Day pumpkin soup ever. Follow chef Nadege Fleurimond‘s winning recipe below, add family, friends, and create lasting memories. Don’t go crazy trying to make the perfect soup. You can’t please everyone; do your best, have fun, and keep on moving.
Super chef and grande dame of pumpkin soup, Elle Philippe, continues to raise the bar for preparation and presentation of this traditional soup. Read Haitian Times Editor Manolia Charlotin’sdelicious article about Elle and Nadege. (VoicesfromHaïti INNERviews will feature both Elle and Nadege soon. “Stay tuned,” as Elle likes to say. You won’t want to miss the stories which thesetalented and dedicated women have to tell).
If you’re not sure how to prepare this great soup, here are two phenomenal recipes. One from Chef Elle Philippe and another recipe created by Chef Nadege Fleurimond.
Here is chef Elle Philippe’s recipe for Pumpkin Soup
2 lbs of pumpkin squash–kaboucha, substitute: butternut squash and lots more good stuff Preparation time: marinate meat overnight, 45 minutes-prep time, cooking time-1 hr 30 minutes.
Marinate the meat theNight before
2 lbs of beef marinated overnight with
3 cloves of crushed garlic, 1 tsp of thyme
1 tsp of fresh black pepper
1 medium shallot
1/4 tsp scotch bonnet
3 scallions
juice of 2 lime
1 tbsp of kosher salt
1 tbsp chopped parsley
Ahead of Time:
Soup Stock:
beef leg bones: 2-3 lbs, cut into 2” pieces
1 onion
2 carrots
2 stalks of celery
parsley, salt, and pepper to taste
boil for 1 hour, add enough water for 12 cups of stock or substitute store-bought, sodium-free stock.
Vegetables
2 lbs of pumpkin squash–kaboucha, substitute: butternut squash
4 big carrots, medium slices
3 celery stalks, cut in medium cubes
2 medium leeks, cut lengthwise, in 2 pieces, halve or third the length
2 medium turnips, peel, cut in medium cubes
3 medium Yukon gold potatoes, peeled, cut in medium cubes
1 lb cabbage, sliced & cut in med. sizes
12 cups of beef stock or store-bought sodium-free stock
2 tbsp of olive oil
1- Prepare your mise-en-place, clean, and peel all your vegetables.
2- In a large pot, add marinated beef with the olive oil,
add 2 cups of cold water, cook over medium heat for 30 minutes.
3- Cut squash into 3-4” wedges. While the meat is cooking in a medium pot in 6 cups of slightly salted cold water. cook pumpkin for about 30 minutes on medium heat, covered. Drain, remove pumpkin from peel, puree and set aside.
4- Check the meat to make sure the boiling water is not completely evaporated. Add all cut vegetables, (12 cups) beef stock, cook for 45 minutes.
5-Add pumpkin puree, simmer for 15 minutes.
courtesy of Tequila Minsky
Note: The soup broth should not be thick, after adding the joumou puree you can always add more beef stock.
6- Adjust seasoning, salt and fresh black pepper to taste.
Nadege Fleurimond writes: “You can’t cook [traditional Haitian food] without knowing how to make the foundation of [our] cuisine: EPIS. Simply translated epis means spice. . . It is a building block for seasoning pretty much everything, except dessert . . . Here’s a basic recipe for epis:
4 small onions
12 scallions (remove root, white and green part is ok)
3 garlic bulbs
1 bunch of Parsley
3 cups Vegetable Oil
2 bunch of Basil
2 green peppers, 2 red peppers, 2 yellow peppers
6 boullion cubes (Now, we know this is controversial with the whole MSG issue. But this is a staple in [most] Haitian homes. . . Not everyone likes to use this. I don’t always either, especially when I cook for large groups. If you don’t want to use it simply omit; you can add salt to your taste).
Place all your ingredients in a blender and blend away. You can use water instead of oil, but oil serves as a better preservative for keeping your epis/spice in the refrigerator. If you plan to use your epis right away and are very health-conscious, go for water.
Once you have made your seasoning, you can start your soup. Traditional Haitian soup joumou calls for meat. . . I no longer eat meat myself, but that’s not the case for most Haitians. I will tell you non-meat eaters how to modify. But if you want to eat like a Haitian, carnivorous you must be.
Nadege’s Haitian Pumpkin Soup Recipe
1 lb. cubed beef stew meat
2 Pounds peeled seeded butternut squash or pumpkin
½ lb. cabbage
12 cups of water
2 small onion (diced)
3 medium potatoes
1 medium sized turnips (if you like turnips add another)
2 carrots peeled and cut into rounds (about 1/8 inch thick)
2 limes juiced
1 cup vermicelli, macaroni or other pasta
2 sprigs of thyme
2 sprigs of parsley
2 stalks celery
1 scotch bonnet pepper(we do not do jalepenos)
¾ teaspoon black Pepper
½ cup of oil
6 cloves
Clean the meat with hot water and wash with half the lime juice and set aside in a bowl. Add your epis (spice blend from above recipe) along with remaining lime juice and marinate for at least 2 hrs. If you didn’t add the bouillon cube or salt to your spice blend, now is the time to add it so it can seep into the meat.
In a separate pot, boil pumpkin in 6 cups of water until tender (about 30 minutes). Once pumpkin is tender, puree and set aside.
Heat a separate stockpot over high heat. Once pot is heated add ½ cup of oil, once oil is hot add seasoned meat. Keep fire high. Brown for about 5 minutes turning every minute or so. This is to get a nice intense flavor. Add about 3 cups of water to meat and let come to a boil over medium heat for about 30 minutes until meat is tender. When meat is tender and/or water is nearly dry, add pureed pumpkin, 3 more cups of water carrots, potatoes, turnips, celery, cabbage, thyme, parsley, cloves and whole scotch bonnet pepper and let simmer for another 30 minutes to 45 minutes until all ingredients are cooked and soft. Once that happens, Add pasta and let the pasta cook. Taste and add salt/pepper to taste. Remove the scotch bonnet pepper so it doesn’t burst, because it is HOT.
If a bit thick, add more water and if too thin, bring fire up a bit and allow to dry a bit. Turn off the heat and let cool. Serve in a medium size bowl sitting on a plate with pieces of bread on the side.
For those of you who want the flavors of Haiti but don’t want to dedicate the time and would prefer to do it without the meat, here’s what you do. Buy yourself a couple packages of butternut squash or plain cooked squash at the super market. Make your epis (as directed above). On high heat, bring a stockpot to temperature and add oil. Add your seasoning and let brown. Add your squash, then add water. Bring to a boil and add all the other ingredients stated above: potatoes, carrots, turnips, thyme, parsley, vermicelli, cloves. Let simmer and add salt and pepper to taste. This version will take you about 30 to 45 minutes and tastes just as good. Again the trick is that perfect blend of spices of onions, peppers, scallions, garlic, etc.
I went to the grocery store last night, in search of a particular item. The place was packed with people shopping for New Year’s parties. The lines were endless. The shelves were almost empty; people were stocking up—in case some unexpected event forced them to barricade themselves inside their homes for all of 2016. I can’t blame them; the world is full of crazy surprises nowadays.
A line of shoppers formed at the checkout counter. We both looked at the people, and returned to our conversation. He needed to get back to his post. I went with him. As he worked, we talked in Creole. “I’m so happy to meet you,” he said. “I don’t have anybody to practice Creole with.”
“Of course. It’s a beautiful church. I used to go to the park across the street all the time. It was peaceful there. I want to go back someday, Incha Allah.”
“I will.” And I was not fibbing. I had to go. We shook hands again. I walked out, thinking how wonderful it would be if all of us in this crazy world could let people believe in whatever they choose. What a world it would be, if we could just shake hands and let one another live in peace.
