8.8 and Heartbreak

More tragedy. In Chile, this weekend, an earthquake 500 times the strength of the one that shook Haiti in January. The U.S. Geological Survey says it's not a matter of if, but when a quake hits some region in the U.S. (Above, a devastated apartment building in Concepcion.)

Reflecting on Haiti: Tragedy to Triumph

I've always been fascinated by the enclaves in which immigrant communities will attempt recreate "home" (has a bit to do with how I ended up in my current neighborhood).

For first generation Haitian-Americans who were born and reared across what we call the diaspora, I find our experience is marked by certain shared memories.

These days, I cherish that culture, history more than ever. Wrote a little post about it over at the super blog of the gentlemen of Coup d'etat Brooklyn. Check it out here.

Gimme Shelter

What's most frustrating about the situation in Haiti is the apparent lack of organization.

President Rene Preval and his cabinet are holed up in a police station not far from Port-au-Prince Airport last I heard, but I don't get a clear sense that they're spearheading anything.

Now comes word that some of the nearly 1 million Haitian residents left homeless and sleeping under the open sky might finally be the beneficiaries of temporary tents that will be set up in outlying areas. Accommodations are estimated to target about 400,000 survivors ahead of the forthcoming rainy season. The operative word here though must be "temporary."

An article in the Times outlines a proposal by the Haitian government and international officials for temporary housing to eventually turn into a second phase that would include a sort of Habitat for Humanity model for permanent housing.

All week I've been thinking the upside of such destruction is the potential to eventually create jobs in a country where unemployment typically hovers around 65%. Just trying to think forward.

Rescue Me

So many horrifying images, everyday I'm processing, you've probably noticed I've had a hard time putting the enormity of the event itself into words.

But in the devastation, at least there have been moments of light. I cried tears of joy when I saw video of this perfect little boy, Kiki, beaming as he was rescued by New York Task Force 1, a US search-and-rescue team, along with his 10-year-old sister in Port-au-Prince.

The siblings spent eight days buried under the rubble of their home.

(Photograph by Matthew McDermott)

The Natural High That the Fugees Bring

Shout to the brother Wyclef, who was holding down his brethren well before it was in vogue. I still remember the frantic running among all my friends to set the VCR the first time 'Clef showed up on a nationally televised awards show draped in the Haitian flag.

This, at a time, when the dirty little secret was that we were still having to forcibly out Haitiens attempting to pass for Jamaican or some such, giving rise to the term "Ja-fakin."

The subsequent success of The Fugees (18 million albums sold) did more symbolically for Haitian self-regard, particularly in the diaspora, than I think can be quantified.

With all of the concerts for Haiti relief that are in the works, I have to say my fantasy is a Fugees reunion.

If comedian Dave Chappelle could get them to set aside their differences for one afternoon in Bed-Stuy, I don't see why the trio couldn't transcend any bitterness for Port-au-Prince.

Sunday After the Quake

With a population that is 80% Catholic, Haitians are a prayerful people. The cathedral is demolished but services were held outside.

Jewel of the Caribbean

As my friend A noted: Everyone who even looks at this post should donate or should have already donated text Yele to 501501 for a $5 donation or Haiti to 90999 for a $10 donation to the Red Cross. (Yele Haiti is the foundation, as many of you have learned, headed by entertainer/activist/philanthropist Wyclef Jean.)

'Labor Day Parade, Rest in Peace Bob Marley'

It's a rite of passage each year for Caribbean ex-patriots and their American-born hyphenates to revel in roots when summer skips off into memory.

Eastern Parkway becomes a corridor lined with stalls of our oxtail, rice, griot, lambi, bottles of sorrel...This season I'm honoring this city, making sure he knows I never take him granted.

I went to Carnival this year after sitting out a few and as always I was so up. (Yeah, it can be a grope-fest, but so can the subway. And Bloomberg has barricaded it and squeezed some of the lawlessness out, probably for the gawking tourists and the gentrifying set.)

Snapped a few flicks and wanted to post a couple. Did you know that the ritual J'Ouvert (or juvee) celebration that kicks off at about 2 in the morning, the night before the Labor Day Parade has its origins in the French West Indies, when Haitian slaves (and those from Dominica, Guadeloupe, etc.) spilled into the avenues to fete emancipation?

At the parade this year, revelers in fitteds and jeans came splattered in the ceremonial powders, mud, oil, and general goodwill. What a sight to behold.

Rick Ross's Cocaine Dreams

Sure, the overwhelming evidence points to an incongruous pre-rap career in his local Department of Corrections. And maybe he wouldn't know a gram of cocaine from a teaspoon of Johnson's baby powder, but what Rick wrought, seems not even Curtis could put asunder. It's Deeper than Rap. Um, actually, with Ross it's just about rap. The detailed drug trade escapades - as slick and glossy as a badge - are more than likely fiction. But Ross is a skilled storyteller. A verse off his Avery Storm-backed "Rich off Cocaine" includes this verse:

Vacation to Haiti
It nearly broke my heart
Seein' kids starve I thought about my Audemars
Sellin dope ain't right
I put it on my life
Chickens put me in position to donate the rice

For an island with a storied history but a ransacked recent past, hearing it discussed on record with even a semblance of humanity, if only to evoke the gut-wrenching poverty, gives some solace.