Grand Rue: From My Childhood Memories to My Dreams of the Governance of the Dew
By La Rédaction · Port-au-Prince
· 3 min read · Updated 24 April 2026
Translated from French — AI-assisted and reviewed by the editorial team. The French version is authoritative. Read the original · About our translation policy
To all the (Governors and Governesses) of the Dew!
I was seven years old.
Barely. That Sunday, I escaped from the Nazarene temple, there, at Pastor Simon's. The sermon was lukewarm, the service without fire.
But outside, it was the tumult of Carnival! The Bossa Combo's merengue pierced through the walls, lifted skirts and souls. Everyone sang:
Demostèn ou mèt vole, Demostèn, tout fanm se chat…
I still smile at that beautiful escape. A free child, who didn't yet know that the world turns upside down. Today, a convinced feminist, I no longer sing but I remember. I only knew Airport Ciné once. Only once.
I still regret it.
But Fabre Geffrard vibrated under our feet: football there had the smells of powder and dust mixed together.
And when Lunise appeared at the window opposite,
her smile was worth all the goals in the world. The Iron Market, red and solemn, stood like a pagan cathedral. I didn't understand its mysteries, but its color spoke to my child's heart. At Librairie Auguste, we bought heart-shaped papers to write clumsy love letters. We secretly flipped through Zembra. Boulangerie Saint-Marc perfumed memories. Dad sometimes took us there, and the taste of warm bread remained, like a vow.
J-Brant milk boxes became balls: the game was poor, but childhood was rich. I also remember that large portrait of Duvalier, at Portail Léogâne. I wondered:
Why does he take up so much space? Why does he block the passage of vans? I was a child but already, within me, I feared the Adjipopo! Then time did its work.
I grew up. Memories changed taste. Caribeno, Brisa del Mar, a few drinks, a few bursts of laughter. Erno might have called me a pleasure-seeker, perhaps…
So be it. I don’t care. I deny nothing of my intoxications, nor of my vigils. Today that I have read Jacques Roumain, today that I dialogue with Jacques Stephen Alexis, today that I have seen Manhattan, that I have studied in the North, I want social change. I want to move from dreams to actions.
To make this country, for which we have cried so much, finally rise again. I see, at the crossroads of Airport Ciné, a large bust of Dessalines, where Grand Rue crosses Delmas. And if, at this crossroads, Delmas, Cité Soleil, and Port-au-Prince finally joined hands, what would become of Haiti? I dream of a Grand Rue extended to Tiburon, to Ouanaminthe.
Four lanes going, four returning. Duvalier made two. I want to do better. Is that a sin? And when all this is just,
when the dew has governed our steps, I will return to sit on Première Avenue de Bolosse.
I will contemplate Grand Rue,
my street,
our street. I will think of Habitation Leclerc, at the discreet bend in the Route des Dalles. Then I will walk in Mangonès' Martissant, this garden on borrowed time For the dew of Martissant 23 still speaks to the poet
and calls for patience,
for peace,
for the nourishment of the heart. The Eternal is my shepherd.
Akbolisabadya Da Guinen ! Yves Carmel Lafortune
July 3, 2025
Barely. That Sunday, I escaped from the Nazarene temple, there, at Pastor Simon's. The sermon was lukewarm, the service without fire.
But outside, it was the tumult of Carnival! The Bossa Combo's merengue pierced through the walls, lifted skirts and souls. Everyone sang:
Demostèn ou mèt vole, Demostèn, tout fanm se chat…
I still smile at that beautiful escape. A free child, who didn't yet know that the world turns upside down. Today, a convinced feminist, I no longer sing but I remember. I only knew Airport Ciné once. Only once.
I still regret it.
But Fabre Geffrard vibrated under our feet: football there had the smells of powder and dust mixed together.
And when Lunise appeared at the window opposite,
her smile was worth all the goals in the world. The Iron Market, red and solemn, stood like a pagan cathedral. I didn't understand its mysteries, but its color spoke to my child's heart. At Librairie Auguste, we bought heart-shaped papers to write clumsy love letters. We secretly flipped through Zembra. Boulangerie Saint-Marc perfumed memories. Dad sometimes took us there, and the taste of warm bread remained, like a vow.
J-Brant milk boxes became balls: the game was poor, but childhood was rich. I also remember that large portrait of Duvalier, at Portail Léogâne. I wondered:
Why does he take up so much space? Why does he block the passage of vans? I was a child but already, within me, I feared the Adjipopo! Then time did its work.
I grew up. Memories changed taste. Caribeno, Brisa del Mar, a few drinks, a few bursts of laughter. Erno might have called me a pleasure-seeker, perhaps…
So be it. I don’t care. I deny nothing of my intoxications, nor of my vigils. Today that I have read Jacques Roumain, today that I dialogue with Jacques Stephen Alexis, today that I have seen Manhattan, that I have studied in the North, I want social change. I want to move from dreams to actions.
To make this country, for which we have cried so much, finally rise again. I see, at the crossroads of Airport Ciné, a large bust of Dessalines, where Grand Rue crosses Delmas. And if, at this crossroads, Delmas, Cité Soleil, and Port-au-Prince finally joined hands, what would become of Haiti? I dream of a Grand Rue extended to Tiburon, to Ouanaminthe.
Four lanes going, four returning. Duvalier made two. I want to do better. Is that a sin? And when all this is just,
when the dew has governed our steps, I will return to sit on Première Avenue de Bolosse.
I will contemplate Grand Rue,
my street,
our street. I will think of Habitation Leclerc, at the discreet bend in the Route des Dalles. Then I will walk in Mangonès' Martissant, this garden on borrowed time For the dew of Martissant 23 still speaks to the poet
and calls for patience,
for peace,
for the nourishment of the heart. The Eternal is my shepherd.
Akbolisabadya Da Guinen ! Yves Carmel Lafortune
July 3, 2025
