Haitian Beatz

I woke up this morning with the oddest of cravings. Malta avek let. A concoction I haven’t had in well over 10 years. With that thought, other food related thoughts sprung to mind, and then the memories started

to get clearer. The older I get the more I am grateful for the small aspects of my childhood that were spent in Haiti. I remember and hold on to the little things, especially those surrounding food. Memories of travelling between the provinces of Haiti are still vivid in my mind till this day, even though I was only 6 years old. In the summer time we would go from Port-au-Prince to Les Cayes. It was not until recently did I realize what a traumatic experience those trips were. Well traumatic in the American sense of thinking, but completely normal for brother, my cousins and me. This was an eating experience that we looked forward to every summer.

As the big bus would set to go, vendors would stand outside. As they would shout out their goods, through the window, we would order things like pistache griye, dous maskos and tablet nwa. Those goodies we bought on the side of the road would be our companion for the 3 to 4 hours we spent on the road. Upon our arrival in Les Cayes, my grandmother in her joy in seeing us would kill and prepare a goat for our visit. It wasn’t until I would sit down to eat would I realize that the goat was jean marc- my goat.  A goat she had given me claim to and said I could do as I wished only the summer before. So as I cried and cried for the lost of Jean Marc, I could barely swallow his tender, succulent tassot pieces upon my initial attempt. Upon more coaxing by my mom and grandma, the memory of Jean Marc would immediately be erased and overtaken with the flavors and taste of the best taste on earth. Kabrit.