When I was small, people would ask: ‘What do you want to be, when you grow up?’
There were always several answers in may head, so I’d need a moment to answer. ‘Storm!’ or ‘a millionaire’, I’d say sometimes.
Often I thought I’d like to be a tamer of wild beasts. To understand the languages of many and be able to handle their different ways. I’d be able to talk to owls and falcons, lizards and foxes, tigers and buffaloes…
Time passed by – and I became something else. I do not want to tame beasts any more, I’d rather prefer to be like one.
A tiger, largely solitary, strong, unimpressed by ants or humans and their small struggle. Minding his own business. Equally at ease on the ground, as in water. Sharing food and territory amicably, whenever the case. Just being.
‘You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.’ Mary Oliver, Wild Geese
“You woke up, washed your face, put on your clothes,
went by your business,
Shaking hands, passing smiles, counting coin…
Got a secret?
Can’t tell nobody.
Carry it close, dawn to dusk.
Pick up tomorrow,
All over again.
Life
Ain’t nothing at all.”Daughter Maitland – St. Louis Blues. ‘Boardwalk Empire’
‘We need to talk’, she said.
By that time, there must have been nothing left to talk about, anymore.
‘Should have listened closer, way earlier’, she thought. ‘Should have said something, earlier’, he thought.
Cracks were already going all the way through the sky.
Long time ago, before the World Wars, there were two German pharmacies in Bucharest. One was Thüringer’s, on 43, Elisabeta blvd. the other one was ‚La Ochiul lui Dumnezeu’ (‚At God’s Eye’), opposite to Stirbei Palace, on Calea Victoriei 138.
In 1939, on the occasion of the latter’s centennial anniversary at that location, a collection of ancient pharmaceutical devices was exhibited in the windows of the corner house: jars, tin pots and delicate scales, graters, mortar and pestle sets of various materials, to grind powders from which lozenges and ointments were made.
Behind the house, in a herb garden, various plants were cultivated for their specific uses:
thyme, for cough drops, sage, for disinfecting tinctures, several species of mint, for the stomach troubles, valerian, for treating insomnia, marjoram and lavender, against pain and unrest, rosemary, against migraines and blood pressure, dill and fennel for tummy teas, chervil for the eye bath.
Celandine (rostopasca), said to cure infections and even tumors. Centaury and artichoke thistle, as antioxidants, for liver, rein and blood problems. Horsetail, hemostatic and similar in effect with today’s aspirine. Yarrow (‚soldier’s woundwort’, or ‚coada soricelului’), that would stop bleedings.
This phial contains a few age-old grains of juniper, called ‘Wachholder’ in German. It was probably taken to the household for the kitchen cupboard and thus escaped the pharmacy’s fate.
Mr. Carl Schuster, the owner, had come from Transylvania in 1829 and opened a pharmacy in Bucharest. His brother Gerhard had also opened one in Vienna, on 18, Währinger Strasse, under the name of ‘Zum Auge Gottes’ (which means the same in German).
Gerhard and his sons all died in the First World War. Today the Viennese pharmacy moved to 79, Nussdorferstrasse.
Carl Schuster married in 1840 in Brasov and brought his wife to live with him in Bucharest. Their granddaughter Friederike married in 1920. Her husband, Albert Prall, was a 2m-tall officer freshly out of the Theresian Military Academy in Vienna. He left the army to study and become a pharmacist as well, in order to be able take over ‘God’s Eye’ one day. His story here.
When the Second World War started, Martin Schuster, Carl’s son, was already too old to be enrolled. He spent most of his time at the pharmacy, trying to offer help to whomever needed it.
The tides had turned: Romania switched from neutral at first, to the side of the Axis Powers after the Soviet invasion in Bessarabia and Bucovina. On the 23rd of August 1944, King Michael I removed marshal Ion Antonescu and Romania joined the Allied Forces.
In a tempestuous withdrawal, during three days, the Luftwaffe covered Bucharest with a carpet of bombs. (This, after the Allies had severely bombed the city on Easter that year.)
On August 25th an infantry platoon in company of two tank destroyers rounded up Legatia Germana at 174, Calea Victoriei (opened in 1880, became later Cazino Victoria). Not accepting the defeat, German Embassador Manfred von Killinger shot his secretary first – and then killed himself.
When the sirens started howling again the following night, Mr. Schuster refused to go to take shelter in the Stirbei Palace cellars, claiming that he had to be at the pharmacy, in case somebody would have needed help.
In an attempt to hit the 52.5m high building of the Telephone Palace, the National Theatre on Calea Victoriei was put to ashes. The whole neighbourhood was set ablaze, as the bombs also hit the gas pipes on the main streets.
Eventually, as people from the palace returned and insisted again, Martin Schuster joined them, but left the pharmacy unlocked: he pulled the door shut by its handle, saying that someone might still need bandages, disinfectant or pain killers.
One of the last bombs fell into the pharmacy’s ventilation shaft that night. It landed in the basement and detonated the building together with its herb garden.
Coming out of the shelter the next day, he found the door handle on the pavement.
That – and a bundle of papers that had been locked in a safe – were the only remains of ‘God’s Eye’.
Eventually, with the help of his son in law, he put together a new pharmacy, which was nationalized in 1948. While returning from work one night in March of 1952, Albert Prall was killed by drunken soldiers, together with his Turkish colleague, whom he was trying to protect from being bullied in the street.
But this is a different story.
Albert Prall’s daughter is my grandma.
My mother was born in 1948.
Update on 2017-01-12 12:23 by Doro
Today I helped grandma out with the Christmas tree. I climbed up the ladder and got the box with the decorations down from the top shelf. The box!… one more piece that survived from the pharmacy!
May you have a peaceful and happy Christmas with your loved ones! May we never know hardship and duress.
I once had this dream. Don’t remember if I was actually sleeping – or just slipping away.
I dreamt I was completely worn down by my life as I knew it. Exhausted by all the painful memories that were blurring all the positive ones. Roaming around every day and trying new stuff, but it wouldn’t work.
Thinking, what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.
Realising, after a while, that the stronger you get – you only get lonelier.
After a while, I got so weary, I couldn’t learn how to enjoy whatever was going to come anymore at all. I’d only see the lousy sides of everything and would draw miserable conclusions, so life would increasingly become a downwards spiral, with little variation.
I kept searching for a way to change it.
After a while, I learned that there was a counter where you could go to and give up your life, as a package, and ask for another one in return.
But you wouldn’t know what was in the new package, before you traded the old one in. You had no way of choosing.
Eventually, I found the building. It looked like a station, although you could walk around it. It had only one large double door.
I watched it from a distance, time and again, wondering if now was the right time to ask for the exchange.
I’d sneak around the impressive thing, observing the people who went in and out. They were not showing any major change in mood. But they’d come out with a different look on their faces. As someone else.
Every time I’d go there, I would toy around with the idea. And wonder.
Maybe the time’s not ready yet- imagine, you’ll give up all your memories, entirely.
All of them.
You wouldn’t know your loved ones anymore.
You wouldn’t remember how you discovered sunshine, in a plastic fishbowl, one morning.
Or your grandma’s generous smile. Sour cherries on mown grass.
The taste of freshly ground pepper on tomatoes, that grandfather made you eat one day, because ‚You can’t say you dislike something, without ever having tried it.’
You’d never remember that day dad held you on his knees, while you were crying over your first bleeding knee, and how he told you that it was going to be ok.
That way the streets smelled after a summer storm, or how mom would come home with a sunflower from ‘patriotic work‘ in a nearby field. Exhausted, but smiling.
You wouldn’t know your favourite perfume anymore. Or your first kiss.
Or your first trip abroad, when you discovered ‚the other world’, Switzerland! The land the old ones had told so many stories about. The wonderful house on the hill, where your godmother lived!
That amazed way in which someone, who had really mattered back then, had looked at you one morning.
Your first flight, alone! The travels!
…Those warm hugs with friends, when you came back, after all these years – it took them a couple of years to trust that you were going to stay, this time.
That crazy chase in the streets, one short happy night.
All of these were linked to painful memories, that would seep through, just when you were recalling the good ones!
The loved ones had judged you and had turned against you so many times, for no big reason,
the fish bowl had mysteriously disappeared one day.
Grandma had died years ago – and nobody smiles like that anymore these days. Most cherries had had worms in them – how could she eat them without caring!
Dad had told you, furious, one day, “You are as reckless as your grandfather used to be.” Grandfather had died when you were six years old and you don’t really remember him that well…
Back then, you`d always have bleeding knees in summer, because you were invariably veering too close to the corner of the house with your bike. The torn lip was from your first humiliating fight at school.
After that, things had gotten worse for years: you remember having been involved in more fights than others would remember their afternoons of holding hands and kissing behind the school.
Mom’s face looks ashen with exhaustion almost every day now, but she still keeps trying to save the world. And there’s always so much more to be saved than is humanly possible.
So many other women are wearing your perfume. The guy who gave you that first kiss had told you, two days later, that he had only kissed you out of ‚duty’ and that you should forget about it, because he knew you had been fancying him for two years now…
You had never encountered the Switzerland of their stories – it was probably gone long before you were born – and the new one you had found instead had, in time, turned a very cold face at you.
That someone with the rapt look on his face had cheated on you in a terrible way.
You had flown so many miles alone, wishing there was someone waiting for you at the airport, that the mere memory of those flights would turn your stomach.
So much about the friends.
And the chase that night? He had been drunk and exuberant – and had returned to his girlfriend the next day – and you were probably the only one to remember that night in a lovely way anyway. It was gutless and sad, because you knew him since you were kids, so you trusted him.
So many things had been unclear – and you had turned them sunny in your mind, only to be disappointed afterwards.
So, here we are now. Have it, all of it, the whole package, with all its memories, let someone else delight themselves with its content, may they enjoy having that enthusiasm, the wits, your courage and your smile. Those skills, your love of so-many-things-in-this world, books and horses and languages and everything. Let someone else have it all! …And take that gruesome hypersensitivity along with it, too.
Maybe they’ll handle it better.
What if there are other, much more terrible lives, that people come to trade in? Are you feeling you’re there, now?
Would you trade your whole life in, for that? he said, frowning.
Only desperate souls come to trade their lives in at this counter.
Smart ones. Because happy simple souls can`t even find the place anyway.
Would you switch with another desperate soul,is your misery so much sadder than theirs?
I never found the counter. And, I must say, I don’t think of it that often.
Lately I think that “in the battle between you and the world, bet on the world”, as the saying goes.
I also wish to learn how to enjoy this world, instead of trying to battle it.
In the garden of the house I grew up in, there’s this fig tree. Maybe young grandma planted it, in the late 30es, shortly after the house was built.
Winters here are often cold: there’s -18°C outside now. So, every once in a while, the fig tree doesn’t make it to spring. Every time I see the withered branches, I think to myself ‚So, this time it’s over.’
Somehow, we never even liked eating its fruit: they take so long to ripen, looking indecent all summer, in their shrivelled green skins.
Every time the tree withers, after a few weeks, an amazing little sprout shows up in the ground, just a few inches away from the old stem. It takes 3-4 years to grow back to the size you can see in the picture. By that time, next winter will be a cold one…
I never understood the fig tree parable in the bible. It seemed like a stub: some crucial information must have been left out, so the story makes no sense to me. Why curse the fig tree for not bearing fruit, if it wasn’t the season for figs anyway?
Once I read about Sylvia Plath’s fig tree.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.” – from The Bell Jar, 1963
For such a long time I felt just like this. There were so many attractive options and – I was scared that choosing one meant, I’d decide against all the other ones. Fortunately, I do not feel like that anymore.
The fig tree is not old, because it always starts anew. There were times when it came out again about 4 meters away from where it once stood. But it did – and it’s the same, somehow: it never forgets about spring and never looses the wonderful shape of its leaves.
It taught me this wonderful thing: it doesn’t really matter what you choose, as long as you keep on doing stuff. You’ll find your way. All in good time, it said.
Jaipur, the pink city, was built in the 18th century, as the new capital of Rajasthan. Jaipur panorama here
Its founder, Sawai Jai Singh II, succeeded to the throne of Amber in 1700 at the age of thirteen. Abandoning it as a capital, he founded the city of Jaipur in 1727.
Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II ca. 1725 Jaipur. British museum
Building Jaipur from scratch, Jai Singh seized the opportunity to plan the whole town according to the principles of Hindu architectural theory. Jaipur streets were planned to go, according to vedic principles for comfort and prosperity (Shilpa Shastra), East to West and North to South.
The pearl, right across from the Royal Palace, on the place where the temples would normally be located: the astronomical observatory, as one of five built in west central India between 1727 and 1734. (Delhi was first, followed by Jaipur one year later, then Mathura-now destroyed, last were Ujjain and Varanasi/Benares).
Sawai Jai Singh II had been commissioned by Emperor Muhammad Shah to make corrections in the astronomical tables and to confirm the data, already available on the planetary positions. He took seven years to finish the task.
The maharajah had sent his envoys thorughout the world to gather astronomical data available in the world. They came back with huge amounts of data: descriptions by Prince Ulugh Beg (1394-1449), who had built the most famous of the time in Samarkand, manuals by La Hire, Tycho Brahe, as well as texts by John Flam Steed, which were all used as source for the construction.
The observatory, in the end, turned out to be more accurate than the tables it was built after and Sawai Jai Singh II published his book of tables to correct the known ones of that time by 1723. He built the first stone observatory in 1724 in Delhi. The Jaipur observatory of Rajasthan was built in 1728.
Early Greek and Persian observatories contained elements that Jai Singh incorporated into his designs, but the instruments of the Jantar Mantar are more complex, or at a much greater scale than any that had come before, and in certain instances, are completely unique in design and function.
Its name, pronounced as ‘Yantra Mantra’, comes from the Sanskrit words yantra for instrument and mantra for formula, meaning, literally, ‘instrument for calculation’.
It’s instruments are large scale in order to obtain more accuracy in astronomical calculations by minimizing potential errors.
The Jaipur observatory consist of 14 major geometric devices for measuring time, predicting eclipses, tracking stars’ location as the earth orbits around the sun, ascertaining the declinations of planets, and determining the celestial altitudes and related ephemerides.
The instruments
The Samrat Yantra/Yantra Raj, the largest instrument, is a sun dial of 27 meter height.
Its shadow tells the time of day with an accuracy of about two seconds and moves visibly at 1 mm per second, or roughly a hand’s width (6 cm) every minute.
The Hindu chhatri (small domed cupola) on top is used as a platform for announcing eclipses and the arrival of monsoons.
It’s outer circle shows divisions for the 24h, of 6 fractions each, whereas the inner circle is divided in 360°, each of 6 subdivisions.
The ramp of the Small Sundial (Laghu Samrat Yantra) points right to the North Pole, so one can read the exact time in Jaipur on its marble divisions on the sides. detailed info here
Narivalaya Yantra is another sundial for measuring the local solar time at the latitude of Jaipur. There are actually two paired instruments, one for use in winter (when the sun is in the southern hemisphere) and the other for use in summer, when the sun is in the northern hemisphere. Its faces are parallel to the equator, inclined 27°, which coincides with Jaipur’s latitude.
The gnomon/ iron rod being perpendicular on each of these masonry dials, is therefore parallel to the Earth’s axis, pointing to the south pole (for the winter instrument) or the north pole (for the summer instrument). Local solar time is read off from the angular position of the gnomon’s shadow on the dial.
Other instruments include the Ram Yantra whose primary function is to measure the altitude and azimuth of celestial objects, including the sun, (according to the height of the shadow, cast by the gnomon). In the Islamic and Hindu schools of astronomy there were no insturments like the Ram Yantra prior to Jai Singh’s creations. Height and radius of this instrument are the same.
narrator -noun:
1 the narrator of “The Arabian Nights”: storyteller, teller of tales, relater, chronicler, raconteur, anecdotalist. ANTONYMS listener, audience.
2 the film’s narrator: voice-over, commentator, speaker
From October 2011 to the end of following January, a gorgeous little 1890s house in downtown Bucharest hosted an event about the beautiful side of Haiti.
The beatiful house at 24, Batistei str.
I had just come back from a trip that had filled my heart with a hundred thousand smiles – and found everybody asking about the poverty and the horrors I must have experienced in Haiti.
There was so much to be said and shown. The gap between what we think about Haiti and what I saw is enormous – it reminded me of the many things Western Europeans assume about Romania under the communist regime.
I do not think one can ever claim to be objective. So I decided the exhibition was going to tell my narrative: I’d fill the ancient house with pictures that would not confirm your usual stereotypes and invite people to come over and hear the story of «Haiti Chérie» – the beautiful side of Haiti.
I’d be their guide through the 6 rooms filled with more than 180 photographs and artefacts I had brought along with me.
There would be music and rum-tasting and creole food and I’d tell them my story to it all.
I lived in the house the exhibition took place for those four months. People would come and walk through the rooms, try Haitian rum, ask lots of questions and buy copies of pictures they loved.
At first, one entered the «Roadtrip» room. Because Haitians are on the road every day for several hours, on their feet, in tap-taps (private 14-people cabs), on motorbikes, on trucks.
The next room was «Dwellings and people»: a map of Port-au-Prince on the table and many books from Haiti laid out next to it. Pictures of «gingerbread houses», of marketplaces and celebrations, of furniture and clothing being sold in the streets, of fruit and juice-vendors, portraits of kids coming home from schools.
In a corner «Nunuta» – the tailor mannequin – all dressed in white like Haitians would on elegant occasions. And a huge basket full of fruit for everyone to try: bananas, limes, passion fruit, pineapple, papaya and mangoes especially.
Then onto «Traditions» – the room with the story of how slaves fought for their freedom and became the first colony to turn into an independent state. The story of how the red and blue flag with «L’union fait la force» written on it came to replace the French tricolore. Carnival processions and the waterfall of Saut d’Eau. Students preparing for their exams and humming songs at the roots of the 300 year old justice tree in front of King Christophe’s ruined palace.
Candles would light the beautiful carvings done out of old oil-barrels from Croix-de-Bouquets.
Trying to explain that a machete is a tool, not a weapon
The «Sea» room – with its turquoise rimmed beaches and smiling kids around a hammock where you actually could lie in and see a photograph with the sun up in a palm tree over your head.
A picture of the mapou-tree with orchids growing on every branch – the only tree Haitians will never cut down, because spirits descend on it from the sky.Boats of fishermen floating in the waters around the islands, bringing ashore meter-long fish and the largest lobsters I’ve ever seen. Paradise.
The «Mosaic» room was about Haitian buildings and sceneries: Citadelle Laferrière, the UNESCO monument with its 286 cannons, Cap Haitien alleys lined with overburdened mango trees, goats on Ile-A-Vache, pics from a traditional thursday evening concert with the local band RAM at the Oloffson hotel in Port-au-Prince. «Hall of horrors» – After the narrative ended, at the back of the house, people could see pictures closer to what one sees in the news: shelter camps, collapsed streets, a rice paddy where the cholera epidemic had started – not really a part of the exhibition, nor the house – but still part of reality.
Initially, «Haiti Chérie» was to be shown for two months. I didn’t think a subject that far away from everyday life would find enough visitors, nor would I find enough strength to tell the stories again and again. Depending on the public the narrative would reveal different details and windings along the way. Some guests even returned to be a part of it several times.
The house felt like it had 180 windows through which one could see different sides of Haiti. It was kept open four months until the end of January, when I left for India.
Haitian cuisine is truly special. Its dishes are spicier than most other Antillean cuisine’s. Besides the strong African influence – there’s also French, Arabic and Amerindian – and every manman has her own secrets, inherited from ancient times and refined over generations!
Gathering lunch
Vegetables on Hispaniola are extremely tasty – and part of any dish. Furthermore, meals are based on seafood & fish, meats as goat (cabrit) and pork (griot), but also chicken and beef. Rice, with or without beans, accompanies every meal. It’s called “nourriture” – a meal without rice is not considered to be a meal.
Meat is usually cleaned and marinated in bitter orange juice, fish in lime juice.
To meals one can drink beer or fruitjuice.
STARTERS
ACCRAS DE MORUE – codfish pasties
The name accra is said to come from “akara”, which means “pasty” in Éwé, a Mandinga-language spoken in Ghana.
Codfish pasties are a typical dish made up of potatoes, bacalhau (codfish), eggs, parsley, and some other minor ingredients. The bolinhos or pastéis de bacalhau – as called on the Portuguese coast and in Brasil, where they are very popular as well- are deep fried and served before meals or as a meal itself (usually served with rice).
300g dry codfish, desalted for at least 1h.
300g potatoes, previously boiled in saltwater
1 egg, beaten
black pepper, garlic
optionally: clove, thyme, parsley, chilli, 1 tbsp. of vinegar
breadcrumbs or “pannade”
Desalt the codfish in water, drain it, clean bones off, shred and mash it together with the potatoes. Mash with beaten egg, garlic, pepper. Shape into small balls and roll in breadcrumbs. Fry in hot oil.
You can use flour instead of potatoes, in this case add a cupfull of water and some baking powder.
Serve with raw vegetables as starter.
COD CHIQUETAILLE
The word ‘chiquetaille’ means ‘shredded’. As refrigeration is still scarce on the island, fish is often salted for conservation reasons.
Soak the cod in cold water for 15 minutes to rehydrate it and remove the salt; fillet it, removing the bones if necessary; flake the meat with your fingers. Finely chop the onion, garlic, chives, herbs and chili; blend into the cod; drizzle with lime juice and oil.
Serve it with baguette; alternatively in an avocado half or with lettuce-tomato salad. Or, like in the pic, with some green beans and carrot.
The time-costly method, more adequate for conservation
450g salted cod
1 large onion, finely chopped
2 large shallots, finely chopped
5 large cloves of garlic, finely chopped
2 carrots, very thinly sliced
1 1/2 cups of young green beans, cut in half, vertically
1/2 green bell pepper, thinly sliced
1/2 yellow or red bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 green jalapeno with seeds or 2 scotch bonnets, thinly sliced
1/2 cup vinegar
1 cup olive oil
3 or 4 whole cloves
Salt and pepper
Soak the cod in cold water in the refrigerator for 24 hours, changing the water 3 times. In a large pot, bring to boil enough water to cover the fish and boil for about 20 minutes. Drain in a vegetable strainer and when cool, remove skin, bones and any unsightly fish parts. Shred by hand.
Mix the shredded fish with the vegetables, olive oil, cloves, salt, pepper and vinegar. Refrigerate for at least 4 days. Serve spread on baguette slices for cocktails or as a salad with lettuce, tomatoes and hard boiled eggs.
SOUPE JOUMOU – pumpkin soup, the national dish
Slaves were not allowed to eat this nourishing soup. On the 1st of January 1804, they cooked soup Joumou (from “Giraumont” – a pumpkin type) for the first time. It became the national dish. It is served on National Day, Sundays and special occasions.
1 giraumon pumpkin, peeled and cut (or 1kg frozen)
1 turnip, diced
1 small cabbage, leafed
3 large potatoes, diced
1 celery stalk, coarsely chopped
1-2 onions, sliced
4 cups beef broth
3 carrots, sliced
1 leek, cut
2 cloves
Salt, pepper, to taste
1 tablespoon white vinegar
1 tablespoon olive oil
Cayenne pepper, to taste
1-3 limes
1 tablespoon butter
Wash meat with lime and water. In a large saucepan, boil the shanks and beef and lard cubes until each piece is tender. Add the giraumon. When the giraumon is cooked, puree and return to pot. Add vegetables, pepper, salt, cayenne to taste, cloves and rigatoni. Pour the beef broth by covering everything. Bake until rigatoni and vegetables or tender. Add oil, vinegar and butter. Simmer 20 minutes over medium heat. Serve with baguette.
SEAFOOD
LAMBÌ BOUCANNÉ – Buccanneered conch
1 lambì
lime, salt, hot chili sauce
Lambì is a conch that seems very hard to find outside the Caribbean space. Nevertheless, should you find one – clean it first: remove the ‘lid’, then the intestine; wash in plenty of water, until not sticky anymore. Clean all dark spots and hard parts away with a knife. Rinse again with bitter orange juice (or sea-water, if nothing else around). Then just place it over a fire until it gets cooked. Season with lime and chili sauce (e.g. tabasco).
Can be served plain – or with rice or plantain.
Alternative: cooked lambì
Same ingredients as before, same preparations required. This lambì was cut to threads, then cooked and seasoned with salt, lime and hot chili sauce.
BUCCANEERED LOBSTER
Oma boukannen ak banann peze – Buccaneered lobster with plantain
1 lobster
salt, garlic, lime
Cut along the spine, grill. Add lime and garlic if desired, serve with fried plantain – banann pese (see below) or white rice.
POISSON GROS SEL
4 pink fish, i.e. red snapper or sea bream
1 lime
1 tablespoon tomato paste
salt and pepper to taste
hot pepper to taste
4 cloves
juice of one lime
2 cloves garlic
2 shallots
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion
2 peeled tomatoes, chopped
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
1 cup water
Clean, shell fish and remove the bones and entrails. Rinse with cold water and rub with lime. Prepare the marinade by placing mashing shallots, cloves, pepper, lime juice, minced garlic, salt and pepper in a bowl. Make incisions in the fish to rub the marinade and let marinate for at least 3 hours. Heat oil in a deep skillet, add onion, minced garlic, tomatoes, tomato paste, thyme and parsley. Sautéd well. Add the remaining marinade, followed by water and bring to a boil. Add fish and simmer 20 minutes over medium heat.
Serve with rice and beans (see below) or plantains.
POISSON ROSE – Red snapper
4 pink fish, i.e. red snapper or sea bream
1 lime
1 tablespoon tomato paste
salt and pepper to taste
hot pepper to taste
4 cloves
juice of one lime
2 cloves garlic
2 shallots
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion
2 peeled tomatoes, chopped
1/2 teaspoon thyme
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
1 cup water
Clean, shell fishes and remove the bones and entrails. Rinse with cold water and rub with lime. Prepare the marinade by placing the following ingredients in a salad bowl: shallots, cloves, pepper, lime juice, minced garlic, salt and pepper. Mash everything together. Make incisions in the fish to rub the marinade and let marinate for at least 3 hours. Heat oil in a deep skillet, add onion, minced garlic, tomatoes, tomato paste, thyme and parsley. Sautéd well. Add the remaining marinade, followed by water and bring to a boil. Add fish and simmer 20 minutes over medium heat. Serve with fries or Diri kolé ak pwa (see below) or boiled green plantains.
Rub the pork in lime juice. Rinse with warm water. Combine remaining ingredients, except for oil and orange juice. Let the the pork soak in this mixture and marinate in the refrigerator (4 to 24 h). Place in large saucepan over medium heat and add the orange juice. Cover and cook for 30 minutes. Remove the meat, drain. Fry the pork in hot oil, turning the pieces occasionally, until they are crisp. Serve with pickliz and fried plantain.
TASSO – fried cubed beef/goat
1 kg steak or goat cut into small cubes
1/2 cup of chopped shallots
1/2 cup of orange juice
1/4 cup lime or lemon juice
1/2 cup of vegetable oil
salt, pepper to taste
1 tsp of parsley
Put all ingredients except the oil in a large pot and marinate at least 4 hours. Transfer meat mixture to medium saucepan or pressure cooker and add water to cover. Heat to boiling and reduce heat. Simmer covered until meat is very tender. Fry meat in a large pan until crisp and golden brown.
HAITIAN STYLE CHICKEN
Mme Jesula preparing for a grand dinner
1 chicken
garlic, salt, pepper
oil
1 onion
1 bunch parsley
12 cloves
2 tbsp. tomato paste
Cut the chicken into pieces, wash, season with the marinade made with garlic, salt, chopped pepper. Sauté the chicken in some oil, cover and cook for ca. 30 minutes on medium-high. Drizzle with water, so the meat won’t stick to the pan. When tender, lower heat a bit and add the chopped onion, parsley, cloves, tomato paste, dilluted in the marinade. Let simmer for a few more minutes and serve hot with rice and beans (diri kolé ak pwa, see below)
MARINADE for chicken, pork or beef
1 cup corn oil
Juice of 1 lime
1 tablespoon chilli powder
1 laurel leaf
1 sprig of fresh parsley, chopped
1 teaspoon Cayenne pepper
1 mashed garlic
1 thym
4 cloves
2 shallots
1 minced onion
Salt and pepper to taste
Mix all ingredients together. Brush over meat and let marinate for 2 hours or more in the refrigerator. Use only as much as needed for marinating, keep a certain amount to use during cooking.
Marinate the meat (see marinade recipy above). Heat oil in a skillet, brown the beef so it is well cooked. Add okras/callalou to the meat and fry for about ten minutes. Add onion, shallots, garlic, salt, vinegar, oil, water, pepper, thyme and cloves. Cover and simmer 30 minutes over low heat.
Cleanse beans and cook in a saucepan with 8 cups water 1 tablespoon oil. Beans are cooked when they are cracked. Remove from heat, drain while preserving the cooking water.
In a saucepan, heat 3 tablespoons of oil, sauté onions, garlic, shallots, spices, red beans and cubes of chicken stock. Add 6 cups liquid from the cooked beans water. When the water begins to boil, add the washed rice and hot pepper, stirring.
Cook uncovered over low heat until the complete absorption of water. Add the remaining oil, butter and cover pan. Cook approximately 15 minutes over medium heat.
BANNAN PEZE – Fried plantain
2 green plantain
1 cup vegetable oil
½ cup water
1 tbsp. salt
1 tbsp. Vinegar
Peel plantains and cut into 5 pieces each. Place oil in a deep frying pan on medium heat. In a small bowl, add remaining ingredients and set aside. Place cut plantains in hot oil, cook them for 5 to 7 minutes on each side. Remove plantains and lower heat, flatten them using a tostonera(wooden press – you can use other objects to flatten the plantain. In need, I once flattened them with the bottom of a beerbottle)
Soak flattened plaintains in water mixture and replace in oil on medium heat. Turn plantains on each side until crispy and golden brown. Place them on paper towels to remove excess oil. Serve hot.
PICKLIZ
The best pickliz in the world – at Lakou Lakay in the North, next to the Citadel
2 cups shredded carrots
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 onion, finely chopped
4 cups sliced cabbage
½ cup green peas
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
1 garlic, minced
6 jalapeño peppers, cut in half
white vinegar
Place all ingredients in a large glass jar, except the vinegar. Add enough vinegar to cover everything completely. Let marinate one week before starting to use it. Serve with meat or fish.
SWEET
JUICES
Haitians prefer making juices to eating the fruit whole. Use
You can make juices out of almost any Haitian fruit by patiently mashing the pulp against a sieve. Mix with icecubes.
Additionally, one can always mix a fruit punch with coconut water and pour it into a coconut.
MANGO
Haiti is said to have the best mangoes in the world. There are over 100 varieties of mangoes across the country. There are mangoes with more fiber, others you can punch a whole in and suck the contents out; thereare sweeter mangoes and some that are more sour. Forms and colour vary endlessly. To name 3 popular ones: Francique, Corne, Muscat.
Mangoes can be eaten plain, best chill them before.
A very tasty alternative: add some Pastis (or another anise-based drink) and ornate with mint leaves.
The Citadelle Laferrière is a large mountaintop fortress in northern Haiti, approximately 17 miles /27 km south of the city of Cap-Haïtien and 5 miles /8 km uphill from the town of Milot. 10’000m2.
It is the largest fortress in the Americas and was designated by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) as a World Heritage Site in 1982—along with the nearby Sans-Souci Palace. The mountaintop fortress has itself become an icon of Haiti. The Citadel was built by Henri Christophe, a key leader during the Haitian slave rebellion, after Haiti gained independence from France at the beginning of the 19th century.
The massive stone structure was built by up to 20,000 workers between 1805 and 1820 as part of a system of fortifications designed to keep the newly-independent nation of Haiti safe from French incursions. The Citadel was built several miles inland, and atop the 3,000 ft (910 m) Bonnet à L’Evèque mountain, to deter attacks and to provide a lookout into the nearby valleys.
The Haitians outfitted the fortress with 365 cannon of varying size. Enormous stockpiles of cannonballs still sit in pyramidal stacks at the base of the fortress walls.
The Citadel was part of a system of fortifications that included Fort Jacques and Fort Alexandre, built on the mountains overlooking Port-au-Prince. Dessalines ordered those forts built in 1805 to protect the new nation against French attacks.
Cap-Haïtien and the adjoining Atlantic Ocean are visible from the roof of the fortress. Anecdotally, it is possible to sight the eastern coast of Cuba, some 90 miles (140 km) to the west, on clear days.
Since its construction, the fortress has withstood numerous earthquakes, though a French attack never came.
Clear water system. Fish still swim here
Initially, one of the two chalk peaks was meant to become the site of the fort. As this construction was supposed to accommodate 2’000 soldiers in times of peace – and 5’000 in a defence case, there was need of a larger surface, so the location was chosen on a lower level: Pic la Ferrière on 970m altitude.
Being so far inland, this location was inaccessible for the enemy – the Citadel was an ultimate retreat place and not a defensive facility.
Inside Batterie Coidavid
In his book about the Antilles, Louis Doucet comments that Roi Christophe constructed his Citadel in a similarly absurd way, as if Fort Gibraltar would have been erected on the Mont Blanc peak to defend the Atlantic coast.
The wooden floors and bridges collapsed in time.
Never has a shot been fired against an enemy from these of 1’500m -range cannons. They were lit only twice: once at inauguration – and another time, during a hurricane, when Roi Christophe chose to answer the divine challenge with gunpowder.
Two architects were engaged with the design: Henry Beese, an Englishman – and Frenchman Henri Barre. Their plans combine two successful types of fortification: Vauban’s- centering the construction around a bastion well adapted to the shape of the slope – and Marquis de Montalbert’s – distributing the fire power between several well-protected batteries.
The construction was started under Jean-Jacques Dessalines’ reign. In spite of the immense leveling efforts and the difficult work, the construction was almost finished after 13 years (1804-1817).
Slavery had shortly before been abolished, yet between 10’000 and 20’000 people were forced to work for this construction. Round 10% of them did not survive, therefore there’s a popular Haitian belief that there is human blood in the Citadel’s mortar.
It is said that a group of 50 forced laborers refused to continue pulling up one of the heavy 3ton- cannons when they were half the way up the steep road. Christophe shot down every second of them. The remaining were so terrified, that they managed to carry the weight all the way up.
In the 1950es the Haitian government decided to bring one of the cannons to the museum in Cap Haitien. This time the way went down the slope, but because of its weight the cannon could not be moved and was abandoned at the side of the road somewhere in the first one-third, meanwhile being overgrown with vegetation.
The fort was planned for 142 heavy bronze cannons, 124 heavy ordnance in casemates, 18 cannons mounted on „barbettes“.
Most cannons were obtained as French, English and Spanish booty. Hundreds of cannonballs are still stacked to pyramids all over the site today.
“Honi soit qui mal y pense”
The citadel was constructed in 2 phases: The eastern bastions, the „Poudrière“ (powder-store) and governor’s quarters were first. Later on followed the fortifications on the southern and western part.
The distinctive 43m high- cusp was placed at the head of the fortress- and named Batterie Coidavid -after Roi Christophe’s wife’s maiden name.
The Poudrière exploded in 1818, killing Prince Noël, the kings son-in-law and Citadel’s commander…. …who was smoking a cigarette nearby. Smell of gunpowder is stil in the air to this dayAfter an earthquake brought great damage to the fortress in 1842, it was abandoned and covered graudually with vegetation – until restoration works took place 1979-1990.
“Bishop’s hat” is the name of this peak
Each side of the fortress’ was adapted to the geographical premises. The bastions are linked by 90m long corridors, 10m wide.
Confronted with the French army once, the king is said to have made his subjects jump down from the butresses in order to prove their loyalty. 16 had to jump, before French General Edouard put an end to this absurd waste.
Around the inner court there are the crew’s quarters, the kitchens and the storerooms, each of these 50 feet deep.
As there is no inner spring or water source, huge amounts of rain water were gathered in 8 huge cisterns, to supply the garrison and inhabitants for a whole years’ time.
In the western corner of the yard there is the Poudrière, which exploded in 1818, killing Prince Noël, the king’s son in law and commander of the Citadel.
The governor’s quarter was guarded by 3 sentinels. The King, his family and staff would occupy 40 rooms. In one of the rooms there was a pool table in front of an open fireplace.
Back in the times when he was a slave, Christophe had worked in Hôtel de la Couronne in Cap Français (today Cap Haitien). This hotel had a gambling room with pool tables.
Christophe married the owners’ daughter, Marie-Louis Coidavid and had 2 sons and 2 daughters with her.
Roi Christophe had been a builder and a very active king. After a stroke he suffered during mass in church St. Anne(?), his physical and mental capacities were impaired. When the palace guards mutinied against him, he shot himself with a silver bullet in the throne room of the Palace Sans-Souci.
A secret underground passage is said to lead to this peakMarie-Louise took his body to the Citadel and covered it in quicklime, to prevent the population from tampering with the grave. The jawbone was found though; it is conserved in the Musée du panthéon national (MUPANAH) in Port-au-Prince.
After Christophe’s death, the Queen fled to Port-au-Prince with her daughters and stayed there for one year, then headed for Italy on a British ship. Rumor has it she led a wealthy life thanks to the money deposited in Europe by her husband several years before. She died in Pisa in 1851, after having asked the authorities to grant her return to her natal Haiti.
One evening in Zürich, autumn 2010, I found this bag on the pavement, next to my bike. I put it aside, unlocked the bike and rode off. The next day I parked on the same spot. The bag was still there, as if waiting for me. In the evening I found it in my bike-basket. I took it out, hung it on a nearby fence and rode off. This game kept going on for the next 2 days. On the third day I decided that fate wanted me to have this bag.
I had been looking for a new bag for a long time. I always wear my favourite things till they fall apart – and tend to distrust new ones I am finally forced to buy.
“Le bag”, 2011, in my balcony in Port au Prince.
So I looked inside, half fearing it was contaminated- or I’ll find an abandoned new-born inside! -but no. Creamy white lining, some blue and red stains from a pen – and a few bugs. And the smell of new leather!
I took it home, washed everything that wasn’t made of leather – and started using it soon. “Oh, since when are YOU wearing brand-stuff? This one must’ve cost you a fortune. I know a real DKNY when I see it, it’s my favourite brand” a friend said. – No, I found it on the street. – …
When I was packing for Haiti, I was determined to not show off with my things in any way. I even took down my old favourite ring and left it behind. What bag should I take? I only had this one – and a beach bag. You can’t go to a meeting with a beach-bag, can you? And this one looks rather modest, people will just assume it’s a fake.
For the last months it did its job well and does match most things I wear.
Then a few days ago I parked the car in front of the bookstore at Place St. Pierre, Pétion-Ville, the poshest part of Port au Prince. Got out just to see it was closed for Fête Dieu. A bunch of street kids were pestering me about watching the car. I said there was no need for that, I’m leaving right now, as the store is closed anyway. I get into the car, put my cellphone between my legs – where I alway put it when I drive – while I close the door, put the bag down on the floor and – just as I was about to push the “lock-all-doors”-button, someone opens the back door, darts over the passenger seat, grabs the bag – and runs away with it!
I jump out of the car yelling like crazy – and clenching my cellphone. Decide I can’t follow the guy and leave the car, cause he’s probably faster than me on high heels, he knows the neighbourhood a lot better – and I risk to have the car stolen as well. So I scream “SOMEONE STOLE MY BAG! GET IT PLEASE! THAT WAY! I’LL PAY A PRIZE TO WHOMEVER BRINGS IT BACK! RUN!!”
And all people start running down the street in the indicated direction. All of them- including the guy with the basket full of drinks on his head. The money-exchangers and the cigarette-vendors. The old lady selling fruit on the corner. The phone-company advertiser. The street kids. The school kids. Their parents. The toothless beggar. The passers by, on their way to church.
One street kid turns around: “Where there lots of money in the bag, Ma’m?” – No, but keys and papers, and it’s MINE… MY BAG!!! run, what are you staring at?!” – so he, too, gets in motion.
Only the old newspaper-vendor couldn’t free himself of the newspaper-burden fast enough, so he looked sadly after the others…
After a few minutes, my knees all trembling, the guy with the drinks-basket comes back. “Bag! go there! bag! there!!” and points a few blocks down the street.
“I won’t go anywhere – you guys think you can steal my cell now? or my car?” But I go. On that corner, in the dust, with 40 people gesticulating and quarrelling around it, was MY BAG. Open, like I had left it – and with the wallet on top! Nothing missing.
“This your bag, Ma’m?” Some old people from Mairie de Pétion-Ville, in some sort of sand- or dust-coloured uniform, all escorting me back to the car. Everyone else, who had been running, escorting me as well. I take out money to pay them, thinking that there’s too many of them… They refuse it. I give them the money, still: You guys just all go to the next bar and have a beer and think of me and the wonders of the church on this holy day!
They accept in the end – but only when I’m already in the car, with all doors locked.
I leave with trembling knees, this is incredible.
***
The next day I return to the store on foot, aware and nervous – what if I meet the perpetrator again?
So this guy comes strolling up to me, huge smile on his face: “Happy you got your bag back, Ma’m?”
Yeah, and who are you? “I’m the one who told the thief to drop the bag on the corner, Ma’m. I’m the Godfather of the street kids of Pétion-Ville. Enchanté!”
I’m eyeing him with distrust. He goes on, smiling: “The only reason why you got it back, Ma’m, is because we liked your reaction. You didn’t yell “police!”, like the other “blancs” do, when they get mugged
– you never even mentioned it. You promised ransom for the bag!
Yeah, because I grew up in a fucked-up country, where police was really the last you could expect help from when you were in distress. It never crossed my mind to expect help from them.
The one time I have, after being assaulted in the street – they wanted to charge me with street-prostitution, cause it’s not ok to be out at night as a woman. So, no, I don’t trust police in most countries either.
“You know, we are in the street all day long, we watch everyone, we know their habits. We spend all our life in the streets. I’m 29 now (he looked more like 45+), I’m out in the streets since I was twelve. I got locked-up for four years and a half. I wouldn’t wish a detention in a Haitian prison, not even to my worst enemy I would. I would do anything possible to keep other people from being locked-up. I don’t steal – I manage. Anything that gets stolen in this area, I get a percentage. I try to help the blancs get their papers back, cause I know it’s hard to get them redone, all ID’s and passports and everything. But if they call police, I’m out.”
I watched his brown hands while we were talking – the knuckles were so scarred, I’ve never seen anything like that. As if the guy had been walking on his knuckles through a field of glass-shards… While he was talking all the time with a peaceful smile on his face, he looked like a tired Bob-Marley.
“It would take a miracle to get me out of the streets. A woman – or death -will probably do it, like it happens for most of us. Out here, you don’t live long, you know? I’d so much like to learn something from you – a language, some story, anything. See these kids?”
The street kids were gathering around us, first 2-3, in the end there were almost 20, avidly watching his every gesture. He insisted on continuing the conversation in English, not French or Creole.
“Look at them. These kids have never been to schools, they can’t even read or spell their names. They left home, cause for them the street was the better alternative. Where to get the money for school? (NB: In Haiti you have to pay for tuition; only 15% of the schools are state-owned, the rest are private and a lot less affordable).
– But you speak good English, how did you learn that?
“Well, I worked around hotels and picked it up there…That’s why I am their godfather, I find ways.. If only one could teach them something useful, I’d organise the canteen, they would gather and they would learn. They’re willing.
I’m leaving soon.Are there no NGO’s or other organisations you can apply to with your idea?
No one talks to us, we’re scum, street people. There’s no money for projects like that from the blancs. We’re not flashy in the press – nobody likes being associated with. They just roll their window down and give us some change, they smile, wave and drive on. You think anyone stops and talks to us? You’re the first one in years.
Well, I can somehow understand people you mugged for not feeling like having friendly chats with you.
“You sent away the kids who wanted to guard your car yesterday. That was a mistake, should have let them – and tell them you pay some other time.”
I’m sick of being mistaken for an ATM all the time, it’s so annoying, you know? Think I’m a tourist here, just for fun? I work here – and I could work somewhere else, why do you think I’m here, man? I came for building schools!
“Yeah, but you pissed them kids off, so…when the guy made me a sign that he’s gonna steal you’re bag, I shrugged. But then when I saw the way you reacted, I thought you were worth it – and told the guy to ditch the bag, untouched, and run. Don’t worry, you’re cool. From now on, nothing bad is ever going to happen to you in this area again – trust me, you can leave the car unlocked. If anything should happen, ask for me, I’ll get it back to you in one hour.”
He gathered the kids around and told them some things in Creole, holding on to my shoulder. They were watching the whole scene rather puzzled. He turned to me. “See?”
If you guys steal like that, why don’t you make something smart with of the money? I guess a rather large amount comes together at the end of the day. Put your kids to school, do something for them!
“You know, money that you don’t earn gets spent fast. Stolen, gambled, drug money- it’s gone in a short while, no matter what amount comes together. The only money one respects is the one you earn through work – or get as a gift. You respect the person who gave it to you.”
I was becoming impatient. Too hot outside, work to get done – and the afterwork beer was calling as well. So I passed him some hundred gourdes, like 4-5$. He refused. “Ma’m, I don’t take money. As I don’t steal myself. I’m the godfather, money’s not for me. If you want, do a friendly gesture – show some care for me and the kids. But don’t be petty.”
So, at what amount does your friendly gesture start? (I always hate it when people who want something from you refrain from naming a figure. Like job interviewers – it’s always them asking you what you think you should earn! But it’s them offering you the job in the end; they have a clear idea about its details and the work that needs to be done – just make your damned proposal, so we can start negotiating!)
He wriggled around with the conversation for the next minutes. In the end he was at 20$ – “with this amount I take all these kids to a place were they get soup and a coke”.
Ok, you convinced me. Here’s 20 bucks: if I give it to you, means I take it from someone else in need, like… the cleaning lady… It’s not only you street guys in need, you know?
Ten minutes later I meet him at the grocery store and give him a questioning glance. “I came to buy sweet drinks for the kids, trust me.”
Well, I trusted you and gave you the money for something good. If you used it for something else, it’s you who will be ashamed of yourself and before your own god. I don’t care. I did my part. Why are the kids following me now?
“Cause they like you. They’re just curious. Good luck!”
I leave the store, the street kids waiting to the both sides of the entrance, then escorting me back to the Embassy, shouting various things along the way. “You’re beautiful, Madame!” was one of them.
I smile and clutch my bag.
Epilogue: The bag has a new owner now: my son’s nanny.
This phial contains a few age-old grains of juniper, called ‘Wachholder’ in German. It was probably taken to the household for the kitchen cupboard and thus escaped the pharmacy’s fate.
Today I helped grandma out with the Christmas tree. I climbed up the ladder and got the box with the decorations down from the top shelf. The box!… one more piece that survived from the pharmacy!
Early Greek and Persian observatories contained elements that Jai Singh incorporated into his designs, but the instruments of the Jantar Mantar are more complex, or at a much greater scale than any that had come before, and in certain instances, are completely unique in design and function. 
narrator -noun:
«Hall of horrors» – After the narrative ended, at the back of the house, people could see pictures closer to what one sees in the news: shelter camps, collapsed streets, a rice paddy where the cholera epidemic had started – not really a part of the exhibition, nor the house – but still part of reality.
Gathering lunch
Oma boukannen ak banann peze – Buccaneered lobster with plantain
Mme Jesula preparing for a grand dinner
The best pickliz in the world – at Lakou Lakay in the North, next to the Citadel
The Citadelle Laferrière is a large mountaintop fortress in northern Haiti, approximately 17 miles /27 km south of the city of Cap-Haïtien and 5 miles /8 km uphill from the town of Milot.
10’000m2.
The Citadel was part of a system of fortifications that included Fort Jacques and Fort Alexandre, built on the mountains overlooking Port-au-Prince. Dessalines ordered those forts built in 1805 to protect the new nation against French attacks.
The fort was planned for 142 heavy bronze cannons, 124 heavy ordnance in casemates, 18 cannons mounted on „
The distinctive 43m high- cusp was placed at the head of the fortress- and named Batterie Coidavid -after Roi Christophe’s wife’s maiden name.
The Poudrière exploded in 1818, killing Prince Noël, the kings son-in-law and Citadel’s commander….
…who was smoking a cigarette nearby. Smell of gunpowder is stil in the air to this dayAfter an earthquake brought great damage to the fortress in 1842, it was abandoned and covered graudually with vegetation – until restoration works took place 1979-1990.
Roi Christophe had been a builder and a very active king. After a stroke he suffered during mass in church St. Anne(?), his physical and mental capacities were impaired. When the palace guards mutinied against him, he shot himself with a silver bullet in the throne room of the Palace Sans-Souci.
Roi Henry Christophe I