Le Frappé- Digital Collage 6" x 4"

I do not like to think about the dark days of the Duvalier régime when the social fabric that held us together unraveled and so many of our best and brightest headed for Miami or Toronto. My last week in Port au Prince I sat at L'Ambassador Hotel biding my time. Each morning a stern looking gentleman passed by the big plate glass window carrying an Oster blender. The concensus among us was that he must be Ton Ton Macoute, off to shove the hand of some unfortunate soul's hand into the spinning blades.

My departure was harrowing, but at last I left Haiti and began my new life in Philadelphia. Fifteen years later, I was walking out of the grocery store when I ran into the man who had once carried a blender. A rush of fear swept over me, but then the man's face broke into a smile. "I remember you," he said in english. "L'Ambassador Hotel." "Yes," I replied, not sure what to think. "Those were some days," he continued. "I desperately tried to get my mother's blender fixed, but the best repairmen had fled the country. I felt both rage and sorrow at the dreadful state of affairs."He shook his head. With that I invited him to join me for a cup of coffee. We sat down together and talked about the old days and how in times of tyranny even a simply appliance can stir up one's fears.