Barbara Gloudon

AS some persons (here and abroad) devour their own entrails over President Aristide being allowed by the Jamaican Government to sojourn here while others take his place in Haiti's Presidential Palace, history is repeating itself.

NEWS JUST IN: I have been reliably informed that Gerard Latortue, who has been assigned (not elected) to President Aristide's place as prime minister of Haiti and who has been critical of Jamaica/Caricom allowing Aristide to visit Jamaica, ONCE FOUND REFUGE IN THIS VERY ISLAND. In 1964, when the said Latortue fell out of favour with "Papa Doc" Duvalier and thought it prudent to put space between them, a well-known Jamaican family opened their home to him here in Kingston until he could return to Haiti where he got the protection of the Mexican embassy and left the country. His wife, Ghislaine, was also given hospitality in this very Jamaica. Memory short fe true.

Thanks to Dr Matthew Smith of the Department of History, UWI, and Mrs Eppie Edwards of the National Library, I am reminded that Aristide is not the first deposed Haitian leader to take up refuge here. Turn back the hands of Time and you find in 1859, the Emperor Solouque who declared himself President for Life, then moved on to self-anointment as Emperor, having to take up refuge in Kingston, Jamaica.

Then, there was Fabre Geffrard, another president on the run who found sanctuary here in 1867. His name was eventually affixed to a little street which remains even now as Geffrard Place (where Stanley Motta's headquarters is) to the west of National Heroes Park. And what about Norde Alexsis - circa 1908. He died here after a two-year sojourn. There are others in the saga.

So, we come to Dumarsis Estimé, who came into Kingston Harbour, January 23, 1951 aboard the French liner Colombie. The colonial authorities of the time denied him entry so he and his wife, their young son and daughter, had to remain aboard ship. All other passengers were allowed to disembark while the authorities huddled to consider what next to do.

The reasons for hesitancy was the same as today. Some feared that those back in Haiti who were against Estimé would follow him here and start a war. Estimé responded (according to a report in the Daily Gleaner) "I want to live in peace, where my children can live healthily and where they can be educated." The newspaper reported that as she watched the police question her husband, Madame Estimé wept.

When one Lucien Chauvet, director of the Office of Control and Development of the Haitian Development Corporation, who was then in Jamaica, made representation to bar the Estimés from landing, the police waved him away. Madame Estimé continued to weep, while she hugged her children, the report said (even though the reporter was not on the ship).

Enter Alexander Bustamante. He had been a guest of the Estimés in Haiti not long before. With typical Busta bravado, he spoke so Port-au-Prince could hear. "The Haitian Government should not be allowed to dictate to us. The ex-president should be allowed to land here. If he commits himself while he is a guest in this country, then it will be time to deport him."

Following a meeting of the Executive Council, the police went to the ship and handed President Estimé a letter. He could stay in Jamaica for one month. Busta recommended lodgings at the Melrose Hotel (which was then situated at the top of Duke Street, near Manchester Square). In typical Chief fashion, Busta assured his grateful guests: "You will be protected."

He is further quoted as declaring: "In Jamaica, I too am undesirable to some people. Some people would like to walk on my grave.It is not all the people who regard Estimé as undesirable. And we will not accept what the Haitian Government says, without proof, that the ex-president will cause trouble here."

The Estimés stayed their month, then departed to New York where he was to die of poisoning. The dosage came from home, it was said. How will the Aristide saga end? Does history count for anything?

UNCLE CEPHAS placed his immortal soul in jeopardy by going to Sabina Park last Sunday morning when he should've been in church. He'd wrestled with conscience when he went to secure his means of entrance to Sabina. He'd dutifully filled in the questionnaire, resisting the impulse to respond to the question of his reason for buying the ticket, with the answer "To watch cricket, you fool."

Come Sunday morning, armed with a big cooler of ice and mango-carrot-passion-june plum juice and a discreet flask of the whites (tucked away where his wife and his pastor couldn't see), he made his way early to rendez-vous with bat and ball. Besides the liquid matters, he kept close to his side the insulated bag with hefty slices of roas' pork, two chicken legs, some green gungoo rice and peas, a spot of salad, a couple of rolls and a piece a pudden.potato, that is. He had on his lucky cap and his birthday T-shirt (from his grand-daughter) proclaiming him "SEXY GRANDPA." The man was ready.

And so it came to pass that he settled back in his appointed place for a day of enjoyment. But alas, it was not long before the realisation came that this was not going to be a fine day beneath the Kingston sun. Before the first round of "de ting" could be consumed, a cloud of dismay and disbelief descended on the grounds.

WEST INDIES ALL OUT FOR 47. Massi mi king! "Is a wonder my husband didn't have a coronary, right then and there. If him did drop down dead yuh see, I would sue dem blouse," said his irate wife after Cephas had crept home, a broken man, who climbed into his bed and pulled the covers over his head.

ON MONDAY MORNING, the radio talk shows echoed and re-echoed with angry voices, castigating the West Indies cricketers and crying out for revenge.

"They shoulda have to walk from the hotel in New Kingston all the way to Norman Manley Airport to catch the flight to Trinidad, walk in the hot sun with their luggage on their backs."

"If I did know it was them in the bus with the police escort going by me you see, I woulda block the road, then haul them out of the bus and beat every one with a stick which I have in the trunk of my car."

"Sell-out, I believe something happen, man. You can't tell me that a group of big professional players would turn in that kind of basic school performance. We're not talking about amateur. They're supposed to be professionals and getting good pay too."

The team manager issued an apology for the partying on the Mound by four players, right after they got their butts whipped by the English. However, many in the public were not impressed. "Wha dat good for now? "Sorry" cyan gimme back my money. That gone like Sammy mout. Imagine, I was just coming through Sabina gate, you know, when I hear sey de match DONE. What kinda thing that? Sell-out, mi tell you. Sell-out. Too much corruption in the place."

"Nobody get fire. Nobody pay cut. Damn disgrace. "My cousin a Brooklyn call to say him pay good money to watch the match on close-circuit. By the time he parked his car and went into the hall, the match done. What hurt him is that he coulda stay home and watch basketball, fe free."

"Dem shoulda shame a demself," said a disgusted fan, ripping his ticket to shreds. "You shouldn't tear it up," said another, "You should frame it and hang it on the wall, just like how they hung us out to dry. Ah nuh so cricket suppose fe go."

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