The free-rider problem

In France, to make a call with pay-as-you-go phones, you pay. To receive calls, you don't. And since there's no individual mandate to force people to buy credit, the bulk of the expenses go to chumps like me who pay to have credit on their phones, while other get a virtually free ride where they call, hang up, and wait for the person to call them back. grrr

Wasted day

Today I feel like I did nothing, even though I know in my head that that wasn't exactly true. I went to see the Haitian priest, who said he wouldn't be available for another week. While I was there, he introduced me to another potential interviewee, so that was good. Then, I met a speaker of the local creole and I spoke to him for a bit, and gave him my number. And of course, while I was speaking to him in his own language (badly, but he clearly understood me), he responded to me in English, because no one will speak to me in the local creole, and, based on what I read before coming here, I'm 90% sure it's because I'm white. The Haitians don't care; even if they think it's weird that I speak Haitian Creole, they like it and they respond in it. But the power dynamics between the races are not the same here as in Haiti. Nonetheless, I have met a couple of people here who have told me they'll introduce me to their French Guianese friends, so I'm still holding out hope.

Later, while waiting for Jorge to arrive so I could serve as his interpreter at the clinic, a woman from my building came home from the market with way too much stuff, so I helped her carry it up to her room, and we were chit-chatting and it turned out she was Haitian and will be having a party tomorrow night with a few of her friends, to which I am cordially invited (and where I will be recruiting).

Then Jorge and I went early to his doctor's appointment, and waited a very long time for a 5 minute meeting, that was not particularly helpful or informative. Then we had a long bus ride home (apparently if you ride to the end of one line you have to pay again to go back; who knew?)

Tonight there is a salsa festival, which I'll probably go to briefly before heading home to do some work.

My first interview

I woke up this morning planning to call my interviewer in the afternoon to see if he’d found anyone to do an interview with next week. Instead, Jorge took me to see his Haitian friend—who, it so happens, was the husband of the woman who cooked us that deliciously fattening dinner last week— and I ended up calling the interviewer to do one tonight. I had everything planned: I would meet him in front of the cathedral, near Jorge’s friend’s house, and we would discuss beforehand the topics to be covered, and then he would do the interview in the friend’s house while I observed, so I could do some quality control for later interviews. And, as so often occurs in field research, the plans got modified on the spot. The interviewer went directly to the house, and although I showed him the topics, he also recited them to the other person, and then handed them back to me, at which point I became the interviewer. The interview also took place outdoors at their request because it was too hot indoors. And since they both knew what I wanted to talk about, we almost covered all the subjects in the first 10 minutes. Luckily I was able to stretch the conversation, get them talking at length about the different topics I had in mind, and even got to hear them speak a little of the local creole with someone they knew who came and harassed them for money. It wasn’t quite the experience I expected, but I did get a lot of what I was looking for, despite my American-ness, which might prove to actually be more of an asset than a hindrance down here.

After the interview, the friend accompanied me most of the way to my house, since he was headed in the same direction, and we came across a Haitian friend of his. I said to her the four magic words that seemingly catch every Haitian off-guard when I say them: “Ki jan ou ye?” (How are you?). We ended up talking for a bit, and she said she’d call a Haitian friend of hers and that they’d do an interview together. So, with one-third of my trip already completed (!), the ball is rolling and things look to be mostly on track. I still haven’t gotten together with an informant to test a few things in the local creole (as well as increase my general conversational ability), but I have plenty of resources to consult in the library while I wait for the Haitian priest to be available again (he is a busy busy man) to give me the names and numbers of his French Guianese friends.

My first meal from the local cuisine

For lunch, I treated myself to my first meal from French Guianese cuisine: Ti Nain Queue de Cochon, i.e. pig tail (though I’m pretty sure the meat was not actually the tail of the pig, given the size of the chunks). It tasted good, though the fat-to-meat ratio was way too high, and I felt a bit cheated in terms of protein. The plantains in it were good, and I don’t think I’d ever eaten plantains that still looked like bananas even after they were peeled and cooked. It also was juuuust spicy enough to have some kick but to not leave me gasping for water. I followed the meal with a small scoop of guava sorbet. It was really good.

Pitaya

So, this morning’s food experiment was the pitaya. The outside itself was reason enough to buy it, as its bright colors and leafy exterior would make Carmen Miranda proud.


When I cut open the inside, it revealed a white flesh with seeds galore. Its taste was sweet but surprisingly mild. I guess I expected a fruit with such a bold exterior to have an equally bold flavor. Its texture was like that of a ripe melon, easy to eat with a spoon. I’d gladly buy it again if it did not cost 7€ a kilo (about $5.00/lb). It can be a treat, but not a staple food like my bananas.

The statue at the entrance to the city

A while back, I posted a photo of the entrance to the city and showed how it was next to a McDonald’s. Yesterday I got a closer look at the statue and found that it was really honoring not the Amerindian heritage of the city (which is basically gone), but rather the three founding populations of the French Guiana colony: European, African, and Amerindian (the large Asian population came later, in the mid-nineteenth century during the gold rush).

Watch your step!

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve almost fallen on my face walking around this city. Part of it is just the basic disruption of pavement or cobblestone that occurs everywhere, but oftentimes it’s a gap that’s there on purpose, as in this flood sewer on the side of Place des Palmistes, in the bottom photo.