a ty place
A ty Place
I remember a novel by Graham Greene, “The Consul,” I think.
It was a hard time for the little man under the regime of Doc Duvalier
I was in Port-au-Prince, its capital, and it was a ty place, helped by the USA.
I was a chief steward on a liner, but was too scared by the routine brutality
that hung over the city like a cloud of a toilet not flushed. It was totally corrupt,
agents, guards, and the dreaded Tonton Macute demanding
whisky and cigarettes. I had an intense dislike of the people in power.
It was a hole then, kept like that by the USA, who feared that a socialist
party could take power, bring peace and equality; well, Duvalier
has gone, but the stench from that time still hangs over the country
and will continue to do so as long as it suits the USA.
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