Amid crisis, Haitians find solace in an unlikely place: soup
World
Amid crisis, Haitians find solace in an unlikely place: soup
PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti (AP) — For Wilfred Cadet, buying soup on Sunday is the equivalent of going to church.
Seated on plastic chairs next to a street food stand tucked in an alleyway, the 47-year-old Haitian slurps orange-coloured soup out of a metal bowl next to his 9-year-old son.
Haitians mill past them cradling larger plastic containers, each eager to get a giant spoonful of the stew boiling in two human-sized pots behind them.
Made of pumpkin, beef, carrots, and cabbage – ingredients produced on the island – soup joumou is a cultural staple in Haiti.
And in a moment of deepening crisis in the Caribbean nation, it’s one of the few points of enduring national pride.
To this day, when you mention the soup, Haitians are quick to crack a smile.
“It’s our tradition, our culture. It makes people proud. No matter what happens (in Haiti), the soup is going to stay around,” said Cadet.
During the colonial period, slaves were banned from eating spicy dish and would have to prepare them for French slave owners.
But Haitians claimed soup joumou as their own in 1804 when they staged one of the biggest and most successful slave rebellions in the Western Hemisphere.
The uprising put an end to slavery in Haiti far before much of the region, and the dish gained the nickname “independence soup.”
In 2021 – the same year the country spiralled into chaos following the assassination of its president – the soup was added to UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage List, the first cuisine Haiti has on the list.
“It is a celebratory dish, deeply rooted in Haitian identity, and its preparation promotes social cohesion and belonging among communities,” reads the UNESCO entry.
It’s traditionally eaten on Sunday mornings, and on Haitian Independence Day in early January.
That’s when customers begin filing through a pair of black metal gates into 50-year-old Marie France Damas’ makeshift restaurant at 7:30 a.m.
Tucked behind rows of parked cars, a brick wall with a painted sign reading “Every Sunday: Soup Joumou” and a pile of local pumpkins, Damas labours away over her two big pots just like she has for the past 18 years.
Her husband weaves between plastic tables taking orders while her daughter chops vegetables behind her. It’s a family affair, but Damas is clear.
“I’m the boss of the soup,” she said with a grin.
The business has allowed her to put her children through school and give a good life to her family in a place with some of the highest poverty and unemployment rates in the region.
To each Haitian, the cuisine means something different.
For Cadet and his son, it represents one moment of an escape from the day-to-day pandemonium of Haiti’s capital, Port-au-Prince.
It has also allowed Cadet to pass on a cherished part of Haitian culture at a time when they’re slowly fading away. Celebrations like Carnival that once took centre stage on the island have withered due to deep gang violence tearing apart the nation.
“The violence in the country is making everyone leave, and over time, we’re going to lose a lot of cultural traditions,” Cadet said. “My son, of course, (will go). Right now he doesn’t like Haiti.”
