VWA PÈP LA — Pòtoprens, Ayiti
Madi 7 janvye 2030 — Premye paj
LANMÈ A PRAL FÈMEN? PÈP LA AP MONTE MÒN, PRI DIRI A AP MONTE SYÈL
Mesaj ki soti nan wòch yo nan syèl la pale kreyòl klè — savan yo sezi, legliz yo plen, machann yo pa gen repons
Jounalis: Fabiola Désir
PÒTOPRENS — Depi twa semèn, chak 5 minit konsa, yon vwa ap pale nan radyo a. Li pa pale franse. Li pale kreyòl — kreyòl natif natal, san aksan etranje, tankou yon moun Jakmèl oswa yon moun Okap. Epi sa l ap di a fè tout moun pè:
« Dlo yo ki te la anvan nou yo, rivaj yo, syèl la ak espas la entèdi pou nou kounye a: Rale kò nou! »
Nan Pòtoprens, moun pa bezwen okenn savan pou yo konprann. Depi lendi, wout Kenskòf la chaje: machin, kamyon, bèt, moun ap pote matla sou tèt yo. Moun k ap kite Site Solèy, moun k ap kite Kafou, tout moun vle monte mòn, lwen lanmè a. Men peyi a se yon zile — ki kote ou ka ale ki lwen lanmè a vre? Se sa ki fè kè tout moun sote.
Nan mache Kwabosal, pri yon sak diri double depi de semèn. « Machandiz la vini pa bato, » Madan Jesula Pierre, yon machann, di nou. « Si lanmè a fèmen, kote diri a ap pase? Nan syèl la? Syèl la fèmen tou! » Li ri, men se pa yon ri kè kontan.
Gen moun tou k ap fè wout lanmè a menm jan an — kanntè ap pati sou Miyami pi plis pase janm. « Nou konnen yo di lanmè a pral entèdi, » yon jèn gason nan Site Solèy di nou, li pa vle bay non li. « Se poutèt sa n ap pati kounye a, anvan wòch yo rive. » Otorite yo ap mande moun pa fè vwayaj sa yo, men ki otorite? Kominike gouvènman an gen kat fraz; li mande « kalm ak pridans. » Pèp la reponn: kalm ak pridans pa plen chodyè.
Nan legliz yo, se Revelasyon y ap preche. Pastè Josaphat Mérilus, nan Dèlma, di fidèl li yo: « Bondye te sere lanmè a yon fwa deja pou pèp li a te ka pase. Kounye a li sere l ankò — men fwa sa a, se pou nou pa pase. » Men nan yon peristil nan Léogâne, houngan Dieuseul Lamour di nou yon bagay ki fè nou reflechi anpil: « Agwe pa t janm ban nou lanmè a. Se prete li te prete nou li. Granmoun yo te toujou konn sa. Si mèt kay la reklame kay li, se pa vòlè li vòlè — se nou ki te bliye se lokatè nou te ye. »
Nan Inivèsite Leta a, pwofesè lengwistik Marie-Lourdes Estimé fè nou remake yon bagay pèsonn pa ka neye: « Yo pale ak nou an kreyòl. Pa an franse pou kòmanse, ak kreyòl annapre — an kreyòl menm jan ak tout lòt lang, menm lè, menm respè. Gen senkant lang an Afrik, gen lang endyen Amerik yo, gen lang ki mouri depi mil an — yo pale yo tout. Premye fwa nan istwa limanite, pèsonn pa oblije tann tradiksyon. M pa konnen si se zanmi yo ye. Men yo konnen nou egziste. Sa a, se yon bagay nèf. »
Wòch yo ap rive nan fen mwa mas, dapre savan yo. Jouk lè sa a, Vwa Pèp la ap kontinye bay nouvèl la — an kreyòl, natirèlman.
[English translation — for the reader’s convenience; not part of the in-world document]
IS THE SEA GOING TO CLOSE? THE PEOPLE ARE CLIMBING THE MOUNTAINS, AND THE PRICE OF RICE IS CLIMBING TO THE SKY — The message from the stones in the sky speaks clear Creole — scholars stunned, the churches full, the market women without answers.
PORT-AU-PRINCE — For three weeks, about every five minutes, a voice has been speaking on the radio. It does not speak French. It speaks Creole — native-born Creole, without foreign accent, like someone from Jacmel or Cap-Haïtien. And what it says frightens everyone: “The waters that were here before you, their shores, the sky and space are now forbidden to you: Withdraw!”
In Port-au-Prince no one needs a scholar to understand. Since Monday the Kenscoff road is jammed: cars, trucks, animals, people carrying mattresses on their heads. People leaving Cité Soleil, people leaving Carrefour — everyone wants to climb the mountain, away from the sea. But the country is an island — where can you go that is truly far from the sea? That is what makes every heart jump.
In the Croix-des-Bossales market, the price of a sack of rice has doubled in two weeks. “The goods come by boat,” the vendor Madan Jesula Pierre tells us. “If the sea closes, how will the rice come? Through the sky? The sky is closed too!” She laughs, but it is not a happy laugh.
Some are taking the sea road all the same — more boats are leaving for Miami than ever. “We know they say the sea will be forbidden,” a young man in Cité Soleil tells us, declining to give his name. “That is why we are leaving now, before the stones arrive.” The authorities ask people not to make these voyages — but what authorities? The government communiqué is four sentences long; it requests “calm and prudence.” The people answer: calm and prudence do not fill the cooking pot.
In the churches they are preaching Revelation. Pastor Josaphat Mérilus, in Delmas, tells his faithful: “God shut up the sea once before, so that His people could pass through. Now He shuts it again — but this time, so that we do not pass.” But in a peristyle in Léogâne, the houngan Dieuseul Lamour tells us something that has made us think hard: “Agwe never gave us the sea. He only lent it to us. The old people always knew that. If the master of the house reclaims his house, he is no thief — it is we who forgot we were tenants.”
At the State University, linguistics professor Marie-Lourdes Estimé points out something no one can deny: “They spoke to us in Creole. Not in French first with Creole afterward — in Creole the same as every other language, the same hour, the same respect. Fifty languages of Africa, the Indigenous languages of the Americas, languages dead a thousand years — they speak them all. For the first time in human history, no one has to wait for the translation. I do not know if they are friends. But they know we exist. That is something new.”
The stones arrive at the end of March, according to the scientists. Until then, Vwa Pèp la will keep bringing you the news — in Creole, naturally.