Gottlieb left gripping testimony of the earthquake39 that devasted Le Cap a year after his arrival, on May 7, 1842. The city had twenty-seven east-west streets crossing at right angles; nineteen north-south streets. The houses had two or three stories. The first floor usually served as a shop or stable. The upper floors were residences.
“I felt terrible anxiety and pain during the ten hours I was stuck under the rubble and beams. My left arm was completely buried, and my body was stuck under the stairs. A big rock on my chest threatened to stop my breathing,” Peter Gottlieb recounted. Nevertheless, he was able to free himself after tremendous effort.
“I finally got around four o’clock in the morning to the beach, where there was a crowd of people, some praying and others crying or screaming of pain from their serious injuries. The city was in total ruin and what had not burnt had been plundered. Indeed, the very first day, bandits appeared from the inner country. They stole everything they could find since military order had disappeared.”
Half of the nine thousand inhabitants of Le Cap perished in the catastrophe. Henri Laroche40, father of Euzélie and grandfather of Joseph, lost two children. Survivors fled to neighboring localities. But a year later, braving their fear, many of them came back. Little by little, Le Cap was rebuilt. Trade resumed gradually. The economy restarted.
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Morning at the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de l’Assomption in Cap-Haïtien, Haiti.
Cap-Haïtien is a port city in the mountainous north coast region of Haiti. It was founded in 1670 by the French and was originally known as Cap-Français. It gained early renown as the “Paris of the Antilles” for its stunning architecture and cultural offerings. It served as capital of Saint-Domingue until 1770 and was the scene of slave uprisings in 1791. The city was razed by French and Haitian troops in 1802 but was later rebuilt under the reign of King Henri Christophe. After the revolution (around 1820), he proclaimed it the capital of the Northern Kingdom of Haiti. Cap-Haïtien was Haiti’s most important city for a long time until Port-au-Prince relegated it to second place. Joseph Laroche was born in Cap-Haïtien, which is often referred as Le Cap or Okap.
Cockfights.
On some afternoons, Joseph attended cockfights in an open-air arena in the outskirts of the city. The gamblers crammed around a circle to watch two gallinaceans furiously trash each other by striking though the feathers with reinforced spurs.
Cockfighting is an ancient spectator sport that can be traced back at least 6,000 years. It was popular in Persia, India, and China, and spread northward into Europe after being introduced to Greece between 524-460, BC. Eventually, colonization and the transatlantic slave trade introduced it to the Western hemisphere. Cockfighting plays a central role in Alex Haley’s novel Roots. In cockfights, specially bred gamecocks are equipped with metal spurs or knives, which are fastened over their natural leg spurs, and are released into a circular ring where they spar off against other gamecocks, often until one of the birds dies from their injuries. Cockfighting is illegal in most of the modern world but is still a popular pastime for many spectators who place bets on the outcome of the fighting matches. As a youngster in Haiti, Joseph often attended cockfights in open air arenas.
While managing her business, Euzélie Laroche did not neglect her son. They had a special bond. First, because he was her only child, and moreover, because he was a boy—her greatest wish—with an origin story similar to her own. When she was born, her father had not acknowledged his paternity, either. However, he’d changed his mind three years later and filed a declaration of paternity in the civil registry. Euzélie knew that Joseph’s father would eventually relent and legally recognize him, one day or another. In the meantime, she made sure her son got the best education possible. She wanted to make him an independent man who would not depend on anyone’s goodwill. She wanted to give him the best chances to succeed in a country where poverty prevailed.
In the beautiful house where they lived in Le Cap, a maid looked after Joseph when Euzélie was absent. When there was no school, it was out of the question to let him hang around outside. Bad habits, the mother feared, are too easily adopted. Of course, it was also out of the question to isolate him from his friends in the neighborhood, all the more because they were from good families. A child must also have fun. Homework did not prevent time for soccer, jacks, or marble games.
The Laroche boy was not, by nature, very talkative. But at the mere mention of marbles, he perked up. He liked to challenge his friends in a good game and make a clean sweep of his opponent’s treasure. Doomed was the one who lost; he’d go home with his head down and swear to take revenge as soon as possible. However, to save face, the loser could redeem himself in a race. The small group rushed forward. Whoever first reached the Hyppolite Bridge that crossed the river was declared the winner. This was not Joseph’s favorite exercise. He was not a gifted sprinter, despite what his pals might have thought. They begged him to let them have a lead; they believed him to have the upper hand because the bridge was built by…a Laroche!
Joseph’s childhood was a time of innocence and freedom from care, a time for discovery and initiation into traditions. Surrounded by his mother and by youngsters his age, Joseph lived an existence that brimmed with the energy, the vitality, the essence of his country.
On some afternoons, he attended cockfights41 in an open-air arena in the outskirts of the city. The gamblers crammed around a circle to watch two gallinaceans furiously trash each other by striking though the feathers with reinforced spurs. “I like when the rooster gets mean,” an old man explained to Joseph, the first time he came. “When two mean roosters face off, that makes for an entertaining fight. It is very interesting to see them switch from defense to attack mode.” He added, “You know, my boy, this is a metaphor for our own Haitian identity.”
Sometimes too, after dark, the Laroche boy attended story-telling evenings, mostly held on Saturdays. Historian Claude Dauphin explains that “stories play a fundamental role in building the Haitian child’s imaginary world. It is inseparable from Voodoo, theater, and music, and sometimes musicians accompany the teller. These stories come alive, thanks to the master storyteller’s virtuosity, and transport the audience to a fantastic, magical world.”
Men, women, and children gathered in a crowded courtyard, standing or seated on the ground. The stories captivated the audience, suspended between past and present. Everyone laughed, exchanged pleasantries, and let go of all worries. “Krik!”42 the storyteller started fervently. “Krak!” the crowd replied right away.
Then began a beautiful journey into the past through stories of Bouki and Malice.43 Through their adventures, crafty animals like Anansi44 and Brother Rabbit45 taught Joseph that, in life, the shrewder ones often win.
But more than the stories and the roosters and the games with other boys, what Joseph Laroche loved above all else were those moments he spent with his mother. Whenever she stepped away from her business, he could enjoy her company. He liked having her all to himself. She congratulated him on his good grades as he excitedly told her about school. On the playground, he explained, other children made fun of him—all on account of his grandfather, believed to have practically populated the whole of Le Cap by himself. Euzélie Laroche burst into laughter, just like every time someone reminded her how extraordinarily fertile her father had been.
Yes, it was true: Henri Laroche was a ladies’ man. He was charming and attractive and was not afraid to try his hand at marriage—over and over. The result? Upon his death, in 1876, he left behind “between twenty-eight and thirty children,” among them Euzélie, and about sixty grandchildren, among them Joseph. It’s become impossible to count the number of Laroche descendants in Le Cap. But as Christina Schutt points out, Henri Laroche never walked away from his responsibilities. “He eventually acknowledged all of his children, something many men did not do at the time in Le Cap, or anywhere else in Haiti. He’d go to City Hall and legally recognize the children in small groups of five. It was quite peculiar.”
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