Love always,
Estelle
The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant
I was done “giving it time.” It took my mom seeing five doctors and forgetting a piece of a recipe to accept her fate. It took me a little longer, but I had finally arrived at the same conclusion. She had Alzheimer’s, and I wasn’t able to stop the damage it was doing. I refused to spend any more time thinking of curses and madichon, about whether they were real, or only partially real, or fake. For Roseline’s baby’s sake, I did hope it was fake, or at least broken. Perhaps Roseline will one day tell her daughter the story of how Maman saved Papa’s family from a centuries-old curse. Maybe she wouldn’t, because it was no longer a concern of hers. But she would have a better life. It wasn’t my problem.
All I knew was that my mom was here with the brain she had, and I needed to make the most of the little while we had left together. That moment when Roseline went into labor kicked the air from my lungs. And our ride home from the hospital provided the death blow that destroyed any hope I’d developed. Just. Like. That. I spent the next week watching Mom closely, explaining away any difficulty with normal activities or memory lapses as a coincidence. Getting angry that the same things kept happening. My denial was persistent at first. But I can’t ignore it anymore.
Now we were working on the new project I’d suggested. I was still heartbroken, but it felt good to be spending quality time with my mother doing something she loved. Her mind wasn’t gone yet. And when I got back to Miami, I wouldn’t be afraid of awkward silences anymore. Compiling her nuggets of wisdom and all her recipes was something concrete we could do to give us all a little more joy. We would reveal our big idea at my farewell dinner that night with the assorted relatives who couldn’t say no to a free meal (or potential drama), along with my new friends (or more-than): Jason, Marc, and Félicité, whom I—I couldn’t believe it either—would miss.
Wednesday, March 23
Florida Senator Arrested in Shocking International Embezzlement Ring
By Colt Rivers, The Capitol Post
In the end, the allegations of Florida senator Andres Venegas misusing party funds had been grossly exaggerated—padding miles driven to political events for gas reimbursement here, dozens of custom-made Gucci suits written off as expenses there. Nothing unsalvageable.
But in an astonishing twist, federal officials have arrested Venegas for his role in a wide-ranging money-laundering scheme spearheaded by a Wilhelm V. Peeters to fuel Venegas’s reelection efforts. Peeters is far from a household name, but he is known mostly in Caribbean circles as the middle son of a minor crime family in Aruba. Peeters was forced to flee the country eight years ago after divorcing the beloved daughter of the boss of a rival clan.
Often considered the “Fredo” of the family, Peeters escaped with $16 million worth of stolen diamonds, including his ex-wife’s engagement ring, which he often wore around his neck. According to urban legend, the gaudy former amateur bodybuilder invested the money into building his own illicit empire of drug trafficking and online sports gambling in Haiti.
He recently ventured into a new business: app development.
Venegas claimed in interviews that his investment in PATRON PAL, the wildly popular donation platform, was purely innocent. The app was made to connect people who wanted to help indigent Haitians kids but eventually devolved into a shell company as a sink for Peeters’s illegal revenue. Peeters, who had by then adopted the alias Thierry Dieudonne, became so invested that he joined as chief financial officer and moved into an office space in Cap-Haïtien.
“He thought he could have his shady cake and eat it too,” said Tricia Jenkins, creator of Beautiful Brown, a social justice, fashion, and hair care blog that somehow first broke the story. “Homeboy thought he’d prove all his haters wrong and demonstrate he could be a major player and do good on the side, like some deranged Robin Hood.”
“Homeboy” was wrong.
“Peeters set up a super PAC to back Venegas’s first senatorial run as part of his pivot to grow his American influence,” said Nathan Sullivan, a spokesperson for the Justice Department. “Venegas clearly owed him a favor or two and had no choice but to accept the cash funneling into the company.”
No one expected PATRON PAL to reach the heights it climbed. A third of the proceeds went to its “Pals” as promised, but the vast majority funded a jet-set lifestyle of gold-plated pools, private jets, and giant yachts for Peeters and the rest of his “board members.” The $10 million net worth publicly declared by the company was comically underreported. Law enforcement officials are still attempting to come forth with a more accurate estimate but expect it to be several times that.
Jenkins received documents from an anonymous source tying Peeters to Venegas and exonerating Celeste Beauparlant and Estelle Dubois for their roles. CP independently confirmed that employees of the company are being actively investigated. Authorities moved at hyper speed to catch the primary individuals involved and had a major breakthrough when Dubois stepped forward months before to help catch Venegas and Peeters, in exchange for a plea deal to avoid prison. They even staged an arrest at one point when Venegas became paranoid of her loyalty.
“It may not have been the best thing to get involved with them, but Estelle was thinking of the children and how long she’d been trying to secure funding,” Jenkins said in her blog post. “She feared for her safety and worried about the kids who would lose their ticket to school and a better life. This would lead anyone to react to Venegas the way Celeste did on that infamous Sunday morning. She was trying to protect her sister.”
Perhaps the two sisters had insight into their childhood friend’s psyche and what led him to make those poor decisions. We may never know. As the media world erupted in a firestorm over unconfirmed rumors of Beauparlant fighting Alzheimer’s, focus on Venegas waned. But the politician, often listed as a top pick on the annual “DC’s Cool” list for his penchant for recalling nineties rap lyrics, hid a dark demeanor behind his amiable persona.
“He was obsessed with winning,” one congressional aide said. “On election night, instead of celebrating with his family and team, he spent three hours locked in his office brainstorming ways to stay in office.”
Said another, “Even at his highest point before any of this went down, he thought it was only a matter of time before all his power disappeared.”
Perhaps Venegas was onto something, because his prediction came true.
Friday, March 25
From: Alaine Beauparlant
To: Tatiana Hippolyte
Subject: Eat, Slay, Love
Guess who has a summer mother-daughter trip in the works?!
MEET ME IN THE HAITIAN SUN
Itinerary
Celeste and Alaine:
Get ready for the experience of your lives on the island of Tortuga. You will dine, dance, and explore all the beauty Haiti has to offer. We are pleased to be your guide.
Wednesday, June 8 -Night of Departure: 8:00 p.m.–11:00 p.m. Welcome Party
Head over to the Boyer Ballroom after dropping off your belongings in your suite for an evening of fun. Dress code is semi-formal masquerade. Bring an appetite and mask. Become someone else for the night!
Thursday, June 9 -At Sea
Enjoy the time you’ll be on this ship, because it’s the most you’ll have for the remainder of your journey with us. Take advantage of the open bar, karaoke, and all-you-can-eat buffet.
Friday, June 10 -Tortuga
Visit the rebuilt city of Cayona, slip your toes into the deep white sand, and then go rock climbing on its highest mountain peak.
Saturday, June 11 -Gonaïves
Haiti’s “Independence City” has a world of patriotic landmarks to explore. You might as well start at the beginning, which is near Lacrois. It is in this city Jean-Jacques Dessalines declared Hait
i’s sovereignty.
Sunday, June 12 -Jacmel
The south doesn’t get enough love. Start at Place Toussaint Louverture, Jacmel’s town square, and visit the galleries showcasing some of Haiti’s most expansive artists. Stop at a nineteenth-century town house for a cup of coffee before leaving from the Port of Jacmel.
Ou retounen, tande?
You come back now, you hear?
Tuesday, March 29
POTLUCKTICS
A BLOG BY CELESTE BEAUPARLANT
Welcome to POTLUCKTICS
Dear Everyone,
Thank you. Thank you for sticking with me and sticking up for me. My life has been a haze for quite some time now.
When I would poke my head out of the ditch it was hidden in, I’d catch a glimpse of support from one of you and know that I was going to be okay. Then I’d bury my head back in the sand, not yet ready to acknowledge everything that has occurred in these few short months.
Love and trust can trick you into doing difficult things. I know that firsthand. And after you determine what you are willing to do for those you love, that decision doesn’t lie there, dead. It eats at you, gnawing at your ear and whispering until you acknowledge it. You can imagine how that could drive anyone to extreme measures, even something as radical as assaulting a man on live television. [Editor’s note from Alaine, awesome-sauce daughter and verbal blog post transcriber extraordinaire: she’s a little rusty with the metaphors, people, please bear with us.]
And what you’ve heard is true: I have early onset Alzheimer’s and am dealing with what that means each day.
Thank you to Tricia Jenkins over at Beautiful Brown for being kind enough to share with me the list of people who signed her petition to get me back on the air. [Editor’s note from Alaine, awesome-sauce daughter and verbal blog post transcriber extraordinaire: Seriously, Tricia, you’re incredible, keep being you, boo.]
I wanted you all to be the first to know, because you continued to believe in me, even in the moments I didn’t believe in myself.
I’m not returning to GNN. Journalism is a calling that I answered more than twenty years ago. It was loud and incapable of being ignored. I didn’t want to admit it, but I haven’t heard that voice in a while. This extended vacation has cleared my doubt and made it easier to accept that TV news is no longer my passion at this juncture in my life.
Instead, I have filled my days with food. As other things slipped away from me, my favorite recipes stayed mostly put in my mind. At least, they are now. Who knows for how long?
When I woke up the first morning I returned to my childhood home in Cap-Haïtien, I nearly floated from my room to our stove. My sister is very organized and her pantries are stocked with every ingredient you could think of and tools one might need in any context. I made a cinnamon porridge that morning and I knew I still “had it” as her chef smiled warily at me when he took the first bite. I began a list of all the things I loved to make and another list of dishes I’ve never tried to prepare before. My daughter, Alaine, suggested I share my journey with you. [Editor’s note from Alaine, awesome-sauce daughter and verbal blog post transcriber extraordinaire: the phrase I used specifically was “you should totally blog about getting your ‘Julie & Julia’ on”.]
But really, I do this for her, so a piece of me that she hasn’t known growing up outside the public face will be here with her even when I no longer am.
This is how POTLUCKTICS came to be and I hope you’ll join me on this journey.
And while I may no longer be on GNN, I’ve told people’s stories on camera for so long that I don’t know if my vanity could keep me away from lenses, lights, and a screen forever. I’ll have a YouTube channel, where you can catch me giving advice on everything from how to whip the stiffest possible meringue peaks to step-by-step directions for baking my regionally famous spiced rum butter loaf cake. I’m excited. I know that one of the many side effects of this disease is that I will eventually forget the things and people that have brought me much joy in my life. I will continue to share my stories and the stories of others for as long as I can.
Last thing—I’d like to thank Alaine for her support. [Editor’s note from Alaine, awesome-sauce daughter and verbal blog post transcriber extraordinaire: I did NOT make her do this, I promise.]
I see so much of myself in her but on much better shoulders. Such public displays of affection to most teens (including me at this age) would’ve been met with chagrin, but she thrives on it. Alaine, don’t ever change. I would be remiss to not thank my younger sister, Estelle, whom I literally see myself in. Thank you as well to my ex-husband, Jules, for bringing me back to our happy (and often frustrating) place.
All the best,
Celeste Beauparlant
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
Office of Admissions
Dear Alaine,
Congratulations! On behalf of Columbia University, I would like to formally invite you to join us as a member of our incoming freshman class.
We believe your passion, intelligence, and academic success make you a perfect candidate to thrive on our campus. The professors you will learn from in your courses and the connections you will make with your fellow students will stay with you for a lifetime.
We are especially proud to accept you as one of our first Innovative Interlude program fellows and look forward to hearing of the great work you will accomplish in your gap year. Rebuilding and refocusing PATRON PAL from the bottom up with your aunt after the very eventful year it’s had is a daunting challenge, but one we are confident you can successfully undertake. We are excited to witness its rebirth—or the creation of an entirely new venture!
Enclosed you will find additional information on the Interlude program and financial aid options, with more resources forthcoming. In the meantime, we await your decision!
Sincerely,
Katie Sanders
Dean of Admissions
PART X
PA BLIYE’M
(FORGET ME NOT)
Friday, April 1
The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant
Dear Sister Wagner,
Sis.
We know each other pretty well by now. Can I call you Patty?
Patty, if you’re reading this, you’ve made it to the end of my assignment—or skipped to the end, which in that case, shame on you.
I’m not sure if you’ll ultimately be content that I Learned A Lesson or more disappointed because of the way things went down. In case you’re wondering, yes, I did pass that stuff along to Tricia (you don’t know me well AT ALL if you didn’t think that once I heard Jason mention he was deleting things off Thierry’s computer that I wouldn’t get my fave intern to restore what he could and give me the goods).
Roseline’s baby is healthy and Roseline seems happy as a mom, and though I bear her no ill will, I have no desire to see her ever again. My dad is more shattered than he’s letting on about my mom. Tati Estelle is still my aunt, but it will be a good while until I feel the way I once did about her. I hope we get there though, especially since we’ve adopted the same goal of fixing PATRON PAL.
My mom...well, she has the best attitude, considering. I’m looking forward to continuing Getting to Know Her. I’ll never stop.
My Best Wishes, and May You Have Many More Students as Awesome as Me to Keep Things Interesting,
Alaine Beauparlant
* * *
Authors’ Note
We always said we’d write a book together.
Our parents were of the strict immigrant variety who took us and our two younger sisters to the library on weekends and forbade watching television on weekdays. All we had were our imaginations, our books, and each other.
We wouldn’t actually get around to starting and finishing an entire story—this story—until years later. (It took being locked in the ho
use, removed from work and school responsibilities, and awaiting the arrival of a category 4 hurricane.) That storm thankfully never made it to Miami, but the words to share Alaine’s tale did.
Oh, Alaine.
She came to us so clearly. Before we knew exactly what her story would be, we knew her. Alaine was smart and sassy, quick-witted and sarcastic. A young woman with a lot to say who was just crying out to be heard. She used humor as a way to communicate with others as much as she used it as a shield to prevent them from getting too close. A first-generation Haitian American who didn’t quite know her place as a member of either culture, Alaine had equal parts of us both but was also her own person. And as we wrote Dear Haiti, Love Alaine, the world that would shape Alaine’s character fell into place around her.
We relished the opportunity to incorporate so many of the idiosyncratic experiences and superstitions that we grew up with. While we didn’t include them all, the more we wrote, the more we realized that so much of our lives were made up of moments that people who aren’t Haitian American would be able to relate to as well.
We couldn’t wait to share parts of our culture with others who might not have been exposed to it before. But we especially wanted this story to be for the kids who grew up like us, the countless individuals who don’t always see themselves reflected in stories that are not solely focused on suffering and strife. We wanted an adventure that hearkened to the specificity of our culture but also left room for Alaine to find a place that was all her own.
Writing with a sister has been a (mostly) seamless process. The only official rule we had was passion always won out. Though we were typically on the same page on what would, well, go on the page, there were times we would reach a creative impasse. In those cases, whoever was most passionate about her plot point and made the best argument got her way. We think Dear Haiti, Love Alaine is much better for it.
Dear Haiti, Love Alaine Page 28