The Haitians Love for Brazilians (when it comes to the World Cup)

by today’s Urban Chameleon contributor

The only thing us Haitians like more than Haitians are Haitians but when it comes to the World Cup, we Haitians are all about Brazilians! For example, have you not seen this youtube clip featuring a bar full of Haitians dressed in the Brazilian colors?

To think that Haitians are just passionate fanatics of the Brazilian National
soccer team would be to overlook the innate connection between Brazilians and Haitian people. Both have in common tragic histories and glorified cultures. To be "pou Bresil" (for Brazil) in Haiti is a birthright and a way of life. And so today, as the Brazilians were handed a one-way ticket back to Rio as a result of the Dutch soccer win, Haiti is in mourning. For many Haitians, the Brazilian elimination marks the second "blow" of 2010. Haitian Facebook statuses read:

“First an earthquake, now this. What have we done to deserve such misery?”

Indeed, the start of the World Cup season and the hope that Brazil would win the cup restored a sense of celebration and excitement across Haiti. Amid crumbled homes and tent cities, the misery of the past six months seemed to fade under the roar of "ole, ole, ole!" So what gives? Well, the Haitian fascination with Brazil is hard to explain. Born in the hay days of the Brazilian soccer phenomenon, Pele, I suppose, Haitians' passion for Brazil can probably best be explained simply as a case of "rooting for your own" ... Or the closest thing to it! Without a qualifying National team of their own, Haitians find comfort in rooting for players who look like them, act like them, and grew up in similar circumstances from them. And so even though Haitians don't speak Portuguese, don't dance samba, and don't eat the Brazilian national dish, Feijoada, once Brazil steps on the field, green and yellow run through Haitian veins. Of course this explanation may be too romantic for some to swallow. Fore the skeptics, another answer may go down easier. Haitians are arrogant and they like to win.

Despite today's defeat, Brazil hold 5 world cup titles. Which means that for a middle-aged Haitian, she/he has had 4years worth of bragging rights 5 times over in their lifetime. That's 20 years of getting to tell the whole world that you’re better than them and for us Haitians (who have swallowed so much), that's a dream come true!

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A Book of Judgment

by today's Urban Chameleon contributor

Coming from the Northside Suburban Chi-town every time I rap with my cousins out in NYC it occurs to me how my mentality is getting more gully and raw, finding my way like some Urban Chameleons rather than just the Token Brotha in suburbia. In attempt to break out of my all white prison, my stance has been shaping up like little Huey from the Boondocks. I’ve taken it as a personal challenge and duty to practice three tenets like some Black Muslim:

1. no pork
2. no alcohol
3. no more white girls

…all this in an attempt to cleanse myself.

So, lately I been two-thirds doing it. No alcohol and no white women … but let’s just say I gotta have that bacon in my morning skillet so I was still workin’ on it.

Anyway, last Saturday my boy asked me to roll with some of his old college friends from Bowling Green and Ohio State. Ratio was right: us 2 and 4 single ladies. We started at Fogo de Chao, a Brazilian churrascaria steakhouse. ‘Nough said, I’m talkin’ sizzling steaks, rib tips, pork chops and everything. If meat and a salad bar is what you need, that place does not, I repeat, does not disappoint. That’s one tenet gone. Next, who would have known, these Ohio broads coming to Chi-town ‘bout to be doin’ it bigger than I usually do. These broads were poppin’ champagne before we even got to our table. My dude looked at me and laughed. We didn't have to say it--willpower wasn’t riding with me. Now I’m cheers-ing saying, “Fuck it, only live once.” That’s two tenets out the way and that conscious brotha and angry Black man jive was on its last breath.

So now we’re eating, cheesing it up, busting each other’s chops. Anyway by 11pm the whole restaurant done seen us young, dressed-to-impress professionals looking like we do this on the regular. Recession what? Not here! Not tonight, at least. (Talk to me on the 1st).

So, it comes up going around the table: “Where you from? Like what nationality?” My boy replies, “Dominican and Puerto Rican.” Homechick #1 replies “Chicana.” (Turns out she works at the restaurant, ended up telling us our $800+ bill was on the house! Straight up? Cheers to you again ma!) Homechick #2 could have been mixed with her curly hair and not so average white girl ass but she missed the question texting her fling, some up-and-coming Black Canadian rapper all night. Homechick #3 was salty all night and not worth mentioning. Me? I get mistaken for pretty much anything black or brown, so of course I had the ladies all surprised when I told them I was Haitian. One deaf one replied, “Asian?” Homechick #4 joked, “Hey, everyone! Meet my Haitian Asian, Jean Chao.” It got a laugh, she gave me a whole backstory too but still had my ass coming to the States on a boat. Ain’t that a bitch!

Any way few more drinks, some dancing out on the town and that third tenet was looking real wobbly cause something bout homechick #4 gave me that vibe. That was until we got to this spot where some cocktail waitress I used to mess with was working. She seen me with the whole butter pecan clique and I could tell she had something on her mind. She just had to be slick! Looked me up and down said, in Creole “Typical Haitian! First white girl give him some rhythm and he forget he a Black man!” At this point, I’m like whatever! I been sippin’ Crown all night! Looking fly in all black with a sharp ass blazer popping off! Shiiit! Damn right I’m feeling like a King. But then, Homechick #4 jumped in outta nowhere. She whispered something in Spanish, like “I’ll squash this.” Then, grabbed my hand and hollered right back at that waitress in Creole, “Yo! Lil’ girl. A Man’s only gonna act like a Man when he’s got a Woman by his side,” As she squeezed my hand a little firmer, she continued, “And that’s a fact, black or white.”

Oh-oh! Qui ca? This girl had me all confused. So now, I’m askin’ questions. Turns out, this girl ain’t white at all she was part French-Canadian, part Haitian on her father’s side, and part Peruvian (by way of Miami) on her mother’s side. Did the Ohio State thing, and now she’s workin’ on the master’s. Damn, well at least I ended up sticking to one tenet out of three ‘cause I was about to fry her ass some bacon and sip mimosas with her in the morning.

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