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The taxi driver in Port Au Prince, Haiti, confided: “It is a big secret. Papa Doc Duvalier [the notorious dictator] professes to be a Catholic, but actually practices Voodoo.” “Since it is such a secret,” I said, “how come you know?” “Oh,” he said, taking both hands off the wheel and turning to face us, “everybody knows!”
It was a good beginning for a strange first day in a country where anti-Americanism was seething, a psychiatrist held a ministerial post, grinding poverty flourished as usual among the masses, as did the native talent for making wondrously pulsating, hauntingly colorful paintings. (Later, the janitor in a municipal building took us aside to show us one of his own recent works. Not customarily hasty consumers, we did not hesitate to buy it.)
On the advice of cognoscenti friends, we registered at the old verandered Oloffson, and were invited by Roger Coster, the proprietor, to join him for a drink. We did. He said to me, “Are you a psychiatrist?” “Yes. How did you guess?” “Your eyes.”
It was late in the afternoon. We thanked him for the drink and said we were going to walk down the mountain to the nearby town and drop in at a shop that had been recommended.