Stories From Sosua


A riveting soliloquy of an impressionable english traveller’s Hispaniola escape and Sosua’s indelible mark.

Oh Sosua, with your boyish charm and vagrant youth. Struggle has come to know you well. A paradisiacal refuge for gentiles and jews. With your creepy sunsets and hallowing street lights there’s familiarity here too. A brush of danger and equalling excitement. The whiff of herb and disdain. Bouzan, bouzan! Prostitute she defines. An argument turn rhythm in Puerto Plata come evening time.

Alley-ways doused in charcoal and cloudy aromas of sex and slavery. There’s a pain here. An arching, back-bending struggle to survive ache. Stretching below, beneath and in-between the delicate layers of your daughters. There is also relief, a sort of brotherhood, honor among those with much less.

Oh Sosua, I squeeze tightly around your triumphant livity, nestling myself in your evening. A vacation from the greenhouse haze of daily stress. Chalo bar, a watering hole facilitating a Jamaican englishman’s midnight in medellin mess. Steps and stoops decorated in green bottles and broken cigarillos, cornered by night walkers in pink pumps and spanish bitters. Perfect PO for my white salsa shirt, portrait and video.

A  type of celebration that’s all yours. Slow walks back to the tenement reveals your true colors in dusty pinks and a lazy amber. One more day Sosua, one more day to remember.