By Garry Pierre-Pierre | The Conversation
When I was in High school, long before there were Haitian nightclubs, most of us Haitians partied at Caribbean spots. I remember rub-a-dubbing to Yellowman and whining to the Mighty Sparrow. We would party in Brooklyn until 5 in the morning and often make a pit stop at Cabana Rodriguez, a restaurant where my friends and I ordered sancocho to blunt the effect of the hangover that we knew would come the next day.
These were fun times and I remember that the competition centered around whether the Haitians would win the heart of the pretty young ladies at the club over our Jamaican and Guyanese counterparts. It was all fun, as we would later meet those same lads on the soccer pitch during summer tournaments.
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