There in that small café...
In the nineties, there was a small café in Otrobanda that still evokes warm memories for many: Klein Kwartier. I lived right behind it at the time, and I still remember the liveliness around that little café well.
In the heart of a working-class neighborhood, the weekly happy hour created a special dynamic.
Lawyers and accountants gathered in the small square, their ties already half undone due to the tropical temperatures. As they raised their glasses, children ran between the groups chasing their ball. In the side streets, you could see the mothers sitting on the pavement in front of their houses, keeping an eye on their children. And of course, they missed nothing of what was happening in the square.
It was such a typical Curaçao scene where different worlds met very naturally.
That streetscape has disappeared. Where the café once stood, there is now a city hotel. The neighborhood has changed, become safer, and there is more employment. All wonderful of course, but sometimes it's lovely to daydream, back in time.
From Klein Kwartier to Klein Kwartier
A few years ago, I discovered on old maps that the green area behind us is also called Klein Kwartier. That immediately brought back warm memories to me.
A name for our new rooftop terrace was quickly found.
When I proudly showed a friend our new rooftop terrace, he looked at the nameplate and exclaimed in indignation: ‘Hey, you've stolen the name of our little café!’
Well, stolen... If anyone had a right to that name, it was us, wasn't it?
A thousand orange trees and two mischievous boys
And while the name Klein Kwartier in Otrobanda mainly evokes memories of the café, there is a history behind our house that goes back much further.
The estate we are looking at looked very different a hundred years ago. Around 1900, the Senior family planted as many as a thousand Laraha orange trees there. The peels of those oranges were used for a famous liqueur. Yes, the one from Blue Curaçao!
In the thirties, two boys found their playground here. They played hide-and-seek among the trees and sought relief from the rain in the water by the dams.
Their names were Jan Jacob Beaujon, later governor of Sint Maarten, and Boelie van Leeuwen, one of Curaçao's best-known writers.
The orange trees have disappeared. The boys have since passed away, but the stories remain.
And now?
And now there is a rooftop terrace called Klein Kwartier. Sometimes, when I daydream across the green fields, I see the two boys playing among the orange trees again.
Until the screaming parrots cruelly bring me back to the present.
The birds have meanwhile taken the highest word. Flamingos fly past at sunset and sometimes even a white owl pays a visit. The latter, incidentally, seems to pay little attention to our presence.
And when I'm sitting there with a drink, I sometimes think about that little square in Otrobanda, where children played football among the lawyers.
Two places with the same name, and yet so different. But in my memories, they will forever be intertwined.
And that stolen name? We're keeping that one.
Want to know more about those special oranges? Then also read my story about Blue Curaçao (English version).
Dushi Dia🌴
