On February 20, 2025, Frankétienne died peacefully at home, in his bedroom, as he had always wished. The Haitian cultural world is still reeling, and tributes are pouring in.
For its 31st edition, Livres en folie is posthumously honoring the author of Dezafi. And to speak of the man, who better than his partner of fifty-six years, Marie-Andrée Manuel Étienne?
The house with the red walls hasn't really changed. It's been ten years since I've set foot there. It has retained its special charm. With its dozens of paintings, its brightly painted pillars, and its walls tagged with enigmatic thoughts, it has remained frozen in time. The only difference today is that Frankétienne no longer lives there. This time, Ravine Sèche's son doesn't greet me with an outstretched hand, a smile on his lips, and a twinkling, mischievous look. The genius is gone, even if this house is still filled with him. His work is everywhere, of course, but it's his spirit that still shines through the walls he loved so much, according to his life partner Marie-Andrée Manuel Étienne, whom Le Nouvelliste met to talk about him.
Brightly smiling, flirtatious, and vivacious, Marie-Andrée Manuel Étienne is one of those people who doesn't go unnoticed. Even after building a life alongside a man who always knew how to overshadow her, her quiet strength should not be underestimated. Frankétienne owes him a great deal. "I devoted my entire life to him. I gave up a lot for him. But I quickly understood that two artists couldn't live together. I made a choice a long time ago, and I stuck to it to the end." Born in Port-au-Prince on December 5, 1945, Marie-Andrée admits to having a strong temperament, like her late husband. "Franck and I never stopped having arguments. We're not going to fight!" she admits with a sad smile.
It was in 1967 in Bel-Air that the lovebirds met at the "Le Collège des Humanistes" school, where Frankétienne taught. "I wasn't happy when I started there in my final year of high school. "My father forced me to do it. I was always in a bad mood. But Franck and I became friends, and at the end of the school year, something happened, and we fell in love. I left for a while afterward to study abroad, and upon my return, we got engaged. Everything happened quite quickly between us," says Marie-Andrée. "It was during our marriage that we really got to know each other. So much so that, two weeks after we got married, we were met by a judge because we already wanted a divorce due to incompatibility of character," she continues.
Her eyes light up, and her mauve-gray hair trembles with the weight of her nostalgic laughter. "The judge didn't want to, of course. He asked us to try for a month, and if, after that, we still wanted a divorce, he would do it. We never went back to see him again." But that didn't stop Franck from leaving the house thirteen times to go to his mother's. The fourteenth time, it was me who left. He came home and didn't find me. He rushed to my parents' house to beg them to tell him where I was. "Li pa jan m fè sa ankò!" recalls the octogenarian, laughing.
Fifty-six years of living together cannot be forgotten in four months. More than anything, today, Marie-Andrée misses the moments of closeness with her husband, their hours of prayer together, even their constant bickering. "These last few months weren't easy," explains the widow, her gaze distant. "For me, Franck had truly become immortal and unfading, as he loved to say. It was a real shock when he left. I couldn't believe it. The first week after his death, I never managed to sleep." I was suffering enormously... even though I was relieved that he was no longer in pain. I hope every day that he is in the light and that he is well. Happy,” she says.
Their story gave birth to five children and grandchildren, whom Franck adored. “At home, he was a doting father, a loving and present father, who didn't know how to say no. We never lacked for anything; he took good care of us. Even though he was a ladies' man, I didn't care. I took care of my children, and he always came home [in the evening]. I almost got divorced twice, but I consciously stayed for the sake of the children we raised well together. At the very end, he was sad because he said he felt the time approaching when he would no longer see his children and grandchildren,” Marie-Andrée recounts in a raspy voice. This Monday, June 16, 2025, the former schoolteacher sits upright and proud in her lit library. These are the rare mornings when everything is going well for her. Around us, Frankétienne is present in every corner. Among books, manuscripts, and portraits of the man, only a plaque of honor awarded to Marie-Andrée in 2024 lies casually on a chair, a reminder that the genius did not live here alone.
Prolific, Frankétienne never stopped producing, creating, and being inspired. From his earliest childhood until the morning of his death, he was relentlessly driven by the mad passion that characterized him.
