I Hate Cricket But I Love Fire in Babylon
Posted: October 4, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Fire in Babylon, Trinidad and Tobago Film Festival 1 CommentHate might be a strong word, so lets just say I never became a cricket fan even though my mother stayed up all night listening to West Indies matches in whatever time zone they played.
I know. A Caribbean person who does not like cricket. Blasphemy. Just last week, when Trinidad and Tobago lost by one run in a match during the current T20 series in Pakistan, there was an uproar from the conference room where everyone in the office was huddled around the television. I continued working through the match, and just so I wouldn’t seem like I was from a different planet, asked if we had won when colleagues started streaming back to their desk.
Imagine my surprise that I absolutely loved a documentary about cricket. Fire in Babylon, one of the films at the Trinidad and Tobago film festival, tracks the glory days of West Indies cricket. The story of the team’s rise in the mid-1970’s to dominate cricket for almost two decades made me want to cheer out loud.
The documentary opens with the West Indies’ crushing loss to Australia in a 1975-1976 test series. This prompts team captain Clive Lloyd to counter the Australian’s aggressive style of play by recruiting equally fierce fast bowlers to complement talented batsmen like Viv Richards. After beating England and others, the West Indies meets Australia again several years later. In true movie script style, the underdogs are now victorious. This cemented West Indies’ dominance, and the film ends noting that the West Indies did not lose a single test series from 1980 to 1995.
The historical and political subplot is just as compelling as the cricket storyline. Early in the film, the backdrop is set through vintage footage and interviews with players, historians and social commentators. Several Caribbean islands had recently gained independence, the black power movement was alive and well, and the wave of Caribbean immigrants in England was received with a less-than-warm welcome. The calypso cricket team, as they were called in the British press, were good for entertainment but could never be skilled at the aristocratic game inherited from their colonizers. Cricket, and the team’s effort to play on a level playing field, became a form of protest and an expression of Caribbean pride, identity and unity. When the West Indies defeated England for the first time, they earned the grudging respect of their former masters.
There are other interesting stories about the players’ stand against the West Indies Cricket Board for fairer pay, and the life-changing decision by some players to play — or not play — in South Africa during the era of apartheid sanctions. Rounding out the entertainment is music by performers from throughout the region and colorful commentary from groundsmen at playing fields.
If I had such a good time, I can only imagine what a thrill this film must be for the many cricket fans in the Caribbean.
This was just one of many interesting options at this years film festival, which featured movies and documentaries from throughout the Caribbean and Latin America on a wide range of topics. I hope I have time to discover more treasures before the festival ends.
Republic Day
Posted: September 25, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Freetown Collective Leave a commentRepublic Day, public holiday number 3 in the five weeks that I’ve been here, fell on a Saturday and, other than some businesses being closed, felt like any other Saturday. The market was closed so I got to sleep late, and I didn’t buy the roti I was craving because Dobsons was closed, but I still managed to do groceries and get a manicure.
Trinidad became a republic on August 1, 1976, fourteen years after independence, but celebrates Republic Day on September 24, the date when the first parliament met under the new republican constitution. Reflecting on the fact that I was a toddler when the country took this final step to sever constitutional ties with the British monarchy reminded me how young we are in nation building. It also made me think about whether the voices of the people are actually reflected in decisions during these challenging times.
With its themes of self-determination, it seems fitting that I saw Freetown Collective, spoken work artists and musicians on Republic Day. The group, with its neo-soul meets rapso vibe, performed at Drink wine bar to a packed audience of mainly the artsy crowd with natural hair, flowing clothes and funky jewelry. The soft lighting and comfy sofas at Drink were the perfect backdrop for the smooth harmonies, catchy hooks and uplifting messages of lead lyricist Muhammad Muwakil.
The positive energy was contagious as the group sang about love, racism, freedom, struggle and self-respect, in a tone that was more hopeful than rebellious. Accompanied by guitars, bass and drums, the audience swayed and sang along to anthems like “They cant empty me with their MTV. Tell BET they could beat it. I wanna see me on the TV.” and “If they wont open the door, we wont come knocking. Not anymore. Were sons of the King.” Keegan Maharaj added spoken word that was sometimes raw, sometimes funny, but always thought provoking.
I also enjoyed the intimacy and comfortable rapport Muhammed created with the crowd. His granny and sister were in the audience, and he gave frequent shout outs to others who had been supportive. The most touching moment came when he paid tribute to Pat Bishop, an icon in local performing arts who recently passed away, by asking audience members from her choir, the Lydian singers, to harmonize with him.
The collective earned itself a new fan. Check out Freetown Collective:
My Very Own Barrel
Posted: September 18, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized 1 CommentAlthough I had other options, and friends from non-Caribbean cultures assured me they had never heard of shipping things in barrels, I had to use a barrel to get the bulk of my things to Trinidad. That’s just what you do. It made me wonder . . . why do Caribbean people ship things in barrels?
Cousins and friends whose parents migrated and left them in the care of grandparents, uncles and aunts got regular barrels stuffed with new clothes, shoes and toys. Barrels also held food and household essentials but those were simply bubble wrap to my 6-year old self. Although I was not a barrel child, I remember the excitement of unpacking the barrel at my grandmother’s house, inhaling deep breaths of new smell and daydreaming about the wonderland that produced all of this fancy stuff.
That was only part of my attachment to the barrel. After being unpacked, the barrel with my grandmother’s name and address scrawled on the side became a piece of furniture. The large cylinder with its sturdy cardboard walls doubled as a storage unit for Christmas curtains, and if you put a doily on top, it was also a dressing table.
It was only as an adult that I came across studies about “barrel children,” a term coined by sociologists who documented the sometimes negative consequences when children were separated from parents because of migration. Our culture of extended family childcare afforded many the flexibility to seek opportunities abroad, and in turn provide economic support to entire families, but sometimes at a cost to children who missed out on parental nurturing, discipline and emotional support.
This deeper context of the barrel was far from my mind when I made arrangements with Laparkan shipping. For the first time ever, I was going to ship my very own barrel . . . to myself. At $70US a barrel, with no weight restrictions and holding more than two suitcases, it seemed an efficient way to ship clothes, shoes and a year’s supply of shampoo and lotion. The only downside is that it took a month to get here, and I packed my silver heels so I had to get a new pair of shoes to wear to my friend’s wedding.
On Friday, I went to the port to clear my barrel. It took several hours to move through booths that housed the shipping company, port office and customs office. At each window, in addition to waiting, there was a lot of signing and stamping forms. Along the way, van drivers approached asking if we needed “transport,” and I left it to my dad to negotiate the price. His cry of “oh gosh, you go break meh” got us the lowest price from a man workers at the port called Monkey. At the final stage, we jostled to get the forklift driver to put my barrel onto Monkey’s van.
It was pouring when the van pulled up to my home, so I gave Monkey a little extra money for having to wrestle my barrel inside in the rain. I immediately unpacked my barrel. It was just as exciting as I remember, even though I knew exactly what was inside, not because they were shiny and new, but because they were mine and useful. My barrel came right on time because I had just run out of contact lens solution.
Samaan, Strollers and Other Savannah Species
Posted: September 5, 2011 Filed under: Daily Life, Places Leave a commentMy workout routine went out the window in the weeks before I left Miami as I frenetically sorted life and work into three piles: store, take and give away. My usual running, yoga and kickboxing simply didn’t fit. Now that I am getting settled, and eating heavy home cooked food, it’s time to find my exercise groove. So, of course, it has to include the Savannah.
Everyone in Port of Spain and its suburbs who wants to stay fit, at some point, goes around the Queen Park Savannah, a 260 acre park with a 2.2 mile perimeter that is reputed to be the largest roundabout in the world. But the Savannah is so much more. It is a vibrant beloved character that features prominently in the life of the city, with multiple personalities depending on the time of day or year.
The one constant is its scenic beauty, the outer ring of towering Poui and Samaan trees, lush green hills emerging to the north, the Hollows in one corner with its picturesque rolling landscape, a view of the nearby botanical gardens, and the architectural wonder of mansions built in the early 1900s that still inspire awe despite the run down state of some.
After making the all-important decision, morning or evening, my cousin and I decide we are more likely to be consistent if we run before work. We meet at 5:30 am, late enough to get the soft light of daybreak, but before the blazing sun that settles overhead by 8. The country stirs early so, even at the crack of dawn, we have already missed those who come out at 4.
We start off with a steady jog but, in an effort to rebuild our stamina, take frequent walking breaks. We say “good morning” as we pass fellow AM Savanahites, some casual runners like ourselves, but others of very different stripes. The hard-core runners sprint by us, seemingly organized in packs of 4-5, with toned calves and cycle shorts that reveal just a little too much. A cousin of the hard-core runners is my personal favorite, Mr. Diesel, with his finely sculpted body who insists on running bareback and detours to jog up Lady Chancellor hill just to show off. As I breeze by, I admire the abs trying not to look too obvious.
We come across two types of walkers. The speed walkers, elbows pumping back and forth, lips pursed, determined to break a sweat. Then there are the strollers, mainly retirees who come out just as much for physical activity as for the companionship and ole talk. Every now and then someone who should be with the seniors whizzes by me and, out of shame, I grudgingly pick up my pace. The species that I still haven’t figured out though is the sunrise limer, casually sprawled out on a Savannah bench at 6 o’clock in the morning. As I run by, one soots “pssssiit, dhalin, supahwoman,” referring to the trademarked S on my blue t-shirt. Really? You left your house this early to do what? Well, at least they provide some entertainment.
After my lap, during which I rotate between chit chat, people watching and meditation, I hydrate with some fresh coconut water. What a great way to start the day.
Eid Mubarak
Posted: September 1, 2011 Filed under: Public Holidays Leave a commentI’ve been here for two weeks and already had my second public holiday. Sweet. I always knew there were a lot of holidays, but now that I work here, I have a reason to check the calendar. There are 14 holidays, in addition to carnival Monday and Tuesday, which are not official holidays but good luck finding any businesses open. We end up with at least one, sometimes two, days off from work in ten months of the year. The real prize though is figuring out which holidays fall on a Friday, Sunday or Monday, so that you can plan a long weekend getaway.
Today is Eid-ul-fitr, marking the end of the holy month of Ramadan during which Muslims around the world observe fasting, prayer and sacrifice. Eid begins with morning prayers, at mosques that are filled to capacity, followed by donations of food and money to the poor, and visits to friends and family for food and the exchange of gifts.
Approximately 5.8 percent of the population is Muslim, most descendants from Indian indentured servants who came to the island between 1845 and 1917. Although the vast majority of indentured servants were Hindu, there is a significant and vibrant Muslim community in Trinidad. When I visit friends who live near a mosque, I find the call to prayers that can be heard throughout the neighborhood five times a day a comforting reminder, not just of the time of day, but of my own faith.
For the rest of Trinidad, Eid is one of the many public holidays that reminds us of our rich diversity. Because we had two holidays this week, the last week of summer vacation, many people also took Friday off for an extended vacation in Tobago, down the islands or the coastal parts of the country before children return to school. In my own form of fellowship, I did a yoga class with friends this morning and visited family.
Happy Independence Day
Posted: August 31, 2011 Filed under: Public Holidays Leave a commentTrinidad gained independence from Great Britain on August 31, 1962.
Today is the first of fourteen official public holidays during the next year. Independence Day celebrations include a military parade in the morning, presentation of national awards and fireworks, which were canceled this year because of the curfew, as well as a host of usual holiday activities including family sporting events, beach and river limes and private gatherings.
On a day when patriotism runs high and many don their red, white and black, I thought I would share one of my favorite childhood songs, Portrait of Trinidad sung by Mighty Sniper in 1965, and an excerpt from the Independence Day Speech of Dr. Eric Williams, often called the “Father of the Nation” who served as the first Prime Minister of Trinidad and Tobago from independence until his death in 1981:
Soldiers at the Independence Day Parade
Democracy means the obligation of the minority to recognise the right of the majority. Democracy means responsibility of the Government to its citizens, the protection of the citizens from the exercise of arbitrary power and violation of human freedoms and individual rights. Democracy means freedom of worship for all and the subordination of the right of any race to the overriding right of the human race. Democracy means freedom of expression and assemble of organization.
All that is Democracy. All that is our Democracy, to which I call upon all citizens to dedicate themselves on this our Independence Day. This is what I meant when I gave the Nation its slogan for all time: Discipline, Production, Tolerance. Indiscipline, whether individual or sectional, is a threat to democracy. Slacking on the job jeopardizes the national income, inflates costs, and merely sets a bad example. The medieval churchmen had a saying that to work is to pray. It is also to strengthen our democracy by improving our economic foundations.
* * *
Whatever the challenge that faces you, from whatever quarter, place always first the national interest and the national cause. The strength of the Nation depends on the strength of its citizens. Our National Anthem invokes God’s blessings on our Nation, in response to those thousands of citizens of all faiths who demanded God’s protection in our Constitution.
Let us then as a Nation so conduct ourselves as to be able always to say in those noblest and most inspiring words of St. Paul, “By the Grace of God we as people are what we are, and His Grace in us hath not been void.”
Excerpted from Eric E. Williams Speaks: Essays on Colonialism and Independence, Independence Day Address, Edited by Selwyn R. Cudjoe.
Great Race Nostalgia
Posted: August 30, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized Leave a commentLast weekend was Great Race, a 93 mile speed boat race from Trinidad to Tobago, and a rite of passage for many teens. No, aspirations of fame and fortune from racing boats are not the hoop dreams of Trini children. In fact, even though I have been to “Great Race” several times, this was the first time I ever caught a glimpse of the actual race.
Great Race speed boats, well more like their wake
Every summer, hordes of young people, giddy with the freedom from parental control that comes after O’Levels, flocked to Tobago during Great Race for the weekend of a lifetime. Crammed into guesthouses near Store Bay, our days were filled with treks to and from the beach, animated all-fours card games, crab and dumplings for lunch, and non-stop liming. The highlight of the weekend was the all night parties on Pigeon Point beach, blasting dub classics from Shabba and Buju, and possibly ending with an early morning swim or someone being left asleep on the beach.
Apparently that was too much revelry for the organizers of the Great Race. In recent years, they changed the weekend of the race, and there is now a different Great Fete weekend in Tobago that attracts partying teens. Race organizers also changed the start and finish point, to Hyatt and Scarborough respectively, so that spectators on both islands have better vantage points to see the race.
In Trinidad, the largest crowds gathered on the promenade near the Hyatt, while others lined the Foreshaw from the look out point all the way to the fish market. I watched from behind the Westshore hospital with just a few other other people. My sighting of the boats was over in minutes, but my memories of Great Race will last forever.
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Market Day
Posted: August 28, 2011 Filed under: Daily Life Leave a commentWith sneakers to withstand black puddles and my crocus bags, I went to the market with my aunt and uncle who go religiously every Saturday at 6 am to get their pick of the freshest produce. Although the tradition of going to market may be dying among some younger people, I love the market, even with its rancid smells and the din of haggling, cussing and car horns.
There is something about the ordered chaos that makes me feel like part of some exciting shared enterprise. My aunt and uncle have their favorite vendors for particular items. When I started touching tomatoes where my aunt purchased plantains, she whispered that she usually gets tomatoes in the back. We repeat the same routine at every stall. “What a pound for the bananas?” then painstakingly inspect each one to make sure it is just right, throw in a gratuitous comment about it being so expensive or old-looking, and only then can the vendor put it on the scale and call out the price. My clumsy attempt at the ritual, especially apparent because I am never quite sure what sweet fruit feels like, is a giveaway that I’m not a regular.
As we zig zag from stall to stall, following the same path each week, my aunt and uncle stop to chat briefly with friends about the day’s headlines. This week, most lamented that the curfew made them late for market and created a parking nightmare. There is friendly banter with vendors too. “The pumpkin not so hot this week, so I put aside a good piece for you,” one vendor says with the same familiarity as Anita who starts pouring my tall coffee before I get to the register at Starbucks on Biscayne.
Although I do enjoy the sense of community, the prices are really what makes getting up early on a Saturday morning and the confusion worth it. Apples were $3.33 each in the market, compared to $5.75 in Hilo. Tomatoes were $7 per pound in the market and $15.90 in the grocery. Carrots were $4 and $7 respectively. The savings adds up and, on average, I spend about $125 (approx. $20 US) on fruits and vegetables for the week.
Enjoy some sights from the market.
Always Take a Book to the Bank
Posted: August 24, 2011 Filed under: Daily Life 3 CommentsI pull number 94. 11:15 am and the bright red numbers on the counter read 83. I settle into the row of chairs facing the customer service counter and pull out my book Clash of Kings, the second in the Song of Fire and Ice series.
Immersed in a chapter from Arya’s perspective, I look up when a service representative approaches the man next to me. “You just need a letter to show your address, right?” She returns a few minutes later with envelope in hand. He had number 91, and in a kind gesture, offers it to me as he is leaving. I think to myself maybe things will move faster than I expect.
I go back to reading my book. I had long learned, by running errands for mummy while on vacation, that there is always a long line at the bank. And no amount of glaring at tellers, restless leg shaking or huffing makes the line move any faster. So I now come to the bank prepared and patient.
I glance up. Still on number 83. “This thing broken awhat?”a man asks as he approaches the waiting area with number in hand. “I here for 15 minutes and this thing eh move.” A little granny with a cane two seats down says in her sweet sing-song voice, “No it not broken. I here since 10:30 and I have number 90.” The man starts to complain. I perk up. He has a sense of entitlement, judging from his tone, complexion and the ipad/blackberry combo. Yes! He will speed things up for all of us. “Manager, this is ridiculous,” he says loudly to no one in particular. And no one responds. The customer service reps barely look in his direction. He gets up and walks away. I assume he is going to kill time in the mall next door, which is what I might do if I didn’t have my book.
As I turn the page, I hear the granny telling someone else that she has been waiting since 10:30. Some time later, I see the same man who was briefly our hope approaching a nearby exit. “You give up?” I call out to him. “No, I get through. This place so slow. Good luck.” He waves. I start a new chapter about Tyrion.
An hour later my number gets called. I am here to request a debit card and deposit a check. The check won’t clear for six weeks because it is in US dollars. The rep is not sure if I can get the card because the branch where I opened my account is in Trincity, far east of this branch. After checking with her manager, she says that we can request the card but it will take at least three days because it has to be processed in Trincity. So I have to come back. It’s a good thing there are five books in the series.
A Year in Trinidad 