I know I've been slightly deficient in what I imagined to be weekly updates on life in Trinidad. My apologies; my apartment does not (yet) have internet, and so my time online is limited to what I do when I am at Mr. Beepath's office (which is not all the time) and any time spent with my laptop in an internet cafe. For instance, I am writing now in between phone calls to businesses on our upcoming HIV in the Workplace Policy Seminar.
I think when I last wrote, I had just moved, and I will say I absolutely love my apartment. It is comfortable and really feels like home--and the air conditioning helps me sleep and slightly reduces the amount of bugbites I find in the morning (still, I've used half my tube of hydrocortisone already). I feel like it is absolutely the right place for me, especially because my landlady also takes really good care of me, as far as rides and things I need go. She's a wonderful lady. On Friday, I went with her to visit a children's home in Couva (she works with local homes), which was interesting. It was small, and the children were at school, so I didn't get a good sense of the atmosphere, though hopefully if she visits the ones in Port-of-Spain or Chaguanas, I will be able to tag along as well. We also dashed about Chaguanas. She took me to her land that was flooded once and so not terribly productive, but absolutely beautiful as a terrific expanse of wide open space and big sky, looking at clouds that probably are touching the ocean. She and her friend Krishna also had me try oysters, which here are eaten (or the proper term is drunk) raw and in a concoction of some spicy liquids. I was thinking about my friend Malika, who said she would try anything else above the oysters, and apparently I made some really interesting faces, but in the end, I concluded that I liked the oysters, and I would try them again.
A week ago last Saturday was the Hindu festival of Divali. Not knowing many here, and particularly not many Hindus, I didn't have high hopes for doing much, but my landlady (her name is Vidya) came to the rescue again. She sent her kids over with food a couple times (one thing was a fried leafy green vegetable, which was wonderful), and invited me over for the night. With her, her son, her daughter, and her daughter's friend, I lit dias and placed them outside, watching her henna-painted hands rolling cotton for wicks because she couldn't find her actual wicks. It was magical. Divali, she explained, is the Hindu festival of lights, celebrating the triumph of light over darkness and knowledge over ignorance. Later, her son Rishi drove me around to see the dias all over the neighborhood. Whether they were precisely aligned or haphazardly put, they were beautiful. I swear, if the city lights had gone out that night, still it would glow.
I also went to a fish market a week and a half ago, and fell in love with it. There, fishermen come in with the sun to sell the night's catch (how magical must that be, to be out alone in the middle of the ocean at night with the rising moon and to watch the sunrise from the sea?) before going home to bed. The place smelled of fish, but after a minute I stopped noticing. There was an incredible energy to the place even though, as Mr. Beepath said, most of the men were older. Outside, pelicans and a few tiny gulls fought over the scraps of fish being cleaned en masse for restaurants, and crabs were being scrubbed into a bucket of brown water. Inside, a shimp vendor with a paintbrush textured white beard promised me he'd give me a discount of $2TT/lb if I wanted shrimp, because I was a pretty foreigner. Another showed me his shark carcass with fins cut off and encouraged me to take a picture of the jaw hanging from a wire. I watched the fish be cleaned and cut into chunks so their innards would come out, fish so fresh they still bled. An over-70-year-old man asked if I was British, and when I proceeded tell him no, American (no one thinks I am American...in Cambodia, I was French (which isn't too far from the truth), and here, I'm British), he told me of his son who lived in Denmark, and then danced along his platform as he cut the fish, using wood for extra oomph to cut bone, scales dotting his arms like paint splatter. As we left, he bowed and waved to us, and promised to sing me the "April Song" (because I was born in April) next time I came. I laughed and loved every minute of it. It felt authentic and full of stories, and you can bet I'll be back, buying at least shrimp from the vendor who promised a discount and who hawked his shrimp like a pro.
I hope you all are well! Please do let me know when you can! Much love and prayers, and thanks for listening :)
Monday, October 26, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
What I Saw While Walking
On Saturday, I took a taxi into San Fernando, to be picked up so I could help paint the apartment that was to become mine (which was a surprisingly meditative/relaxing job I think because it required just enough focus to wholly empty my mind of anything else). As I walked the promenade from the library to the hospital, this is what I saw.
I had a little ways to walk, as I had taken a maxi down because it was the first taxi I saw. Not that I minded, but by the time I reached the library and the promenade, sweat had already started running down my back and I realized a cotton shirt may not have been the best of ideas. I passed cafes and open bars (open meaning wide open to the street, not free like at weddings), vendors with tables on the street selling pirated DVD's and video games. Sometimes in Trinidad men will call out to me as I walk alone, but that's common and becoming easier to ignore. It begs the question--they often are so lewd and leave me with a feeling of disgust; do they ever really get any that way? But I digress. I was happy to get to the library, a dusty brick red and large Southern-style building, and the beginning of the promenade.
The traffic on the promenade is ususally chaotic on weekdays, parents dropping their kids off to school and taxis shuttling people to work cause congestion in the middle that is compounded by cars trying to turn in or out. Saturday though was no problem. The fruitstands where I buy my bananas for the week were open with their selection of grapes, apples and bananas creating a canopy of primary colors over a small segment of sidewalk. (Ironically, none of this food is local. The apples I bought at the supermarket still come from Washington, too.) I passed a homeless man lying in the shade of the Marcus Garvey statue across from the food court. I passed a homeless dog with dirty sandy-colored fur, slight sores, and swollen nipples from a recent litter and paused to be sure she was breathing. I passed the statue of Ghandi around whose neck some had put some brightly flowered leis that make me smile each time I pass, and the curb where faithful Jehovah's Witnesses stand in the evenings. As the hill crested, the sparkling blue ocean with it's oil tankers anchored offshore came into view, and I couldn't help smiling again. To quote Dar Williams, "Oh I must confess I was drawn, I was drawn to the ocean..."
I paused at the bottom of the hill, the place where you choose whether to turn left onto Indpendence Avenue (the way I always take to get to work) or to turn right and head either to High Street or to the ocean, so that I could call to get my ride. I found a curb in the shade and sat down, drinking some water. A homeless man who had been pacing and preaching, with a beard and dirt blue pants, looked at me and begun talking about having water and how Jesus gave to those without drink. My first thought was that he wouldn't want my water bottle because I'd been drinking out of it for days. Then I realized he was probably thirsty and wouldn't care for how long I'd had it, just that it was water. And finally, I realized that his preaching was an outlet for voicing his anger at how unfair it was that I had water and could get anything I wanted, and he was on the street--asking why, in the same way I often do. Next to me, a man was lying on a bed of cardboard, but he was regally dressed and counted what seemed to be a reasonable amout of cash, so I wondered why he was there. On my other side, a single young East Indian man held his head in his hands and rocked softly in the same rhythm the couple on his other side were as they held one another.
I finally continued, opting to take the long route to the back of the hospital because I had the time and liked the walk. I passed a man who I'd often seen at the corner as I waited for a taxi, recognizable with his bare feet, bushy beard, and visible ribs. He was asleep half in the shade on the hospital sidewalk. I paused a minute to be sure he was still breathing. Another, well-dressed woman sat on a box under an awning; as I passed she called out "Good afternoon!" until I replied, and proceeded to tell me to be careful, and not to talk to strangers unless I have to. I walked away laughing, passing the barbed wire where I had torn my skirt the week before on the way to the embassy and Port of Spain, past the ferry terminal and bus station, past an abandoned car, until I reached the hospital and my ride.
I see things like that often; it's part of why I love to watch. Work has been quiet, but I am enjoying getting to know people. And as I said in the beginning, I have an apartment into which I moved on Sunday evening (funny story...I called at 3:30 to get a sense of how things were working so that I could plan on when to pack, and she said to call her in an hour and it would be ready. An hour and a half later, after running around and wondering how on earth I got all this stuff here to begin with, I called her back, and by 6 I was in the apartment unpacking). I love the place. It's two bedrooms (so you can all come visit! Though unfortunately, the AC unit is in my room...), with AC and everything. It's a bit pricey, which caused some chaos, but thankfully, because I loved the place and the landlady and she liked me as well, she helped me out a bit and after I promised I wouldn't change my mind again, she took me (not a moment too soon, as the night I gave my deposit, someone else would have come). I am happy there, and it is nice to have a place to call home. Plus, like I said before, the landlady is pretty awesome and lives below me, which adds a sense of security.
Peace and blessings to you all! Thanks for listening :)
I had a little ways to walk, as I had taken a maxi down because it was the first taxi I saw. Not that I minded, but by the time I reached the library and the promenade, sweat had already started running down my back and I realized a cotton shirt may not have been the best of ideas. I passed cafes and open bars (open meaning wide open to the street, not free like at weddings), vendors with tables on the street selling pirated DVD's and video games. Sometimes in Trinidad men will call out to me as I walk alone, but that's common and becoming easier to ignore. It begs the question--they often are so lewd and leave me with a feeling of disgust; do they ever really get any that way? But I digress. I was happy to get to the library, a dusty brick red and large Southern-style building, and the beginning of the promenade.
The traffic on the promenade is ususally chaotic on weekdays, parents dropping their kids off to school and taxis shuttling people to work cause congestion in the middle that is compounded by cars trying to turn in or out. Saturday though was no problem. The fruitstands where I buy my bananas for the week were open with their selection of grapes, apples and bananas creating a canopy of primary colors over a small segment of sidewalk. (Ironically, none of this food is local. The apples I bought at the supermarket still come from Washington, too.) I passed a homeless man lying in the shade of the Marcus Garvey statue across from the food court. I passed a homeless dog with dirty sandy-colored fur, slight sores, and swollen nipples from a recent litter and paused to be sure she was breathing. I passed the statue of Ghandi around whose neck some had put some brightly flowered leis that make me smile each time I pass, and the curb where faithful Jehovah's Witnesses stand in the evenings. As the hill crested, the sparkling blue ocean with it's oil tankers anchored offshore came into view, and I couldn't help smiling again. To quote Dar Williams, "Oh I must confess I was drawn, I was drawn to the ocean..."
I paused at the bottom of the hill, the place where you choose whether to turn left onto Indpendence Avenue (the way I always take to get to work) or to turn right and head either to High Street or to the ocean, so that I could call to get my ride. I found a curb in the shade and sat down, drinking some water. A homeless man who had been pacing and preaching, with a beard and dirt blue pants, looked at me and begun talking about having water and how Jesus gave to those without drink. My first thought was that he wouldn't want my water bottle because I'd been drinking out of it for days. Then I realized he was probably thirsty and wouldn't care for how long I'd had it, just that it was water. And finally, I realized that his preaching was an outlet for voicing his anger at how unfair it was that I had water and could get anything I wanted, and he was on the street--asking why, in the same way I often do. Next to me, a man was lying on a bed of cardboard, but he was regally dressed and counted what seemed to be a reasonable amout of cash, so I wondered why he was there. On my other side, a single young East Indian man held his head in his hands and rocked softly in the same rhythm the couple on his other side were as they held one another.
I finally continued, opting to take the long route to the back of the hospital because I had the time and liked the walk. I passed a man who I'd often seen at the corner as I waited for a taxi, recognizable with his bare feet, bushy beard, and visible ribs. He was asleep half in the shade on the hospital sidewalk. I paused a minute to be sure he was still breathing. Another, well-dressed woman sat on a box under an awning; as I passed she called out "Good afternoon!" until I replied, and proceeded to tell me to be careful, and not to talk to strangers unless I have to. I walked away laughing, passing the barbed wire where I had torn my skirt the week before on the way to the embassy and Port of Spain, past the ferry terminal and bus station, past an abandoned car, until I reached the hospital and my ride.
I see things like that often; it's part of why I love to watch. Work has been quiet, but I am enjoying getting to know people. And as I said in the beginning, I have an apartment into which I moved on Sunday evening (funny story...I called at 3:30 to get a sense of how things were working so that I could plan on when to pack, and she said to call her in an hour and it would be ready. An hour and a half later, after running around and wondering how on earth I got all this stuff here to begin with, I called her back, and by 6 I was in the apartment unpacking). I love the place. It's two bedrooms (so you can all come visit! Though unfortunately, the AC unit is in my room...), with AC and everything. It's a bit pricey, which caused some chaos, but thankfully, because I loved the place and the landlady and she liked me as well, she helped me out a bit and after I promised I wouldn't change my mind again, she took me (not a moment too soon, as the night I gave my deposit, someone else would have come). I am happy there, and it is nice to have a place to call home. Plus, like I said before, the landlady is pretty awesome and lives below me, which adds a sense of security.
Peace and blessings to you all! Thanks for listening :)
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Week Two: Getting Settled
I had the wonderful revelation on Thursday as I was driving back to South AIDS Support that I am starting to become more open and more myself with those that I've known since getting here, which means that I am starting to really settle in, which was the biggest unexpected blessing I had this week. (As a means of explaining, I've found that especially here, but everywhere really, I tend to be really quiet and keep to myself as I get a feel for the place and people.) I have a 9-5 gig at South AIDS Support, I have a church community, a few friends already, only thing that's missing is my own apartment. So far I've seen two: one that I couldn't actually see because someone was living in it and it was in a questionable area, and the other which was small, smelled funny, and had a woman living across that would drive me nuts. So, as Gloria at work said, "if you don't like it, don't take it; you'll find something." And so I wait and hope--and God keeps reminding me that things are done in His time, NOT mine. And so the lessons in patience continues.
I really am blessed to have had everything fall into place that I did. South AIDS Support started slowly this week, but it promises to be more than I could have hoped. I literally read from 9-5 on Tuesday, balancing my book with a wonderful book by some Hopkins doctors on the medical aspects of HIV. I did attend the support group on Monday night and despite a little initial apprehension, a couple of people who I started talking to beforehand put me right at ease. It looks like I have the beginnings of a patient base. Not only did they all welcome me completely, but they all also fully supported the work I want to do and are willing to help however they can. I've also met the secretary to the Minister of Labor, and some heads of a National AIDS group because I am helping with a forum on HIV in the workplace later in the month. Oh, and I am wicked excited--I will be able to attend an international HIV summit that takes place in Trinidad at the end of November. What an honor/amazing experience for someone like me! I start working in the clinic on Monday, which should yield some more interesting stories. I think I will mostly be referring people to South AIDS, but we'll see what comes of it. With the way things have happened, I really feel like I'm supposed to be here, like there's something I am supposed to be doing, only I don't know what it is and I really hope I don't miss it!
Otherwise, all is well. I wish I could begin to describe what it's like to have almost 200 people singing something a Capella in four parts with their hearts poured into it, but that's nearly impossible. It's incredible though, to be one voice as a part of it, and to feel the music swelling and ascending. I am grateful to Gabrielle, with whom I've spent the last two weekends, for being good company. Her house is like a paradise, with lemon, mango, pineapple, banana, and other fruit trees on two acres and many windows, and it's one of my favorite places on the island. We went to the beach yesterday, which was beautiful. The sea is a perfect green color, the sand pure, and the palm trees classic. We ended up spending some time crouched behind umbrellas pointing the direction of the sea (and wind), laughing at the absurdity of it, and dashing through downpours, changing with a wrap as a towel between car doors. Still, driving back, I was relaxed to the point of wanting to fall asleep--and you know how rare that is for me. Vanilla chamomile tea and a book of poetry, and life was perfect with the evening breeze caressing me.
I hope all is well with you all also! Happy 90th birthday, Grandma! I hope you enjoyed your party! Please write when you can and let me know! Love, and thanks for listening! :)
I really am blessed to have had everything fall into place that I did. South AIDS Support started slowly this week, but it promises to be more than I could have hoped. I literally read from 9-5 on Tuesday, balancing my book with a wonderful book by some Hopkins doctors on the medical aspects of HIV. I did attend the support group on Monday night and despite a little initial apprehension, a couple of people who I started talking to beforehand put me right at ease. It looks like I have the beginnings of a patient base. Not only did they all welcome me completely, but they all also fully supported the work I want to do and are willing to help however they can. I've also met the secretary to the Minister of Labor, and some heads of a National AIDS group because I am helping with a forum on HIV in the workplace later in the month. Oh, and I am wicked excited--I will be able to attend an international HIV summit that takes place in Trinidad at the end of November. What an honor/amazing experience for someone like me! I start working in the clinic on Monday, which should yield some more interesting stories. I think I will mostly be referring people to South AIDS, but we'll see what comes of it. With the way things have happened, I really feel like I'm supposed to be here, like there's something I am supposed to be doing, only I don't know what it is and I really hope I don't miss it!
Otherwise, all is well. I wish I could begin to describe what it's like to have almost 200 people singing something a Capella in four parts with their hearts poured into it, but that's nearly impossible. It's incredible though, to be one voice as a part of it, and to feel the music swelling and ascending. I am grateful to Gabrielle, with whom I've spent the last two weekends, for being good company. Her house is like a paradise, with lemon, mango, pineapple, banana, and other fruit trees on two acres and many windows, and it's one of my favorite places on the island. We went to the beach yesterday, which was beautiful. The sea is a perfect green color, the sand pure, and the palm trees classic. We ended up spending some time crouched behind umbrellas pointing the direction of the sea (and wind), laughing at the absurdity of it, and dashing through downpours, changing with a wrap as a towel between car doors. Still, driving back, I was relaxed to the point of wanting to fall asleep--and you know how rare that is for me. Vanilla chamomile tea and a book of poetry, and life was perfect with the evening breeze caressing me.
I hope all is well with you all also! Happy 90th birthday, Grandma! I hope you enjoyed your party! Please write when you can and let me know! Love, and thanks for listening! :)
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