Posts Tagged ‘island life’

yea i know this is not a hair blog, but…

May 31, 2009

“small ting” as we say in trini.

i’m soooo excited about how moisturized and black and scrumptious my hair looks in this random pic that i espied in a friend’s photo album. [post-slight-fiasco-on-virgin-hair and several packs of braids later. so yes, all things considered, i’m frickin’ excited about it].

black girl hair :-)

also, when i go to work,  i love how some of the little black girls in our program, who are still sporting their natural afro-coils and plenty baubles and barrettes, play in my hair. their little hands idly grasping some sections, fake-stylin’ telling me what i should do with it—put a pink band with a bow on it here or there. hmmm….you know what?  i’m so thinking about that too.

in trinidad, when i was in primary school, we were fascinated with hair, among other things. older girls played with younger girls’ hair whom they knew and friends played in [or tried to play in] other friends’ hair. i remember little girls would tell other little girls that “letting somebody play in yuh hair” would “make yuh hair fall out,” kind of like what jet beads are supposed to ward off. it was the nascent covetousness and all that supposedly came along with it that was supposedly dangerous to a young girl’s flowing mane. so this was highly discouraged. wisdom passing down from the mouths of mummies, mum-figures and other appointed gate keepers of little girls.

still, some of this inevitably fell on a few harden ears, as we un-braided and re-braided somebody’s plait at one time or the other, re-fashioned a woolie or a selection of hair-clips. somebody’s mummy was bound to be displeased when they got home. fun hair to style, was never hair like mine. it was something silky. something long.  something closer to what we styled on our barbies’ heads at home. even, ahem—all my black barbies. nary a kinky coil in sight on any of them.

and so i never swat a kid’s hand away from my hair—i smile at their excitement and i  try to hang around at least a little bit, to endure some random texture feels and impromptu hair fixing. like i am some giant dolly gone askew [without the requisite dimensions, painted on face and the like]. i know i’m no where as cool as these kids sometimes seem to think i am. my hair isn’t even that cool–or that special. but it’s extremely nice to see young black girls interested and excited in the potential of their own kind of natural hair.

trust me, you don’t see that happening a whole lot these days so when it does—it’s significant to me and quite refreshing to see. plus the little girls with relaxed tresses, while interested in me, in the capacity that i function in, they are decidedly less impressed with my hair, one even voicing loud disapproval after my last braids-with-extensions removal. interesting stuff. working with kids and the way in which they reflect society in their own kiddie ways. 

yes, i am not my hair and blah, blah, blah and all that stuff but in many ways—i am and that’s a-ok with me. for more adventures in black girl hair, google “natural hair blogs,” “black girl with long hair,” or peep the link below: 

http://blackgirllonghair.blogspot.com/

granted there are many excellent hair blogs out there; all good in a variety of ways. and i am by no stretch of imagination, a connoisseur of the entire range of them. this is just one that of late, i visit frequently and enjoy. this link really serves as a kind of validation and is really either for a) anyone who doubts the issues of black girl hair or questions the relevance of this post in relation to that or b) my own issues with staking a claim that there are black girl hair issues and putting it out there. again.

cause i kind of have before —– here,

gotta love the complexities of life y’all. and some days, i truly do.

wide open spaces—

May 22, 2009

are these big patches of _________.  [literal or not]. they are those open spaces waiting to be filled while you develop a consciousness about some thing.

so these past few days, i have been re-reading their eyes were watching god and wide sargasso sea concurrently [which have nothing to do with school but anyhoo…] both bring me to a kind of consciouness, where there was a void, in different ways and for seemingly different things but i am starting to see threads, barely connecting the two in some places. there’s janie: self identifying black no-longer-tragic-mulatto-my-ass protagonist and there’s antoinette, a white creole west indian. 

i am often struck at the ways in which the voice of the “white creole” in “wide sargasso sea” brings me to a kind of  “seeing” each time that i read it.  i cannot escape that voice, that distinctly white west-indian voice even as i submerge myself in the text as a black west-indian. it’s personal too. in a weird way. perhaps this is all a result of what kamau brathwaite, [in relation to a reading of this very text] describes as a realization that in engaging the text, “one’s sympathies became engaged, one’s cultural orientations were involved.”  which ultimately affects one’s reading of it.

this post is a kind of rambling, i know. it’s what i do. [some days in a more structurally fashioned way than others.]

so basically, if there has been a reckoning between me and the notion of white creole identity, in any way—it happens inside this text each time that i delve into it. significant because there are so few times for me that i locate white trinis/other west indians inside our cultural landscape in a tangible way. sure, they are there. i know that. i can look at some of my friends and see that but inside this book—-i feel and see their cultural narrative in a way that i don’t see it [or hear it] often anywhere else. 

in my first caribbean literature class in my undergrad, i remember my professor having us read kamau brathwaite’s often quoted passage, “white creoles in the english and french west indies have separated themselves by too wide a gulf and have contributed too little culturally, as a group, to give credence to the notion that they can, given the present structure, meaningfully identify, or be identified, with the spiritual world on this side of the sargasso sea.” [from contradictory omens]. so then, in regards to this whole notion of identity, nationhood, race and class and culture; to quote an equally apt michele cliff, “it is a complicated business.” [my emphasis not hers.]

heavy.  

still i feel a reckoning in me. anyhoo,

so, the other day, i was on a friend’s fb page and there was a link to alicia milne’s art.blog page and i peeped it randomly and immediately thought it wasn’t a coincidence that i did so and this happened this way. while i’m reading sargasso sea and coming to these open places where i am left considering, why is there nothing there?  why now to ponder these things? recently, i have come across several blogs/online postings about black feminist thought, activism, community and inclusivity. i’ve been pondering what inclusivity means for the way in which i [a black west indian female] imagines a community of west indian writers and by extension: west indian culture and west indian-ness through literature, poetry and other kinds of art. who is included? who do i usually, tend to omit? and why?

alicia’s art and musings, located within a white trini identity, while trying to define and decipher what that means, claim it, engage in it, make art about it—really made an impression on me. her narrative “de whitie talks” asks and notes, “The story of my nation does not include me. Where do I fit in, I often wonder? Are my narratives unpopular or inconvenient? I think so. How then do I make my narrative part of the national narrative?” and i wondered about it myself.  how do we make spaces—the rest of us, for her and others like her, to become engaged. in a post-colonial black majority place, the dynamics of that are fascinating to contemplate.  might mean some serious permutations for some of us. even me. 

furthermore, her realization that “I feel that many, myself included, have a deep sense of non-belonging, an unwelcome-ness emanating from this space”–there a literal trinidad, reminded me of my own spaces that i actively wanted to engage and fill. not to mention, my own discomfort elsewhere. HERspace was MYspace—but in different trajectories. why white west indian creole indentity? because of the ways in which it is interwined with black west indian identity, historically and otherwise. and it makes me uncomfortable in a lot of ways. i have this article from a class, that i cannot find to cite. it’s about feminist standpoint, community and discomfort and how sometimes discomfort is sometimes a necessary point for self-transformation and/or actualization.

so what does that mean for my concept of west indian community? and what the heck does that even mean? at first, when i think about it, community—i know, that they are not there.  but they are. i cannot be concerned with inclusivity and claim to be a product and beneficiary of  feminist thought and not at least think about this.

so,

i think i will.

quietly and with words.

i think i will continue to try and build connections and fill empty spaces with new considerations, new imaginations and expand the limitation of how i choose to define my people, my identity, our art and our culture. inclusively. with or without anyone’s permission. go into those places that make me uncomfortable: like when i want to steups to myself and think, why i fighting to include anybody? but there was once a time—somewhere else perhaps [and even there], when people looking like me, were not included. collective memories about exclusion should remind people that to be inclusive with true understanding, compassion and love is never really a bad thing to aim for. 

plus i think i might have found a potential thesis project! or at least the beginnings of an option. since it has to do with the genre of poetry, maybe something converging the white creole west indian voice in poetry, my self, my reading of that voice, as well as my culture—or something along those lines. we’ll see.

related references: kamau brathwaite, contradictory omens: cultural diversity and integration in the caribbean.

michelle cliff, essay, “a journey into speech” from the land of look behind.

alicia milne, “de whitie talks.”

http://intriguingthings.blogspot.com/2008/10/de-whitie-talks.html

alicia milne, her art and blog, http://intriguingthings.blogspot.com/

learn more about alicia’s art, vision and more, in this interview on sexypink here http://sexypink.wordpress.com/2009/07/13/i-n-t-e-r-v-i-e-w-alicia-milne/

[on a clarifying side-note: not implying that brathwaite is advocating anti-inclusivity (which is not his agenda, nor his concern i think, in the least) but rather i am saying that people can and do read their own prejudices into anything. i know because i have and do.]

The Trouble with Culture

May 17, 2009

Part rant, part retrospective, part pissed off-ness for my friend…

The trouble with culture is that it belongs to all of us, yet to no one person—-simultaneously. There are those who may say Ellie Mannette and Rudolph Charles (God res’ de dead) are responsible for the innovation of our beloved pan, does that make Mr. Mannette and Mr. Charles the sole bearers of the culture of pan? No, it doesn’t and as a Trinbagonian, it belongs to the collective registry of all that is part and parcel of our cultural landscape. You can possess it—but you cannot actually own it. But what happened after word got out that the Japanese tried to patent the steelpan shows that whether you can or can’t actually own vestiges of culture, it does matter who tries to do so however.

Sometimes Trinis like to bemoan the alleged carnivalesque nature of our work ethic and you frequently hear other Trinis complaining that it is hard to get anything done properly with our fellow country folk and things along those lines. You hear it all the time and I am not going to dig into that issue/perception right now but the fact is that there are plenty of enterprising sons and daughters of the soil, all over the place, both IN and OUT of our islands, making their mark in a variety of areas. Some are doing so through creatively re-appropriating and re-inventing cultural idioms and images. They’re making art, t-shirts, jewelry, sculpture, music and so on. Which is fine. Good.

Which leads me to wonder, when one is aiming to employ and economize off of a uniquely Trinibagonian aesthetic, does said individual owe anything to the inspiration of their art? Any responsibility to that culture? What about the people therein? If so, how and in what ways? Who is to say what that is? One of the ways to do so is to respect your other countryfolk. Respect their money and respect their interest in your product. They would have after all, more of a vested interest in some of your images than say, people half-way across the world who don’t. (Not that they can’t either but it’s not the same).

Ultimately, I wonder, what is to be the legacy of what you are doing? To just make money? To create a vision about what it means to be from this place called Trinidad and Tobago and make a statement about it—-whatever that is. On your own terms, re-imagining what that means for yourself and the greater cultural landscape at large. Because when you are putting products out there, the people who buy them with a critical eye, will be (and should be) interested in that. Yes, it can just look good too. No, it doesn’t always have to be that complex but I am hopeful that it might because I happen to value complexity.

So there is a clothing company called Coskel University which is partly owned and spearheaded by a Trinidadian. Coskel makes a wide array of women’s, men’s and children’s apparel. Many of their designs employ some vision of a uniquely Trinbagonian aesthetic and their designs are influenced and inspired by the music, culture, flora and fauna of Trinidad and Tobago. Their designs, their Kaiso icons t-shirt series are amazing. David Rudder on a tee is a yay! for me. I even own one of their coat-of-arms university tanks (pre John Legend and pre-stiffing my friend out of money!).

But I question the goal behind their vision the more that I see and hear. A press release statement issued last year, announced the company’s partnership with John Legend’s tour. In the same press release, the company’s statements on the vision of Coskel asserts, “if our product is marketed properly and is stylish the quality will speak for itself and reach the masses even if they are unaware of the culture itself.” Hmmm. Which somehow got me to thinking of that silly Skippy peanut butter ad with the elephant with dreads, wearing a Rasta tam, replete with a bad, pseudo-reggae jingle. If we don’t contextualize our own cultural images, when we put them out there, clearly no one else is going to do it for us. People will do want they want with it anyway! I don’t claim to know how it should be done, I’m just suggesting that if Coskel is selling shirts with Black Stalin and “beat pan” on it, how then, is it okay if people are “unaware of the culture itself?” It has to be two-fold I think, especially when you are capitalizing off a culture. I can’t tell someone what to do with their art, but I can certainly ponder what this means for the ways in which I subsequently view and/or choose to support their product.

On to my friend. A friend of mine, who co-owns and co-runs a small business in East Trinidad, selling all things Caribbean (clothing, accessories, handbags, natural soaps etc.) had placed an order with Coskel, that to this day, hasn’t been fulfilled. There is an outstanding balance of 250 USD still to resolved and the goods, yet to be delivered. Furthermore, to go into all the ins-and-outs of this situation: the e-mails back and forth, the tireless wrangling for what was sent—how many times allegedly by Coskel and the fact that they never ever reached my friend, could be a whole other blog of its own. The fact of the matter is that money was received for goods that have never materialized. NO refund and no product has been forthcoming til this day. And based on what I have heard, gleaned and peeped in e-mail transmissions and the like, I can’t help but see their dealings with this small business venture in Trinidad, as indicative of their broader product culture. I bet if this was some large-scale retailer in Asia courting them, the outcome of this scenario would be very different. Plain talk.

Extend to them, the same courtesies and opportunities and presumably prompt service, that you do to foreigners. In between the global expansion and while you are slapping the national coat of arms on a shirt, how do you not see the relevance in selling your product in said homeland and investing in doing so. Or to quote Sizzla Kalonji, “dance ah yard—before yuh dance abroad.” To my knowledge Coskel has been courted by a certain Syrian-Lebanese enterprise in Trinidad (a deal which didn’t materialize for whatever reason) but the brand has yet to set up any kind of showroom and be regularly stocked anywhere in Trinidad or Tobago, least of all by my friends for whom the order and the money is still outstanding to.

This does not mean that the brand is “limited by [its] Trinidadian culture” (from the Oct 31st 2008, John Legend and Band to wear Coskel University Clothing press release statement) but serving Trini retailers large OR small, locates the brand squarely there, literally and figuratively, much in the way that the brand is “defined by its cultural references.” There is nothing wrong with that. For instance, you can go to Jamaica and encounter lots and lots of people wearing the brand Cooyah. We can also find it on the streets of Port-of-Spain just as much.

You would be hard pressed to find the same amount of Coskel anywhere in TnT, at any time, because there’s nowhere to get it easily. It’s mind boggling that a world-expanding Trinbago-inspired brand, with a base in Brooklyn, New York could be so hard to access in Trinidad and Tobago. Similarly, the company’s website touts Coskel as a response to “Caribbean-themed apparel…from the Bob [Marley] or beaches viewpoint” (in the company profile) yet the company has no kind of recognizable presence within Trinidad and Tobago, on par with what they have set-up elsewhere.

Personally, as I have assessed everything, I would rather buy any new funky tank tops or t-shirt digs from local artists like Tanya Williams (among others) and other lines that show a real interest in locating their Trini specific products in Trinidad, about as much as they are intent on making a splash in the rest of the world. Not just Trini, but I would quicker support any West Indian cultural product or other product that does so. Which is also why I buy fair trade shea butter from an African booth in the flea market. West African women (and their communities) who cultivate karite have as much a right to benefit from the reach and popularity of shea butter around the world as anyone else.

Finally, Coskel can ultimately do what they want, where they want, with their own product. But the ways in which they fail to integrate the Trinbagonian market in any way is slightly problematic because of the way in which the Japanese aesthetic (the other half of the Coskel duo) is not as prominent as the other, nor is the product entirely marketed as such. Their products are marketed and located admittedly within a Trinbagonian aesthetic. Naturally, there is more money to be made elsewhere and one’s culture is only exoticized and fetishized outside the homeland, not in it. But there are several generations of Trinbagonians right now, reclaiming some kind of Trinbagonian aesthetic and placing a high value on it, just as they do with other Western brands. Which is a good thing.

Somehow Coskel is already in the works of a distribution deal, factory and store in China (which may or may not be up and running already). And they are big in de dance in Japan. Good fuh allyuh. But they still are yet to fulfill their order in Trinidad or grant my friends the money and/or goods that has been supposedly coming to them for the longest while. 2007 was  when my friend last tussled over this and they haven’t heard anything from Coskel since then. Or seen a refund. I won’t be surprised if one day, I see Coskel on the racks at Wal-Mart stores worldwide (hopefully by then, people will be able to distinguish between Stalin the dictator and Stalin the great calypsonian) but in the meantime, before that happens, I hope they find the time to give my friends their blasted money!

In Trinidad? Check out the D’Caribbean Culture Shack for all things Caribbean and Caribbean oriented [except Coskel apparently] Give them a call at  @ 377-9869/748-1927. Find them on facebook groups and fan pages and see what’s new in stock!

D' Caribbean Culture Shack
D’ Caribbean Culture Shack

 Citing for Coskel’s press release statement:

 http://www.coskeluniversity.com/news/pressrelease_nov08_eng.htm

 ok, on a related side-note to ALL ah dis. This comment was left below on my “about” page. Why not as a comment under here? *shrug* Didn’t see the comment link, didn’t care to….who knows. Either way I really didn’t want us going into a whole diatribe about this THERE cause that’s not the place to. So after several days of irking me from the “about” page, I just copied them from there, deleted the posts and reproduced them for anyone concerned about where the[ir] comment/s went.

person David Hubert says on:

May 18, 2009 at 2:24 pm

I read your article about “The problem with culture” and wile I understand your point of view, I wholeheartedly disagree. More so much of your information is incorrect feel free to drop me an email I will be more than happy to discus your views in further detail, or even have a phone convo about the subject

Then I said this on:

May 18, 2009 at 4:23 pm

hmmm…what is incorrect specifically? the fact that coskel did receive money from my friend’s business [which i know for a fact that they did], that they in turn didn’t receive the goods? [which i know for a fact that they didn’t and there’s an e-mail trail to prove both]. the fact that coskel ISN’T as engaged in the trinbagonian market on the same scale as they are elsewhere—cause if they are, it must be way under the radar cause no one i know of, seems to know that. the fact that i am musing about cultural capitalism and the ways in which people may or may not engage in that practice? musings, last i checked are more or less substantiated [or unsubstantiated] opinions and renderings.

if i’m wrong about the product culture of coskel then it’s only because i am locating my view based on what i have seen [and heard and know and read] of their practices thus far: in regard to a friend vs. their global [asian] expansions etc. when i KNOW otherwise–i’ll FEEL otherwise.

if you disagree with specific points about what i have written, i’d rather if you posted as a comment to THAT blog and take the discussion there, respond as a comment under “the trouble with culture” and i’ll be happy to address your concerns there. otherwise: phone conversations and e-mails are really not warranted or necessary. if you happen to be connected to coskel—i am hardly the person that you need to be e-mailing or talking to on the phone.

Then Lin had her say:

May 18, 2009 at 5:03 pm

Who are you Mr David Hubert as far as what is written in this blog everything is on point nothing is incorrect and if you want to challenge me talk to our lawyers.

Drama fuh yuh mama y’all. <— My final assessment.

A Short Drop

March 30, 2009

red-band maxi

It seems like wherever enclaves of people from different cultures are found, vestiges of our home and the culture from whence we came soon follow. Like roti shops and mini-buses. When I was an undergrad, you could take a ride from my campus in North Miami, all the way to downtown Miami (and back) for one dollar each way on the local jitney. The benefits meant that you weren’t limited to the schedule of the Miami-Dade city transport system, nor limited to their routes which didn’t necessarily go everywhere that people might want to go. The jitney ride in North Miami functioned as a main source of transportation (as well as supplemental to other public transport ) for large numbers of people including college students within the area. Here was where you were summoned onto an already full mini-bus by a nodding driver assuring you that there is room, while you scanned the darkly tinted windows with slight skepticism.

The thing is, you never really knew until you actually got on. Then you did, only to survey the hodge-podge of arms and knees, tightly folded legs, rapid fire kreyol over the sounds of kompa–with increasing doubt; while from his perch behind the steering wheel, you were solidly assured by the driver, that there was indeed a place for you, deep in the belly of the mini-bus. You just had to keep going. Eventually you’d find the space, sandwiched between two strangers, tightly squeezed on either side.

When I was riding the jitney, there were still mini-buses with no buzzer, so you had to holler from the back over the din and once in a while, between the animated conversations and the music, the driver did miss your stop. But these people beside you, these people you only knew from this ride, would always help, passing on the call for “stop!” from person to person and mouth-to-mouth, like a verbal smoke signal until we came to rest. Even people that did not know English well, knew how to yell stop on the jitney.

Throughout the developing world, you can find versions of the mini-bus as a cultural variation of the government created transportation system. There is always something subversive about the way in which they function as a means of getting people around. These small mini-buses cramming as many people inside as they can, undercutting the cost of other transport in some places and/or providing flexibility of routes in others.

They are privately owned and in many cases, this mysterious individual (or individuals) may not even be the person who is doing all the driving. In many parts of the developing world, mini-buses are part of a larger cultural representation of everyday life, in a way that other modes of transport supposedly are not. Or at least they are, in a different way.

In a large Western metropolis like New York city for example, city buses and other kinds of public state transport don’t function in the exact same way as the mini-bus, since you would find a successful mortgage broker riding next to a blue-collar worker, on the same train on any given day. In the developing world, mini-bus culture (and there usually is one), especially in the Caribbean (and Africa) is indicative of the other social and socio-economic forces at play as well.

So much so that you can find people in Trinidad, who proudly declare that “they never take public transport” before (specifically maxis, and least of all a PTSC bus) because this fact is representative of being in a certain socio-economic class that is not dependent on (or never has been dependent on) public transport. Which means you are one of those people who has your own car and when you didn’t, you’re used to getting dropped around all the time.

I want to feel like in 2009, you would still be hard-pressed to find someone who has never taken a maxi before but from what I’ve heard, that’s not true. Never taken a maxi? And okay with that? Never experienced the hustle of an ambitious tout in City Gate saying he had a special seat, just for you. Never been privy to the random conversational encounters on a maxi. Never been in the front seat of a maxi, music blaring loudly while barreling down the priority bus route at break-neck speed, with the breeze whipping at your face. Never had to dodge a bottom in yuh face after shuffling yuh own bottom around for seats on a maxi.

In Trinidad, there are more and more cars on the road and we’re building more and more walls, around ourselves (literal and otherwise) to shut undesirables out, so there’s a whole growing section of people for whom, maxi taking just will not do. As to safety concerns, I would reckon that hopping a maxi from somewhere to town and back in the day, would still be somewhat safer than doing so in a flashy car.

Plus in actuality if you ask certain kinds of people who don’t take maxis, why they don’t, it has less to do with being safe, than the notion of being cheek-on-jowl with the masses. The problem is being in close quarters, like, say a “bread van” maxi, with de marrish and de parrish. In Trini we have our maxi taxis and in Guyana you can find the “mini bus” as well. In fact, throughout the Caribbean they exist, all over Africa, as well as regions in South and Central America. In South Africa they’re called “combis.”

A friend informed me that in Cuba, the Dominican Republic and Puerto-Rico, they’re called “guaguas.” In the Vanity Fair 2007 Africa issue, I read Binyavanya Wainaina’s description of the Kenyan “matatus” as “anarchic public transport vehicles,” embodying the “edgy and beautiful” enterprising spirit of a transforming African country economy.

These “Isuzu mini-buses,” these “loud, aggressive vehicles” reminded me of the red, yellow, green and maroon-band maxi taxis on the streets of Trinidad in their heyday. Nowadays, maxi drivers and owners in Trinidad have their own association or representative body, that is very active in attempting to regulate the ply of drivers and conductors. The rides themselves are relatively tamed down, compared to the excess of the earlier years where you might find a fuzzy, faux fur interior detailing inside on the roof, black lights in a maxi and more than enough bass to feel it reverberating inside your chest.

But during the late eighties and exploding in the early to mid-nineties, maxi culture flourished in a way that made them the scourge of everyone from school principals to middle-class parents. They represented a vehicular hustle, propelled by young brash men of color, driving and touting and jostling for passengers (and sex).

From the school children liming late in town for subsequent runs of their favorite maxi, the branding of certain maxis as popular rides, to the epic pong of the bass line pulsating through the whole maxi and disturbing the peace, the dub, the dub lyrics, the school girls breaking biche to get whisked away by maxi men, the ambitious tout wetting some school girl’s ears with his own (or borrowed) lyrics, the tout shuffling through wads of cash to lure some teenager/s astray, the allegations of these big hard-back men being on the prowl, the tout who allegedly had HIV and was spreading it wantonly to school girls all over the place.

These stories and others like them are part of the maxi culture in our society, particularly ones exposing the seedy sexual underside of maxi culture. It’s Trini street culture. Trini urban culture. And just Trini culture—all stemming from a ride down the road in a red-band maxi. You can find similar sentiments and stories permeating all throughout our region of the supposed ills of mini-bus culture and the complaints about the drivers.

What is it about these buses? That they are clearly indispensable is a fact. But also because of the way in which public transport, by its very design, forces the converging of different layers of people (even within the same socio-economic bracket) into a confined space. Every one cannot have a car after all. So they do create an actual socio-cultural space while providing a real nececessity and a service to the population.

Classic footage below of calypsonian Bally’s 1989 classic “Maxi Dub,” describing his dislike  of the youths’ maxi-culture and especially the loud dub music they play that he cannot decipher!

Pineapple chow is awesome!

March 11, 2009
pineapple chow!

pineapple chow pic hoff from d simplytrinicooking site. find a chow recipe there!

so carnival was fantabulous and i finally got sucked into playing with the BIGGEST mas conglomerate ever (uh, TRIBE) being the large multi-million dollar enterprise that it is, while pretending to some people, that i didn’t actually pay more than my month’s rent to palance down the streets of port of spain. still, i do declare that i had a great time.  (at the risk of sounding like a friggin’ freshwater. *shudder*)

some of the highlights of the season included:

a bess pineapple chow

anything i ate…actually

the proliferation of the word “gunta.” i love words and i LOVE new trini ones

hugging my mummy

hugging anyone at home–really

 and this sign, we saw at a stall around the savannah:

only in trini! gotta luv it!

only in trini! gotta luv it!

maybe now i’ll get back to my coursework rather than reliving fastasmic (fantastic + orgasmic<–not a result of the sexually related kind)  trini memories, creating new work and finishing up some new posts that i started and need to finish. I’ll be ranting about dell PCs (please don’t EVER turn to them for “tech support” outside of your warranty. In fact if you can afford not to–don’t ever BUY a dell) *Insert ginormous steups here*).