I am sentimental. It’s a curse and a blessing because in the simplest of moments I find a way to frame it like a portrait in my head. Driving that night with the lukewarm breeze and the 80s love songs on the radio I felt happy and free and a little nostaglic. Remembering those times as a girl when we did this same thing. You and I in a car driving along. Conversations steady with pauses in between to just look out the window. Always easy and comfortable and that night it made me happy that I could be a grownup and still love your company the same way. I wish now that I knew that I would never have a moment like that again. Because if I did I would have sat there longer, said more, laughed more and said I love you even though I did not need to. I would have painted that portrait on a bigger frame and held onto every scene like it was in danger to fading away. So now I hold onto my sentimental blessings and though they make me cry now, one day they will make me smile again. We wont be driving next time, just standing on the sea of glass hugging, no longer knowing what goodbyes feel like. Till then, sleep well. I love you.
What I know about the 1970 riots in Trinidad and Tobago is based purely on what my father has told me. During the 1990 Coup are my first memories of Daddy’s recalling those days. He spoke about his soldier friends who hid in the hills, the strict curfew that was implemented and how he and his friends would out smart the police as they broke the deadline so they could play football As with all things “Trini” the facts are melded with humour. He spoke of a country I did not know where black people did not hold positions of power in the banks and other offices in Port of Spain and the black power revolution in the USA that influenced those protests as well as the young men in the streets where he limed. As the rest of the world experienced an upheaval our ‘little’ islands began to rumble as well.
This documentary will be shown on the Gayelle channel in T&T on Friday December 10th and Saturday December 11th (http://www.70themovie.com/). Foreigners like myself can watch it online at www.JumpTV.com and at www.GayelleTV.com (especially since Gayelle on Sky seems to be stuck on repeating shows from 5 years ago!) I hope to view it with Daddy to get his take on piece of history that he witnessed first hand.
Well the answer to that question is: home! Musings has been a Trini girl in Trinidad and Tobago and not good ole London. And in the process the blog has suffered Sad faces all around and a slap on the wrist for good measure. A trip home is never a bad thing so there are stories of lovely adventures and memories. But in the midst of it all my TV and movie watching did not falter. I am after all the girl who became addicted to a soap opera in Caracas, a serial in Paris and talk show in Spain. Holidays and TV are synonymous in my mind! At home I did not have to depend on the internet for my TV fix but got to enjoy it live and direct every night. T&T, like so many of its Caribbean counterparts, has American cable like Direct TV with a mixture of local stations as well as some Spanish speaking ones (we are after all right next to Venezuela and the rest of South American continent).
I got to enjoy my favourites but while visiting friends and family homes I got to partake of their TV preferences as well. That was fun. The Food Network, that I have successful avoided in the past, proved to be a popular choice. Who can blame them? I have been avoiding the UK versions because it would just fuel my love of cooking to gigantuan portions. From Soul Food, Italian, quick meals to elaborate concoctions and local Indian delights, as I feared, you really can just keep the TV on that channel allllll dayyyy longgggg. It’s a mixture of food porn and big personalities all loving the culinary arts with gutso. It is contagious and I have indeed caught the bug.
LMN (Lifetime Movie Network) was another favorite. One true-to-life, based on a book movie after another, often with familiar TV show faces playing the lead characters is an unbeatable combination. I have heard people talk about how easy it is to spend a day in bed watching LMN and from my experience just turning to the channel and stopping for a minute can be dangerous. Before you realise what has happened you get caught up in the melodrama.
Dancing with the Stars, the US equilivant to Strictly Come Dancing, is flashier and more ‘long winded’ that its UK counterpart. Results nights are frustrating as it takes a page from the X-Factor and packs an hour with too many guest singers and fluff before they hurriedly announce the week’s elimination. I shouted at the screen every Tuesday night and texted my cousin my predictions but every week I came back for more. The dancing is the key. I love to see the ‘stars’ struggle to learn new steps, perform, then wait for the judges dodgy criticisms. Len and Bruno are more over the top in the US than they are in Strictly but they are being paid a lot to fly over every week and appeal to the American audiences. It is a winning formula because the show tops the Neilson ratings every week. I wish it would go back to a simplier formula and concentrate on the beauty of the dance instead but that, it seems, does not help their ratings. I am hoping that Brandy, Jennifer and Kyle are in the final and would be happy with any of them winning the mirror ball trophy.
I discovered the excellent Detroit 1-8-7. Cases that keep me interested with realistic detectives and outcomes. Michael Imperioli has successful put his Sopranos character to bed and created a new quirky ‘n’ crotchety persona. The Good Wife has come back stronger and with a host of new individuals who have seamlessly fit into the show. And Friday Night Lights, in its fifth and final season is again proving why it is the best drama on American TV. When will they reach to the UK shores? Will let you know when I find out!
I kept my eye on the fabulous Downton Abbey from across the ocean and I was happy to realise that it will be continuing next year. Along with the excellent Sherlock and Luther. British TV dramas are with out question the winner. It beats the gloss and fast pace formula of the US serials.
I decided to repost this entry I made last year on the anniversary of the 1990 coup. This year is the 20th Anniversary and the present Trinidad and Tobago government has announced an official Inquiry into the events of that day. Twnety years too late? Many of the main players, especially Abu Bakr are still alive, so really only time will tell what results this inquiry will bring…
When the phone rang during family worship I went to answer it. It was Friday night, Sabbath, we were in the living room singing and the television had been off since sunset. On the other end of the line Auntie Wendy said
“Allyuh turn on the television.”
That was as close to sacrilege in my thirteen year old mind. No television played in my house from sunset Friday to sunset Saturday but the fact that she called and her voice had tinges of both excitement and bewilderment, we knew we had to switch it on.
There on the our little screen we saw the above image. Abu Bakr and his men had taken over the TTT news set and their number and guns filled the screen. The word coup and Muslimeen entered my vocabulary and left an impression like no other. The TV did not come off for the next three days. Old calypso videos played non stop with only one more broadcast from the attackers.
How did I feel? Honestly I was a little bit scared but mostly excited. Apart from Carnival and the World Cup qualifier the year before this was indeed the biggest drama to ever hit Trinidad. I lived in Princes Town so we were miles away from the drama in ‘town’ but it made the tales of looting and carnage even more outlandish. Every-one has their memories.
How can I forget hearing how those in the West had Disney Movies playing on their TVs all day (jealous!); curfew parties that started from Curfew time in the evening and did not end till the next morning ( too young to party but I was curious); people looting furniture stores and carrying fridges in their backs (many a story about houses in Laventille with two stoves, fridges, washing machines!). You knew when curfew was approaching because cars would be flying down my road (a great back street shortcut) as people tried to get off the street on time. These were the comedy moments.
But the serious parts did not escape me. The brother of a family friend was the first person to be killed. He was the policeman guarding the police headquarters entrance on Feredrick Street. They shot him multiple times and burnt his body. The parliament worker who was shot as they entered the Red House and she died of her injuries during the siege. Abu Bakr’s stepson who was visiting from Howard University and was murdered in his mother’s house by the police. The stories about the USA waiting with warships to invade the country (Which made us all think of the 1983 Invasion of Grenada and put terror in our hearts) Those are just a few of the stories I can recall.
My father told the boys and I then about the 1970 revolution, a story I had never been told in my History class but was indeed an integral part of Trinidad History. I was seeped in TnT politics then, even at that age ready to argue about the ills of N.A.R. but I felt sorry for the injured Prime Minister and other ministers who were being held against their will.
Abu Bakr and his men were captured, held, but through a farcical trial and eventually he was released. Surreal but true, that was the result of their coup. Those deaths were never truly avenged.
It was a time I will never forget. Driving through downtown Port Of Spain a few weeks later with my family we drove past the burnt out headquarters and looted and burnt stores and saw the truth of what occurred. I felt incredible sadness then. Ironically on the way home David Rudder’s song 1990 began to play. Had he seen the future? His words from the previous Carnival suddenly held such deeper meaning:
1990… will we ever learn
Or will our children keep running and running until the end of time
1990… will hands of love ever reach out
Or will they be there just to strengthen the crime?
It is strange that the more we change, rearrange
Everything still feels the same
As we move into the next century
1990… please make a liar of me
1990… will we see a tomorrow
Where our children will truly be free
1990… is it joy is it sorrow?
As we walk into the 21st Century
It is strange that the more we change, rearrange
Everything still feels the same
Have we reached to a higher plane
Or is it a touch of the sixties all over again
PNM was re-elected the following year and I left for London. I was a little older and more world savy by then. A bit like Trinidad and Tobago. The coup had shattered the innocence of my generation but as with all things Trini it is a memory mixed with humour as well as all the drama.
The boys and I never saw Saturday morning cartoons. We spent those days in Sabbath school. So every other day of the week was a cartoon bonanza for us. Evenings and Sunday morning cartoons. We knew every theme song and the background to each character. Those shows kept us captivated and made our TV time fun. Years later its amazing how we know the songs by heart and the nostalgia is great. Here are my favourites with some non cartoons thrown in there too!
I have a plan for my children. Somehow, some way, I have to compile the most Sesame Street DVDs and footage from the 1970s and 1980s I can find. Then bombard the first couple of years of their lives with it. It maybe information overload but like me they will be able to count and spell and sing nursery rhymes long before nursery school. Yes I appreciate that there are some great shows today on Children’s Television but all I have seen still do not live up to Sesame Street. Not the Elmo-centric fluff version of today but the Jim Henson years. At home in Trinidad it was 9am and 4pm Monday to Friday. Ahhh the good ‘ole’ days!
Through the beauty of Youtube I have compiled a few of the classics. Music, skits and lessons interwined! Doing the research I finally realised why I always have a song in my head and can make up a tune for any phrase! Lol. My so called madness suddenly has a root. Time to start making that SS time capsule for my future babies
WatchingRhodes Across The Caribbean has left me feeling homesick and made me think about both of my grandmothers. They were both amazing in the kitchen and have passed their skills down through the generations.
My paternal gran, who we affectionately called ‘Granny’, was born on the island of Montserrat. She moved to Trinidad with Grandpa in her early 20s. She used to call my brothers and I to watch her make coconut tart. Her recipe was similar tothis. It never took her long and while my brothers preferred to play in the living room I would stand next to her in the kitchen and watch her baking. We lived next door and her house was forever open to the grandchildren, with food always guaranteed to be available. She liked to encourage you to eat more!
’Muma’ was my maternal grandmother. She was born in Tobago but lived with ‘Pupa’ (who was born on the island ofCarriacou) and my Aunts and Uncle in the seaside village ofMayaroin southern Trinidad. One of my cooking memories of her was from a summer my brother and I spent with her in Mayaro. She made sugar cakes for us and I was excited to see my favourite sweet being made from scratch! Another day she made my mother’s favourite cassava farine under the house. The smoke swirled throughout the small wooden house as she parched the flour in a cuppa (a huge round basin)
I would watch them intently and envy the easy way they moved around their kitchens. No cook books or measuring cups were needed because cooking was like second nature to them. I wanted so badly to cook like them and my Mum and Aunts. I realised the other day while I was watching my brother cooking that I have inevitably become just like them. I cook with a pinch of this and a pinch of that and plenty of tasting. Unless it is something brand new, the recipes are in my head, sometimes with my own variations. I miss Granny and Muma. Both great personalities with so much love. From them I got many stories from Montserrat and Tobago, cementing my Caribbean history. The adult me would have picked their brains and written down the endless recipes they cooked. I would have paid closer attention to those moments in their kitchens. But then again the food held the least of my attention then because I just loved being in their company.
I let out a high pitched, gut trembling scream in the car this morning. Somewhere between Upper Norwood and West Norwood. I felt better as soon as it escaped my lips. All the frustrations and fears and whatever else is clouding my body needed to be released. I am at the helm of a transition and as exciting as it is I have many more weeks to go before it is a reality. Weeks of money building at a place that drives me slowly insane; £ signs haunting my dreams as I try to work out how I will afford it all; car bills; a dead laptop; deciding what other courses I should be tackling; lamenting the project I can not begin; wanting to be out all the time to escape my cubicle of a room and my own thoughts …. It is a long list. I have not even started to think about what 2010 holds yet. For someone who insists that she wants to fall in love and have children one day, I often wonder how I will be able to handle the responsibility of that when these little things make me what to scream. Literally. Yesterday I felt completely different. Not quite a day at the beach Trini style but close enough. I was up at 6.30am making Peleau and potato salad and loving the process. I had no problems waking up and heading to the kitchen . A coach load of family and family friends and the birthday woman herself left at 9am for Littlehampton. I loved the drive there. The driver took an ‘ A ‘ road instead of the motorway and we drove through lovely little villages and fields of grazing animals and greenery. It made me fantasize about living somewhere like that one day. I imagined waking up on a Sunday morning and drinking hot chocolate in the back garden with newspapers open on the table. It was a windy….windy….(did I mention windy?)….day but the god lord kept the rain away. We ate and laughed and played games and watched the children happily run from ride to ride in the fun fair. Strolling along the coast a mini rail car drove past and we stared into the windows of the cafe (picture attached). I can see all the benefits of living by the sea…. well except during the winter months! It is never a bad thing to get out of the city for a day or more. You see how simple it is to stroll instead of power walk or look at miles of open ocean or gentle fields. I am focusing on that today and telling myself to exhale all my worries away. It will all work out right? It usually does.
At home I rediscovered the beauty of dusk. That time of the day when the sun has not yet gone down but the shadows become longer and the coolness replaces the sting of the sun. I had my camera with me the entire trip but I took only a few pictures. Silly really as I spent many evenings just exhaling and enjoying the dusk moments but my mind never thought to capture it in a picture. I guess that proves that I am not an instinctive photographer. This trip was the best of times and also the worst of times. Forgive me if I don’t go into details about the worse bits but it is just not my story to share. But that last week I found myself creating great memories but being pretty cut up inside. Even now that I’m back in London I am pushing through my life and trying to be positive no matter the stresses at work or the turmoil in my heart. I had decided after a conversation with my cousins that I would try to live my life differently once I came back. To smile through the rain (literally and otherwise). How poignant that I really am doing that despite wanting to cry my eyes out and punch a hole into the non brick wall simultaneously! I have Wales and Paris and new stories to write and great times with my family and the friends and a potential hot summer to look forward to. The beat goes on. We’re alive and our hearts keep beating so the journey continues. I feel mine going down an interesting road. Trinidad reminded me of where I have come from and why I love it so. I made me remember the dreams I dreamed at dusk and how possible they still are. So onto to the next. And for this blog it will be me ranting about walls at the Beetham and Patrick Manning. Yes I’m back. Lol.
As with all things “Trini” the facts are melded with humour. He spoke of a country I did not know where black people did not hold positions of power in the banks and other offices in Port of Spain and the black power revolution in the USA that influenced those protests as well as the young men in the streets where he limed. As the rest of the world experienced an upheaval our ‘little’ islands began to rumble as well.
Sad faces all around and a slap on the wrist for good measure. A trip home is never a bad thing so there are stories of lovely adventures and memories. But in the midst of it all my TV and movie watching did not falter. I am after all the girl who became addicted to a soap opera in Caracas, a serial in Paris and talk show in Spain. Holidays and TV are synonymous in my mind! At home I did not have to depend on the internet for my TV fix but got to enjoy it live and direct every night. T&T, like so many of its Caribbean counterparts, has American cable like Direct TV with a mixture of local stations as well as some Spanish speaking ones (we are after all right next to Venezuela and the rest of South American continent).
