Driving in Dominica

Driving in Dominica – my novice experience

Set the scene: left hand drive, hair-pin curves, up and down hills, narrow asphalt roads, no shoulder, ragged edges, huge pot holes, often ocean on one side, mountain on the other. Many pick up trucks, jeeps, heavy equipment travelling at break-neck speed around the S curves, other vehicles tail-gating. Sections of the route are under construction.

I drive a jeep along this route to Roseau. Near Roseau are jam-packed villages where only one car can move at a time, and everyone wants to GO. The entire population is on the street. If you stop to wait for the road to clear a little you will never get through, but somehow I do get through. I am cool as a cucumber, driving with confidence. When I finally get where I am going, I can’t get out of the car. My hands have become glued to the steering wheel and my knuckles are bloodless. I try to get out of the vehicle, but my whole body has seized up. What price COOL!!!!

One rarely hears of accidents, but about once a month someone is killed on the road - usually a young man on a motorcycle. I will, however, continue to drive. I know I will learn the pattern. I'd still like to have my own vehicle.

Driving around Portsmouth is the same but more friendly and easier.

Here I Am

The return trip was fine with only one event. There just wasn't enough time between flights Antigua-Dominica. By the time I got cleared through Antigua they had closed the flight to D/ca It was the last flight out. I would have had to stay in Antigua overnight...so I groveled and begged. I told them to forget the luggage, just get ME on the plane. They got me and the luggage on. I’ll never say bad things about LIAT airline again.

My little house is just fine, Not great, but a big improvement over the former place. A little noisy perhaps. It is across from the bread shack and within ear shot of a school. Several little problems with fans that don't work, bureau drawers that are too heavy and will not open, and a cup board over the bathroom sink that is so low you can't brush your teeth!!! I can cope. I like it. Next week I will go to CALLS to check in to set up some volunteer time. Several students have seen me about, so they know I am here. In fact, everyone knows I am back.

Ready to Go

Well, I’m all packed and ready to go.

Samantha is in Abbotsford with Nick and enrolled in the adult learning centre. Hans took her, and her cat out last week. Anthony and his family are getting settled in their new house in Ottawa. Hans seems to be ready to try life on his own.

Last week someone said to me that what I am doing is what twenty year olds do – “what’s that?” I asked. “Find yourself”, he said. I was so surprised at this that I didn’t respond. My thought was – I’ve never been lost! I’ve certainly been diverted, confused, perplexed, but never lost. Through all my ups and downs, comings and goings, I never misplaced my core.

This time I am going with a different mindset. I really enjoyed my time here in Canada (although the politics are embarrassing). I’ve had a lovely visit with family and friends, with cool clean air and creature comforts and lots of fabulous food. I know what I am going back to. There will be no surprises, no expectations. Sono is waiting for me.

Next dispatch will be from D/ca

I'm Going Back To Dominica

So it is September 1 and I have my ticket to return to Dominica on the 25th,

Yes, I know…I know…

And furthermore, the issues that sent me back north have not been resolved and probably never can be. My intention is to go, not come back at Christmas, return in June for the summer here.

What has become clear is that I am ‘finished’ with Brooke Valley. There is nothing here for me. My house and garden of 40 years are close to being a burden, not a pleasure. I cannot conjure up a future for myself here. Although I certainly have friends here, and there are activities I enjoy, and my family is here, somehow I can’t project an image of myself LIVING here – doing what? There is no CHALLENGE.

As challenging as it might be, I have no interest or desire to jump on Hans’ band wagon. Yes, of course, I could do volunteer work here – whatever I am doing there, I could do here. Doing volunteer work is not my reason for going anywhere.

I love it here. The cool nights, the pretty landscape, the ease, the convenience, the cleanliness, the food, the level of social awareness and activity, the friends and family…you name it, it is all good. But there is something HUGE missing!

What is it?

Can it be an intimacy I never felt I had? Can it be that life in Dominica is ‘in your face’, not at arms length, sanitized, as it feels here?

I do not know.

NEXT

It occurs to me that having written about why I am leaving Dominica, I should also write about the reasons to stay or return. There are several strong reasons. I will do this in the next weeks.

Meanwhile, here is a story

RIDING WITH COCKTER

Sono and I had to go to Rosseau to pick up the new propellor, the 25 ho motor and do some other city errands, so we hired his friend, Cockter (pronounced cock-tah, a patois word meaning a stick to dig in the earth or a staff) and his pick up truck.

It was raining, but Cockter was more or less on time. He had to "do something" before he came to get us! Off we went at top speed in his rattling, rusty rogue of a truck. Cockter is a big man and the gear shift was on the floor, so Sono and I were squashed hard up against the passenger door.

Now, Rosseau is only 30 miles from Portsmouth, but the road is winding, twisting and narrow and features potholes the size of a bath tub, so it takes an hour to get there. The road is snug up against the mountain on one side and a precipice going down to the ocean on the other. It is a very busy highway with an endless stream of huge Diatsue dump trucks carrying tarish, pickup trucks carrying people, people carrying loads on their heads, vans, busses, cars, goats. Dominicans drive on the left - sort of - mostly in the middle and the prevailing attitude is every man for himself.

So, as I said, off we go. I give myself over to fate and decide to enjoy the ride.

About 10 minutes into the trip, Cockter parks on the non-existent shoulder, jumps out, opens the hood (bonnet). Sono is not far behind, They jiggle the battery, declare it "good to go" and jump back in. Another 5 minutes of driving, reminiscent of a midway ride, and Cockter pulls over again, this time to pee. "Let's go again", he says as he heists himself back into the truck.

Sono and Cockter keep up a constant flow of chatter in broad idiomatic Dominican mixed with patois. I understand less than half of what they are saying. Between them Sono and Cockter know everyone we pass. There is much honking and waving. The personal and family histories of all are discussed in detail.

Closer to Rosseau the Chinese (chi-nee) are reconstructing the road. Huge bulldozers are carving away hairpin curves, building sea walls and preparing new road beds. The process is analyzed and, of course, found to be wrong. No one stops for the construction. You just push through.

And so we reach Rosseau. It is a humid 38 degrees C. The Rosseau River is dirty and the harbour is muddy because it is raining. Poor Sono stumbles out of the vehicle. He has been bouncing along on the metal rim of the seat and the CD speaker has been jamming into his shoulder, "My cote bondar (arse) hurts and my shoulder is mashed up," he says.

Our first stop is the Mercury agent to get the propellor, which is too small, then over to Fisheries for the motor, but they are closed (?) and nobody knows why. Then we go to the police station to pick up Sono's passport, but they are closed for lunch. Next we find a shop to buy a battery for my watch, and discover a long lost brother! No kidding, really. They haven't seen each other for years. They are genuinely happy to see each other, but nothing much transpires and they go their separate ways. Back over to the police station and get the passport.

On the way home we have to stop in Fond Cole, an industrial park, to buy some rope. Sono knows exactly where the place is, Cockter does not. He drives where he thinks it should be, not listening Sono's directions. Cockter quickly realizes he can get under Sono's skin by randomly driving all over the place and pulling in to any old factory parking lot. Sono is sweating trying to keep his temper. By sheer accident Cockter pulls into the right place and we get our bales of rope.

Finally, we head for home picking up a lady and her basket of tomatoes on the way. Luckily it has stopped raining because she is perched on the bales of rope in the back of the truck. She gets down at Picard and we buy a delicious Bar-B-Q'd chicken. We are home by 4.

The day isn't over yet...but that's another story.

HOW DO I FEEL ABOUT RETURNING?

How do I feel about returning to Canada?

Apprehensive and unsure would describe it.

My immediate family, Hans in particular, and friends have been more than lenient with my moods, vagaries, and eccentricities. My friends have been amazingly undeerstanding and supportive.

I am not finished! I will require more patience from family and friends.

I do not know where I will live
I do not know where I WANT to live
I do not know what I want
I do not know how to figure this out
I am embarassed to have these existential problems at my age
I am afraind of making the wrong choice

I will badly miss my Dominican family, and especially Sono.

And that about covers it

RETURNING

It is with deep regret and much hard thinking that I have decided to leave Dominica, and most likely I will not return. There are reasons, of course. Here are some of them.

I am lonely. After a year + I have not made a satisfying life for myself. Although I know a lot of people, have volunteered umpteen hours at 2 schools, been somewhat involved with the fisher folk and their life, attended the local Anglican church, enjoyed being greeted warmly by the local people and the children as I walk through Portsmouth, I am still alone - and I don't like it. Now that school is over I truly have nothing to do, no reason to be here,no purpose. I have done nothing creative since I have been here - no painting, no sewing, no embroidery. I have done some writing.

Although I am 100% healthy. no aches, no pains, lots of energy, there is no place that I can see to spend it. I have done all the usual tourist things, seen the Island from land and sea, There is nothing to do. The library is dismal, there is no cinema, there is occaisional theater which is often in patois, and no listenable music. It is not safe ton go out alone at night. There are no restaurants or coffee bars. Ross Medical University is a closed American enclave which I have not been able to penetrate. The women I teach with, for whom I have some respect, are nuns. People here do not drop-in or visit back and forth. It is just not done outside the family. Society's structure can be described as 'tribal'. I think this explains why. I do not have a car. I will not watch TV during the day, and the evening TV is awful. Renting DVD's has not reached here yet. I could travel to other islands, and perhaps even see more of this one, but doing this alone is no fun.

I am not cut out for the Caribbean life style. I am a bred in the bone type A person and I can't seem to make the mental adaptations necessary to 'relax' here. I have given it an honest try, and I just get more restless. There are many non Caribbeans living here who have no problem. I think I know how they do it. (1) they live in expat communities and have each other (2)the white women who choose to stay are young (3) they have the money to live in comfort (4)they have jobs and work here.

The family that I have been apart of for the last year is not MY family. I do not want their ups and downs or their problems. I have been living with a man(who has 2 teen age children) who is a shipwright by trade, but he has not built a boat in the last year. He is also a fisherman, but cannot make a living fishing. He, as many others, live hand-to-mouth. It goes like this: to go fishing for the day he must have 4 five gallon tanks of gas. This costs something like $150 Canadian. He must catch enough fish to sell to at least make his gas money back so he can fish another day. This rarely happens,and for the past 10 days there have been no fish, no one is catching. There are no government subsidies. I do not know how men with young families manage. Yes, I could give him the money for gas, but I strongly believe that this is his life, his occupation, his enterprise and he must support it - not me. It gives me great pain to watch. I do not want to watch it any more.

And finally there is the physical discomfort. It is relentlessly hot,never cooling off at night, and I am allergic to the mosquitoes. Dominica is a third world country with all the poverty, inefficiencies, inconveniencies, corruption and pollution that that brings.

Just a note about cultural differences: yes, they can be overcome, and certainly have been by many people all through the ages. Class, however, is a different matter. Intelligence, values and education notwithstanding, the gulf that results from deeply rooted differences in taste, approach to problems, world view and histories, is much more difficult to live with. And then there is semantics! The combination of cultural differences, class differences and semantics is something for young people to wrestle with. Love does not conquer all.

Geographically, Dominica is a gorgeous island with majestic mountains rising proudly out of the warm powerful Caribbean Ocean. There is no match for the grandeur of Dominica - not the Rockies, not the mighty rivers of the Canadian north, not the North Atlantic itself! To see Dominica from the air, or the sea, is truly breath taking. To travel up and down her mountains and valleys is a marvel. And then to realize that what you see rising above the ocean is mirrored below the ocean - that those volcanic mountains and valleys exist under the water is simply beyond description.