A Message From Sono

January 18, 2014

Well Sono, we got your message.

I am staying with my friend Kathleen.  This afternoon I was upstairs in the shower, she was downstairs in the kitchen.  The radio was on.  Suddenly she ran upstairs calling to me, “Come immediately, Sono just sent me to get you.  He is sending you this song.”  I ran down stairs and it was Rita Coolidge singing Close the Window, Calm the Lights. 

Here are the words Sono sent to me this afternoon.

Outside the rain begins and it may never end
So cry no more on the shore
A dream will take us out to sea
Forever more forever more
Close your eyes and dream
And and you can be with me
'Neath the waves through the caves of hours
Long forgotten now
We're all alone
We're all alone

Close the window
Calm the light
And it will be alright
No need to bother now
Let it out
Let it all begin
Learn how to pretend

Once a story's told
It can't help but grow old
Roses do
Lovers too
So cast your seasons to the wind
And hold me dear
Oh, hold me dear

Close the window
Calm the light
And it will be alright
No need to bother now
Let it out
Let it all begin
All's forgotten now
We're all alone
oh-oh, we're all alone

Close the window
Calm the light
And it will be alright
No need to bother now
Let it out

Let it all begin
Owe it to the wind, my love

hear Rita sing it on You Tube.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tCKO57ZbHSY
Boz Scaggs also gives a moving rendition

Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Today, as I walked by Glanvillia Bay, the fishermen were just coming in.  I burst into tears and embarrassed everyone...including Sono, no doubt!

SONO'S SEND OFF

Lambert "Sono" Emanuel

January 1, 1954    January 8, 2014

We buried Sono today, January 15, 2014,  under a brilliant double rainbow with the parrots flying overhead.  “For true” as they say in Dominica.  He was buried in the public cemetery, in a field of lemon grass in bloom, on a hill surrounded by his beloved mountains.  His son and brothers and neighbours carried his coffin to the grave.  I stood with his daughters while they lowered his body and shoveled in the red Dominican clay soil to cover it.  He is gone from us now.

Who is going to tease us and call us names? Who is going to say “Stop dat” and "Foolish"? Who is going to fry fish for me?  Who is going to play hide-and-seek with me in the middle of the night?  Who is going to sing reggae love songs to me? Who am I going to read to?  Who am I going to wait for at the Bay?

There was some confusion about which church the service was to be in, but it got straightened out and about 100+ friends and family gathered to celebrate Sono’s life.  Hymns were sung, prayers were said. He lay there through it all, in a shirt, tie and jacket – clothes he didn’t own and would NEVER wear in life.  The detested colour purple was everywhere.  There was no reggae music.  He would have hated the whole thing.

But he would have loved the turn out.  The people who knew the sea as he did came, the people who knew the soil as he did were there, the people who lived through difficult times with him and his children were there, and childhood friends were there.  His brothers and sisters, some of whom came from other islands, were all there.  His children were there. He would have been so proud to see my women friends there, both as a tribute to him and as a support for me.

Guyva, Marian, Lynthia

Sono's sunset

Lambert "Sono" Emanuel

I was on the Glanvillia Beach, looking out over the Caribbean Sea, in my usual quandary, when a tall, handsome, vibrant man suddenly appeared at my back.  Without a word, he picked up a piece of turquoise blue beach glass and handed it to me.  His presence had an instant impact and I immediately felt safe.  Later he told me that 2 weeks prior to this he had dreamt that he saw a mermaid with silver scales on Glanvillia Beach.  This was the start of a relationship that was intense and powerful. Sono and I had 5 filled, wonderful years together. 

Sono was born in the Portsmouth area on January 1, 1954.  He proudly says he was the first baby born in Dominica on that date at the crack of midnight!  He grew up in Portsmouth, Lagoon and Clifton and spent some years in Roseau where he made and sold “sweeties” (candy). He spoke Patois, Creole and French fluently. He was a shipwright, a fisherman, a man of all trades, but foremost a sailor.  He was 13 when he built his first boat and went on to build many more, some of which are still in use. He was one of the young men who revolted against the infamous Dread Act and fled into the bush, and survived the ensuing persecution.  This is a period he would never talk about.  He owns a wooden house in Glanvillia where he raised two of his children as a proud single father.  He was an active member of the St. John’s Fisherfolk Cooperative.

Sono was a talker with a quick and easy wit.  He could tell a good story and he would joke at every chance - as do most Dominicans I have found.  Even on his bed of pain and misery in the hospital he would tease the nurses.  How I used to love listening to him and his friends recount elaborate and embellished tales of their adventures at sea, replete with actions!   He was kind and overly generous to the underdog.  He had an amazing memory. Now that he is gone much history has gone with him.  He could recount the genealogy of any Dominican.  I often derided him about his accounts of who’s who, but it always turned out to be correct. He had a special bond with very young children and animals and a deep respect for the old people.  He was quick to anger, loud, not a man to cross, proud and impatient and stubborn, but  for all his ‘ways’ and for all his foibles, he was a good kind, loving man.

Although a man of the sea he was connected, in that unique Dominican way, to the land.  He knew every plant, its medicinal use and where to find it. He knew every creature, every lizard, and every insect.  He literally could call the birds out of the trees. He was proud of being the sure footed ‘goat’, the Capricorn.  He named one of his boats “Capri.”

He practiced his guitar regularly and loved roots reggae.  He knew them all and had a good collection.

He also had a side that went unappreciated.  Under the quips lay a thinking, reflective man.  Clearly he had struggled with the existential questions we all deal with and had come to his own conclusions.  He mostly kept them to himself.  He lived them, he didn't talk about them.  They became integrated into his being.  As well,  other dimensions to what we know and see and believe to be obvious were a natural part of his day to day life and activities.  He was in contact with the Creator, in whom he had an abiding belief. 

On July 25, 2013, on his way to the airport to pick me up he had a catastrophic car accident.  His neck was broken, C4, C5, C6 were fractured.  He died on January 8, 2014 not only as a result of this accident but also as a result of the appalling lack of medical care and services, and ignorance.

Sono and Marian at Red Rocks Beach

RIDING THE BUSES

The buses are not buses.  They are vans with 14 seats, at peak times squeezing in 16 people, and a big sliding side door operated by the passenger sitting nearest to the door. Some of the buses are newer and cleaner than others.  All are Japanese made Honda or Nissan.  All are fitted with powerful speakers that blare the local radio and current, local, pop hits.  The 35 Km run from Portsmouth to Roseau takes about an hour plus, and costs 9 EC ($4.50 Canadian).  You pay the driver when you get off according to the distance you have travelled.  Buses traveling to and fro stop at unscheduled intervals along the way, often to pick up or deliver packages, children, messages, or for unidentifiable reasons.  Sometimes the driver will pull over and the passengers will buy a hot plantain or roasted corn on the cob from a lady at the side of the road through the window.  From time to time the driver will hop off for a quick pee.

When you want to get off you shout “STOPPING” and hope the driver hears you above the din.  If you happen to be sitting at the back of the bus, getting off is an athletic event.  The ceiling is low, there is no aisle, there are lots of legs, parcels, and other impedimenta to negotiate.  Then you get to the door and pull it open, toss your baggage, parcels and children out, slide down, go to the window on the passenger side (they drive on the left) and pay the driver.  Often you are let off inches from a drain or a deep tuft of grass with who knows what waiting inside there.  Going to Roseau I ask the driver to take me to the hospital and he makes a little detour up the hill.  Going from the hospital to catch the bus to Portsmouth I take the intercity bus (85 Canadian cents).

Getting on is another adventure.  I have only gotten on at the ‘terminals’.  Burrows Square in Portsmouth is the gathering place for the buses to Roseau.  It is crowded with vehicles: all parked in what appears to be a confusion, all with motors on, all honking their horns, all drivers shouting.  Buses from the villages arrive and the drivers hi-jack the passengers to fill their bus. They will not leave until their bus is full although they all promise to leave immediately.  I have often waited for 20 minutes on the bus that is leaving right away.  This is the reason I walk the extra distance to catch the bus at Burrows Square although I could get it much closer to where I live.  The bus gets to my stop FULL and does not stop. 

The process in Roseau to return to Portsmouth is much the same only more crowded, confusing, noisy and hectic. 

I know that there is a protocol amongst the drivers, competition is fierce, politics of bus operation are complex, and there is no way I could ever figure it out – or even want to.  I have my favourite drivers, they know me by now, and they compete for my little fare.  They call out to me as they see me coming to attract my attention.  I look to see which bus has the most passengers as that will be the bus leaving soonest, smile and get on.  If I know it will be a wait I drop a dollar in the hand of “Cucumber”, a street person, who looks after me: he gets me a seat up front with the driver and makes sure the bus waits for me while I go across the street to get an ice cream cone.

On the bus: if the news is on and if there is some political discussion on the radio the denizens will erupt into a passionate debate on the topic.  Most people play or text on their phones, some sing and bounce around to music on their phone, some sleep, some eat, or visit and chat.  I just go into the ‘zone’.  I rather like the bus ride, the scenery is spectacular, the near misses are heart throbbing; I can actually think on the bus.  I take the late bus home from Roseau at the end of the work day so it tends to be quiet.

I wanted to include photos, but I am a little intimidated.  Maybe later.........

MY DAY

Benjie is down the hall singing passionate gospel songs.  The thing is the hall is long and narrow and tiled so the echo makes, even me, sound like a Met star!  I sing in the hall, too, from time to time trying to sound like Roberta Flack!

I like apartment life.  Alone, but not alone.  Close the door, lock it, be safe, have other humans around but a nod or a ‘good day’ is all that is required. It is worth it to put up with their cooking smells and noise.  This building is one storey, 8 apartments, only 4 are occupied.  My apartment is very small.  I counted 17 twelve inch tiles across and 17 twelve inch tiles long. You do the math.  But it is laid out nicely, the bathroom and the bedroom are big enough and the kitchen/sitting room is small.  There are no shelves or cupboards (except in   the kitchen) and this presents a challenge, but if you don’t have anything the challenge is easy to meet.  It is furnished (stove, fridge, table, 2 chairs, bench, TV, internet, water) I pay for the electricity and cooking gas.  This all amounts to under $1000 Canadian dollars a month. Then there is food, which I find expensive, lunch, phone, bus, laundry and whatever (I love the local sweet, mild, refreshing, beer - Kubuli).

Oddly, it is waking up alone, to nothing and no one that disturbs me the most.  I don’t like to face the day.  Getting myself up and out of bed is hard and the questions, dilemmas, and impossible decisions hit full force.  I hate everything and everyone and the quiet. It is very difficult to motivate myself.  Coffee helps.  I can’t stand the local radio and I miss the CBC.  I was never good in the morning, but this is particularly hard.  Anyway, I do because I must, and once out on the street it is OK and some equilibrium is found.

Much to my surprise I enjoy my evenings alone and I feel mildly relieved to come home to an empty apartment, crank the AC up high, take a shower, have a beer, make a little supper, check my email – in that order!  Sometimes Guyva and Remi or Flo drop in for a beer and a chat.  Sometimes Scotty or Benji (a different one) or Carla (one of Sono’s daughters) phones me to check up on me.    I download movies and TV shows, go to bed with my computer and a movie in my air-conditioned bedroom. 

I chat with many people on the way back and forth.  I am a known quantity around town and am often stopped, or ‘hailed’ as they say here. I know all the bus drivers and I drop a dollar in the palm of “cucumber”, a street person, who will secure me a seat beside the bus driver and hold the bus while I run across the street to top up my phone or get an ice cream cone or a piece of watermelon. I spend a lot of time on the buses.  Bus life is a whole other story. On my way home, when I get off the bus, I cut through the local shop at Mountain Breeze.   There are always several neighbours there gossiping, and I give my little report on Sono’s condition and receive their best wishes. I cannot go to the hospital on Sundays because the buses don’t run.

I hope to establish the pattern that today presented.  I rolled out of bed at 8am, fooled around and was out the door by 10:30, went to CALLS (I actually did something useful) until 12:30, had a big sustaining lunch (because I won’t be able to eat again until I get home), got on the bus, and was in the hospital with Sono by 2, stayed until 5:30, caught the bus back to Portsmouth at 6 and was home by 7:30.  I made Sono as comfortable as I am able.  My plan is to replicate this day as long as he is in Roseau. 

The Diver

 I had to go into Portsmouth to get a key cut at Budget Marine (‘budget’ is an oxymoron).  Of course, in spite of a large rack of blanks, they didn’t have one.  When I left the store a man in diving gear, i.e., snorkel, harpoon, stopped me and showed me a small common terra cotta flower pot and asked me to buy it.  Pleadingly, he said, “This is all I could find today. Give me a couple of dollars for it, my lady.” I have finally learned to say no to these myriad offers.  He continued saying he was hungry.  I walked on with him shouting angry insults at my back. 

My Challenge

Monday August 19, 2013

Sono is in Martinique and I hope they are fixing his C6, but I don’t really know.  One of his sisters went with him.  He will be there for 10 days. His other sister, here on the Island, is supposed to stay in touch with me.  So far no news. 

So - my personal challenge now is to sit tight, not react, keep my head down and wait, wait, wait, and hope his sister will call me. I am just not comfortable calling her but I might have to.  My spirits crash about, going from being resolute, to despondent, to paranoia, to confidence and back again. I work hard at staying cheerful and learning to be alone and on my own. I hate the isolation and being dependent on others but it is preferable to the struggle to stay level with his family, and not being sure what Sono wants. I expect he doesn’t know.  At this phase, nothing is known.  I am operating entirely on intuition.  This one-day-at-a-time thing is damn hard work!  At least my internet is restored.

Thoughts of ‘why am I doing this’ and ‘I want to go home’ are beginning to creep in.  I must keep them at bay, at least until Sono comes back from Martinique with a prognosis, and his wishes can be determined. I know that his family will prevail, and that is, of course, as things should be, but only then can I think about what next for me.

Guyva (20 years old), Sono’s son, is very good to me and checks up on me every day.  I am so grateful for all my friends and family and I keep you and your love before me in my mind.  Your care and encouragement sustain me.

Later:  I got it….I’ll draw and I’ll write!!!  Solitary activities to be sure…but something to keep the agony of loneliness from making me totally crazy!  Deep thanks to whoever sent me that flash.