Gardening in the Rainforest

Sono has 400 acres of bush on the side of a mountain. It is about 2 miles from his house through groves of wild guava, banana trees, mango and coconut palms, and other unknown (to me) vegetation across a river, up and down slippery slopes. For Sono and the children it was a walk in the park, for me it was hard going, but I did it, and I don’t think I held them up too much. However, by the time we got there, I was wet and hot and there was no way I felt like gardening!

The garden is a ‘clearing ‘in the bush. Don’t be fooled by the word clearing. Nothing is clear in the bush. This clearing is beside a ravine with brackish flowing water. The soil is gravelly, deep, red and extremely fertile. Sono had brought some tomato seedlings to transplant, and he dug some holes for dasheen plants which he will bring up next time he goes. The only tool was his cutlass and a fork. The tomatoes he planted last week were doing well, as were his bananas and mangoes. I asked why anyone would bother planting mangoes and bananas as they seem to grow in biblical abundance. Apparently the cultivated ones are “not wild”. Right!

I have lost so much weight that my jeans didn’t fit me and kept sliding down. I was also wet, so they would stick to me. I felt trapped inside my pants. Sono cut a branch of something fibrous and tied up my jeans so at least I wasn’t tripping on the pant legs.

We then proceeded on to what is known as “the flat”, which, this being Dominica, isn’t. In fact it was a trail on the steep side of a mountain clogged with vegetation which Sono and Guyva chopped through with their cutlasses. Suddenly we stopped because we were there. Where? It all looked the same to me – green, lush, verdant, luxuriant. But there we were, at a spot they recognized, and soon I saw the little fire pit. The fire was lit, the pot set to boil (water from the stream that I could not see for the undergrowth), rice, chicken pieces, salt, appeared and were tossed in the pot while we drank coconut water and Guyva went off to dig wild yams and dasheen to roast. I lay down on a banana leaf. Lynthia and Guyva played games on their cell phones. How’s that for incongruity.

We ate our meal, (delicious, satisfying) and it was time to go down. Much easier to go down. Sono and the children were carrying heavy loads of bananas, and mangoes. We picked about 10 pounds of guava along the way. We did a small detour for Sono to show me some big iron pots left over from the days the slaves made molasses from the sugar cane plantation that had been there (on the side of a hill?). He also pointed out a track, (like a lumber track) along which the molasses was transported out, but again, I couldn’t see it for the undergrowth.

Finally we reached home. I went strainght into the shower and bed, Sono, Guyva and Lynthia went into their house to make a gallon of guava juice.

Grade Six Graduation

See, "A Humbling Experience: below.

This morning I was invited to the graduation of the grade 6 class at St. John's Catholic School. It was pouring rain when I set out on the 20 minute walk. I was soaked through before I even got down the stairs. It was worth every drop and was a spirit, heart, mind opener for me.

The grade six class was moving on to secondary school in September. Most of the children had been at St. John since Kindergarten, and most had started out with Sister Clare, who will also be moving on this fall. The ceremonies took place in the RC chruch Hall, just across from the school, in the presence of the Bishop, members of the PTA, the school board, parents, friends, relatives and well wishers. Mrs. Hyacinth was the MC and did a brillant job. Miss Joanne Charles, a former St. J's student gave the key note address and it was a barn-burner of a speech, accompanied by cheers, amens and applause from the audience. There were more speeches, songs and then finally the certificates and prizes were presented to the 28 graduates. Each child was mentioned, each child was praised for their effort, all with equal attention. Devon Brewster, with tears streaming down his face, gave a valedictory speech that would do anyone proud.

This was a very emotional and moving 2 hours. The atmosphere was palable with love and good will, with hopes and dreams and expectations for the future. These children are truly blessed.

A Night at the Theater

0n Friday, Lynthia brought home a flyer about a theater prodction to take place in the next village on Saturday evening. She really wanted to go, and it intrigued me , so I agreed to take her. It was to take place at something called “the country club”. I was skeptical, but she seemed to know the place. As it happened we all (Sono, Lynthia, Guyva and me) took a taxi to Bourne. The country club turned out to be a rather nice, large bar, disco, theater compound. The ‘theater’, stage and audience were outside. There were no scenery changes. The sets were excellent.

The play was called “The Shingle House” and was about an abandoned wooden house, now haunted and about to be reclaimed and sold. The plot centered around who the original owner was, the town gossip, rumours, town characters, and general goings-on. It was a lively, funny , and well produced show - really an excellent piece. The audience was totally involved, shouting out advice and baudy remarks to the characters who would in turn consult the audience when some decision needed to be made, or someone did or said something that needed a comment. I had the impression that a lot of it was improvised. Very Elizabethean. Very entertaining. Unfortuneately I only caught ¾ of the dialogue as it was thick with accent, colloquillisms and local history.

A thouroughly enjoyable evening.

Under the Mango Tree

There is a big mango tree, heavy with rippening fruit, in front of my building. It has a small, slapped together, bench leaning up against it. I spend a lot of time there during the day in its shade. I sit there with my drawing book and exchange pleasant greetings with passers by. In the evening the breeze rustles its leathery leaves while I drink Kabuli beer (light, local beer), eat plaintain chips and listen to the reggae music on the radio coming from the cabin, just behind the tree. It is a big box really. Some Haitains live there. They often cook fish for their meal which they chop up on one of the big roots of the mango tree with their "machet".

From this bench I hear dogs barking, roosters crowing, children laughing, woman chattering. Goats munch their way past me. Just in front of me is a thicket of mango trees, coconut palms, and banana trees. There is a well used path through it. I have no idea where it goes, and I surprize myself that I am not interested in exploring it. It goes where it goes, and that's good. I much prefer to just sit here and watch the comings and goings along the trail.

People are getting used to seeing me there. I always have my sketch book on my knee, and do endless drawings of mango clusters.

Killing the fatted goat and other culinary adventures

On Father's Day, Sono, the boat builder decided he had to "eat a goat", and wouldn't I enjoy that too. I assured him he was welcome to do whatever he felt he had to do, but that I would decline in the preparation of the meal (read slaughter), and maybe even in the consumption. He didn't press the point, and I did accept the dinner invitation. He stewed some of it in papaya, salted some of it, and the rest is in my fridge! This being the land of skinney animals, there was no fat on the meat, but lots of grizzle (ugh), and bone. I did my best. The papaya part was delicious!

I am awash in mangoes, limes and coconut milk, and a soft sweet pear like fruit. There is a 'snackette' in Portsmouth that has really good pizza. Chicken roti is a special treat. Plantain chips and local light beer is how I spend my evenings when Sono and the children come over to watch TV, charge their cell phones and crunch ice cubes.

On my birthday Sono, Lynthia and I baked a heavy butter and egg cake and soaked it in ginger wine. Fabulous.

I'm losing wieght. It's all the walking and sweating I do.

Hot

Today was the hottest yet. I have no idea what the temperature was. I have been trying to buy a thermometer, but there isn't one in Portsmouth. I can understand this because who cares when it is this hot. There also aren't any weather reports, except for those concerning sailors. Fair enough. There are really only 3 levels of weather, hot, hotter and hottest!

this is not a complaint.

The Great Move

So, I have an apartment!!! Not only that, but I have a fridge and everything in it is mine, put there by me, and is there when I open the fridge again; and the fridge remains clean. You cannot imagine the wave of warm gratitude, to the gods that govern this sort of thing, that came over me when I opened the fridge this morning.

The move was easy. The woman who drove the taxi is called Alfie! "Call me anytime, darlin'"

The electricty is on a pay-as-you-go basis, and of course includes heating the hot water (shoud you want hot water!). Makes perfect sense to me. You are assigned a number, go to any convenience store and buy a block of power. It is up to you how you spend it.

And I have a mango tree in my front yard. I sat under it last night. There I was on a bench, under a mango tree, in my own back yard, chickens pecking all around, reggae music in the background. I laughed out loud at the very thought.

It is fairly quiet although there are buidlings all around and a lot of people. Mostly Ross University students. I was told that they are all serious and hard working. Yeah, right, I said to myself. But indeed, they are not undergrads but medical students and they DO work hard and long, so quiet does prevail.

Quiet prevails...except for the rooster concert which starts up around 2 AM after an hour's warm up! I have identified at least 5 different roosters who call back and forth to each other. Often they even try harmony. This is something to get used to.

I have to adjust and elaborate the cast of characters because I will be writing about them as they are part of my life. Lynthia is a near 14 year old, tall, langy, pretty girl. Her long femurs, shin bones and arm bones facinate me. I'm sure she has more vertebrae than she supposed to have. she is in high school. She is nagging me to get my sewing machine out. I'm sure she has something in mind. Her brother is Guyva, whom I have been calling Kiver, he is 16 and is transfering all the reggae and hip hop music I have on my computer to one of my flash drives, which I gave him) They come over every evening to watch TV. They live just around the corner. Their father, called Sono, is a boat builder and has one in progress in his yard. He is also tall and lanky and has a head of dreadlocks! He raised these two children entirely on his own from babyhood. They move around the universe as a unit, a constellation. Phillip is no longer an active member of this cast of characters. I don't trust him.

Jo Etienne and Isodora are women who run small take-out meal places called snackettes (isn't that great!) Jo's is in the middle of Portsmouth and Isodora is at Indian River. They are not exactly 'friends' but they are happy to sit with me when I go for a coffee in the late afternoon and chat.

Sister Clare is not responding, and I think I was being only politely tolerated in church on Sunday. I will not go back there. Again someone suggested "racism" and a disapporval of the company I keep. To this I say - I like the company I keep. I am disappointed that these people don't realize that my private life and my professional life are separate.

I have not yet contacted Olivia Douglas at CALLS. That is on the agenda for this week. I am curious to see if the reception there has changed as well.