Dominica Man.
21 September 2011
Dominica is a coastline of history winding it’s way around volcanic rock, etching into their faces an historical language of muscles that’s found in the land, in the valleys that reaches deep into the earth, bring up a hard sweetness. Then there is the heights opening memory and nature water life at every winding curve, so man curves, oh so many curves, time expands, distances become relative to the journey.
There is a momentum from a rhythm of the Kalinago, buried deep in the soil, but lies at the heart of me, I felt, ancestral footsteps of survival, the persistent other, they will inspire others to rebel against the rein of tyranny,
But alas that tyranny stalks the land, haunting the air waves, the political speak, the tongues tells a story of betrayal, division and sharing of the spoils, booty, builds small palaces, buys wine and small jet planes fly in and out couriers of Chinese, Venezuelan bags with certain secrets.
“The people are illiterate in the Caribbean, it is no difference here”
The momentum of people continues by a people filled with the ingenuity of their land of their ancestors, pounding the nails of literacy from the podium of intellectual festivity, from the blood of the farm land, erecting another story that will retell in fullness, betrayal.
I listened to a man read from paper an islands story, he foot erect in wood, she belly swell in the ripeness of dat is she tongue, De city slept as we walked along her streets to see she voice, along de wall a man looked into he pockets for another something that he didn’t have, dat is she tongue in de smallness of pain, it is she brother, she family, he was still reading from he paper, puling at it, tearing at the seams , words slapped we in de face, buh yuh good still walk along de sea side, she belly safe…..for the time,
I was in de the city in ah little sweet room dat had bars, dis was not Cottage, where we left our doors open to welcome de breezes, we sat dey naked, talked to the moon, played with the sun, eat along side the ants, as the Cabrits made a speech of history as the buds and de critters laughed at her, here there is simpleness, folks waving hands and smiling, here is stories, plenty stories as we buss up ah meal of fish and provision, fruit, plantain,
Dey is politics here, hard like dat, it in de belly of de country in de land of the Kalinago, in Roseau belly in hear de man talk about it in de restaurant, ah Minister story, one dat ah hear in Trinidad and Tobago, Barbados, Jamaica, Guyana,
De man tell meh of de call he get, a call dat almost wipe out chickens in this wondrous,
Ah almost cuss de man, he hold he tongue.
“De Caribbean is ah illiterate people” de man tell meh as he point he finger at the KFC and de supermarket dey put up dat selling all dem import food,
“Caribbean people is ah foolish people”
“Buh we hav tings man!, we hav tings!” pointing to de mountains, where the body can immerse in sulphur, built out of bamboo and han in ah small village by dis ital man Screws,
“People are doing it on their own” he mentioned as we slipped into the hot sulphur.
Screws, in dat little talk did it by hand, dey, all did it by hand in the village here. Design as a functional tool of pure understanding of a necessary need, living in the moment of raw material presence, it becomes what it needs to become, nature dictates such a pace. Brothers and sisters, girlfriends, wife’s, husbands, common law partners. To me ah felt that vibe of family here for a moment. Capital family, architecture forming a capital intention- art-design, crafting a moment for a sustainable moment,
I looked back to say something and the moment was gone, we have already entered and left that village to enter another village, all with a fierce independence and identity,
“They all want their own village council”,
“10 people live dey, yes!”,
An activist story,
“women owned their own bakery making mastiff bread and doing well, the activist asked what did you eat before this?, she asked the women, provision, was the response, know you eat bread, this project wasn’t well thought out”
These women ended up there as a response to not being paid by their husbands when they worked in the field with them. So a project was set up to give them financial independence. Eventually changing their indigenous diet and creating a dependence on imported goods.
A Caribbean Tale.
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| It was blue man, blue. |
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| THE CABRITS. From Cottage, over the balcony I could have looked into history. Feeling that calmness of how it can settle, the man can mess with it that still leaves so much to be admired. The Cabrits, were separated from the island, it was filled in, making it part of the island. THE CHINESE IS HERE |
TSTT BMOBILE
Caribbean corporate integration?
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| We walked silently through the corridors looking for someone to talk to. Silently we left. A CITY, IS A CITY, IS A CITY It does not matter where you stand. The city Copacabana, New York, Cape Town, Port of Spain. It feels the same man, it where the energy sits. TRAFFIC, SEX, DRUGS, ROCK AND ROLL |
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oh so quite and sweet to be there. |
THE CITY
Roseau.
CONCRETE IS PART OF THE ROAD WORK.
THE CABRITS
AT THE LITERARY FESTIVAL
There stood a proud craft woman,
plying her art work,
simple proud,
she tells.
AT THE MUSEUM
SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT
Jungle Bay,
This story is an interesting story of community,
restructuring and development,
that went against the grain and reawaken in them,
something that was dormant,
merchants were developed,
went onto to become suppliers to other
businesses in the community and city.
FISHING BOATS
GOVERNMENT BUILDING
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| IT IS THERE THAT THE PEOPLE GO TO MAKE A DOLLAR, TO RETURN HOME TO BUILD THEIR HOMES. THE FORT AT THE CABRITS |
THE HOMES
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| THE HOMES ARE BUILT IN THREE LEVELS |
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| THE HOUSES STAND WAITING TO BE BUILT, STICKING STEEL, RUST IN THE SALTY SEA BREEZE, LIFE MOMENTUM, NEVER STOPS HERE, BUT YOU CAN FEEL AND SEE THE MOVEMENT. |
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| IT IS STILL BUILT BY HANDS, THERE HANDS, BROTHER, SITERS, ETCHED INTO THEM, IMAGINATION OF THEIR OWN INTENTION, WOOD CAN SPEAK, WHITTLED INTO ARCHITECTURE. |
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| MASTIFF BREAD. THE STORY HERE IS AN INTERESTING ONE. THE MODULAR HOME VIA VENEZUELA DEY HERE TO! |
THE SHACK
This is we thing,
this is modular,
yuh cah build a shack faster than a squatter.
NEW DEVELOPMENT
Off Shore University is here,
St Lucia,
Grenada,
Trinidad and Tobago.
Whats up with dat.
THE MODULAR SHACK
THE SULPHUR SPRINGS
Here I sit in a pond swirling around me,
warm water,
re-energizing bone,
muscles,
built by dis rasta man, hand,
ah tell yuh dey,
build dey own ting,
here.
Dat sweeeet
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| ONE STORY A MAN TOLD ME THAT HIS THREE STORY HOUSE TOOK 9 MONTHS, HE VEX, IT WAS SUPPOSE TO BE 6. CAN WE , SAY DAT SA! |
