West Indian vs Caribbean

When I made the decision to begin this adventure into blogging, I came back to an old point of vacillation; do I call myself Caribbean or West Indian? I’m so used to growing up with history texts and literary analyses referring to the English Eastern Caribbean as West Indian, that the political correctness(?) of the label ‘Caribbean’ sometimes seems forced. I still think of ‘West Indian’ as a marker of the English - formerly British colonies.

Now, I believe it is more widely understood that ‘West Indian’ is a misnomer, and Caribbean is more internationally recognized, more inclusive of the culture and climate of this region. ( I don’t have ANY empirical evidence to support this claim that it is more widely understood) It’s really all about what the words/labels conjure in one’s psyche.

‘Caribbean’ also connotes a distinction from our colonial associations, as if binding the geographical location with a label that encompasses culture is a renaming of our identity that suggests ownership of our destinies. When we speak of the West Indies cricket team, for me the colonial issues resonate.

Since my recent research, the label of Caribbean has grown on me because I find it more inclusive of French and Hispanic writing. Although the (ancient) history books have used the terms French West Indies, Dutch West Indies, I’ve hardly seen Spanish West Indies (that would be just Puerto Rico, Santo Domingo, who am I missing?). In my research I needed to make reference to writers like Edwidge Danticat of Haiti, Maryse Conde of Guadeloupe, Simone Schwarz-Bart also of Guadeloupe and I also needed to acknowledge Diaspora in terms of writers with a Caribbean background who have lives outside of the Caribbean, such as Paule Marshall and Nalo Hopkinson. Caribbean has become the most suitable accommodating term.

So while there are times I think of myself as West Indian and I would like to be considered in terms of a tradition of writing going back to when Kenneth Ramchand wrote ‘The West Indian Novel and its Background’ I think the label 'Caribbean' suits the time.

I have a feeling that there are other issues in that debate that I’m overlooking right now.

On another note; I really must stop spending so much time on Amazon. I’m like a kid in a candy store until I remind myself that there’s another life out there to live. Ok, so I’m incorrigible, I’ll be back there sooner than I’ll write an entry for this blog.

Or maybe, that’s where I’m going to surf now, which is why this entry’s debate is getting cut short.

Caribbean cooking musings

Part of my writing project includes re-visiting some traditional meals and methods of cooking. I became intensely nostalgic for some epicurean delights which were once rare but accessible. There are those things we took for granted when we were growing up which are now exotic memories - things like river crayfish and titwee, a tiny river fish which are used to make accra. I loved them but the crunchy eyes used to irk me. Every time I ate one of these accra, I would hope the eyes would not crunch under my teeth. I ate some a few years ago and it was such a pleasure, I actually welcomed the annoying crunch. That fish is so rare now. Not with the state our rivers are in now, with the by-products of mass agriculture seeping into the fresh waters.

I visited my village about a week ago and here are some photos of parts of the river, not quite the formidable force I remember it used to be.

The village is still relatively under-developed in terms of the mass production of food crops. But the river has shrunk. It makes one cringe to think about the rate of deforestation. Anyway, as my nephew says, ‘happy face’ so I’m going to focus on the delightful memories, traditions and culinary delights of that place and time.

I guess that’s how writing can become a wholesome experience, re-connecting one with buried aspects of the individual and community psyche. I spent the last few days looking for Caribbean food blogs and I was mesmerized by the vivid photos evoking the wonderful culinary dimensions of life in the Caribbean. As soon as I get the hang of ‘gadgetting’ this blog I will point you to some of them.

So this weekend I spent some time in the kitchen, experimenting with whatever the cooking muse wanted to conjure. Rita G. Springer’s Caribbean Cookbook was one of the important sidekicks. That cookbook has been in my mother’s kitchen for as long as I can remember and when I did Food and Nutrition at secondary school, lo and behold, I had the required text! If you’re from the Caribbean some of the recipes are already ingrained in your consciousness; regardless it is one of the best additions to a Caribbean kitchen serious about cooking.

Today the muse was really nostalgic and wanted to re-visit the very first recipe I was exposed to at secondary school: Rock cake.

I added a liberal amount of cinnamon, some oats and coconut milk. I even sprinkled some cocoa powder on top.

The perfect accompaniment would have been some local coffee. I mean kind where you get the raw beans,

roast them in a chodye (the iron cooking pot) over coals, in the yard because they smoke a lot and the pot is going to get really black, grind them in a mortar and pestle and brew! It is really time-consuming, but the flavour is worth the effort. I really must take a trip to the market!

In the meantime, take some time to enjoy the flowers, the sunshine,

and if you come across them, a butterfly or two.

Reflection

"for the eye sees not itself
But by reflection, by some other things."

{Brutus to Cassius; Shakespeare’s

Julius Caesar}

That quote came back to me as I reflected on something a kindred soul said to me yesterday. We were catching up on readings and writings and in the context of discussing Mittelholzer’s work - his intense race experience and mental anguish in Guyana, I admitted that sometimes I forget the content of books that I’ve actually read closely at some point. I remember reading My Bones and My Flute but I still cannot remember the gist of it and fortunately my friend has a copy that I can borrow eventually.

What usually stays within my consciousness is material that connects to a corresponding experience in my life. Sometimes I try to excuse my amnesia by saying that it’s because I’ve read too many books without spending a lot of time on them. My friend suggested that it could be because I’m too cerebral when I read, that I must experience the work, not hash it to pieces with over-analysis. I take that reflection to heart because I do feel that I am missing out on a lot by skimming through books without experiencing them fully. I considered my friend’s reflection for what I can do to improve my reading experience.

The danger to approach a piece of work like a text comes from seeking out the elements, techniques and themes and the marriage of it all, so that you can share it with your fellow students. But that approach does not need to creep into every piece of literature. While that has been a way that I absolutely ENJOY approaching a work - be it literature or film - I see it’s time to grow in another direction (not with the intention of completely dismissing ‘my cerebral approach’ because at some point in time my fellow students seek out some guidance).

Yes, even at this stage of my journey I have yet to mature in my spectator engagement with the written word.

So thank you, friend. Considering some other wise suggestions coming from your direction, kindred soul, I feel that I left our meeting with much insight.

Namaste.

Caribbean Landscape

I feel so guilty that I've not been editing for a few days. It is not enough to say the project is done and leave it lying there like baby well bathed and powdered but left bare. It's partly because I've been re-orienting myself for work/job mode. Then there was the distraction of the heat and the sunshine; bright, resplendent that I couldn't resist going out to get some photos. It's actually related to the writing, indirectly. The impulse for photography started from last week, when I went to get some photos for some scenes of the stories. While writing I was operating on memories from as far back as 20 years ago so I needed to go back to the village and feel its energy, feel the thread which keeps me still enamoured with the little village where I grew up. I was so disappointed with the light of that day. It was hazy and the vivid greens I wanted to capture were covered with thin film. Here is my little village, on a day with beautiful light.

I am often mesmerized by the gorgeous scenes we have in the Caribbean, the greens of the foliage/hills contrasting against the blues of sea and sky. It's a sight I can never take for granted. Just one of the many reasons I love living here. I'm grateful that I did not have to live away from it to appreciate it. Lately I've noticed how the flamboyant trees add a certain vitality to our landscape. Yesterday morning I was just in the garage washing my car and right there at the end of the road, a gorgeous canopy of red blossoms set against an indigo sky with fluffy clouds. That view determined how I spent the last two days of my vacation, a new-found awe of the way the sunshine really brought out the vibrant colours of the vegetation; even regular grass looked stunning in varying shades of healthy green. The flowers in my yard took on a new sheen and I figured what better time than the present to acknowledge the beauty in the simplicity of wild flowers and grass.

Then I went in search of more flamboyant trees. They're everywhere; how come I hadn't noticed them before?! The challenge was getting the tree and the blue backdrop without the electrical cables all around.

I took this one at the Rodney Bay Marina, a few feet away from an Art Gallery. There, I happened to see a really gorgeous photo of a sprawling flamboyant, juxtaposed against blue sky and a green grass. To say I was inspired is an understatement.

And then my drive took me to Pigeon Island, still very breathtaking in some parts. And thoroughly depressing in others (taken up by concrete jungles of tourism) but that's for another post. I do have some more Pigeon Island photos, the fort and more, but they're in another kind of theme. For now, I want to dwell on the beauty in the simplicity of the expanse of blue against green, against blue against....

The Spaces in Between

I really must make more of an effort to read one book at a time. I don't think it does a book justice to be digesting its worth while delving into another one, two, three or four. I won't even confess to the number I'm reading right now. And this habit of reading several works at the same time has crept into my writing. It means I'm working on several projects, not completing any with the satisfaction that I would like.

I think the last few months have seen an improvement though. I'm gradually learning to focus on one at a time...one to completion and then another...sigh... I read with urgency just to get to the another one I know is sitting there waiting for me to caress it...everything between one book to another, just spaces in between. I wonder if I'm doing justice to the writers' works to read to completion just to get to another...sacre bleu!

Ok, there has been an improvement, I have been reading one book at a time, and not surprisingly it coincides with the completion of 'The Recent Project' which took just about 2 months to get done. Now it's the editing which I find more time-consuming and tedious than the spontaneous writing process. If you stick around I'll tell you some more about it.
For now, I'll just share my recent reads.

The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon; compelling, engaging, but a bit predictable and anticlimactic. The journey of reading promised to take you somewhere and then it doesn't, making the best part of the experience the trip, not the destination.

The Witch of Portobello by Paul Coelho; certainly intriguing, but some parts read like cotton- candy self-help New Ageism and that gave it a cliched tone that almost ruined it.

Leaf Storm, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez; a collection of stories which are unsettling and unnerving...just my kind of thing, a balance of mystery and realism, I see why he is highly regarded for his Magical Realism.

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel; she has some clever little tricks, but the recipes aren't always smoothly blending into the narrative. This is a variation of chick lit with a sprinkling of magical realism...not sure the blend is always well executed but overall provides a variation in the delivery of 'a romance novel.'

Right now I'm reading Sylvia by Edgar Mittelholzer, which I got at a flea market a few weeks ago. I read his novel My Bones and My Flute when I was a teenager and I don't remember the narrative but I remember enjoying it, particularly for the supernatural theme. I can't say that Sylvia is enjoyable in that way, but I think it's useful for peering into a Caribbean psyche of the 1950s, when race and class/racial intermingling were some of the main determiners of social organization in Guyana. Let me get into the novel a bit more and then I'll let you know where I really stand on it.

Yes, if my recent reads are scrutinised, you will see an interest in Magical Realism and the supernatural. I will certainly share a bit more on that, later, when I get to the spaces in between my current read and the next...or my current writings and the next. For now, glance at my recent reads if you get a hold of them. And if you're as interested in Magical Realism(or what comes under that label) as I am, then you can take a look at works by Erna Brodber, Jamaica Kincaid, Nalo Hopkinson, Jean Rhys.

Un, deux, trois ti-mamaille, bai jab-la manger un ti-mamaille!!!! I see my job beckoning, responsibilty calling.

But I just want to stay home and crawl up with a musky page-yellowing brittle, cover-falling to pieces ancient piece of writing and let the jab jab starve from one less ti-mamaile to devour.

See you at the spaces in between.

The inaugural post

Dawn of the decision: after much vacillation and ultimate conviction, I am here in the realm of the cyber-journal with the expectation I will get over the butterflies in my psyche and publish. And so I write....among other things.

Behind the foliage of thoughts may we find a herb of colour and healing to write and share as soulfully as the universe unfolds.