Laventille, Laventille

To gain a sense of place, a sense of Trinidad, Port of Spain, Laventille, I read the work of others; such as travel guides, where Laventille has been described as:
“an Eastern suburb, the hills lined with houses roof to roof, some solidly constructed, others makeshift shanties.’ Where is might lack in sanitation and running water makes ups for it by being the home of steel pan.
I first came upon the place Laventille when I was teacher training back in 1996,
Laventille was a poem written by Derek Walcott.
He wrote,

‘we climbed where lank electric
lines and tension cables linked its raw brick
hovels like a complex feud,

where the inheritors of the middle passage stewed,
five to a room, still clamped below their hatch,
breeding like felonies,

whose lives revolve round prison, graveyard, church.'

I used this poem to illustrate the contrast between the holiday brochure images of the Caribbean; the tropical isles of paradise, sun sea sand, rum flowing freely at the ‘no problem’ bar with the reality of poverty, violence and suffering. I wanted my pupils to challenge the stereotypical images, get behind the façade to the reality beneath.
You can say over 10 years later I’m still working that angle, trying to get below the surface level to the truth below.
And back then on my young, flighty bachelor days, I didn’t know that I was connected to Laventille in such an intimate way, as I do know now.

Self-Medication

Lime Freedom

Freedom is an inspirational word. Freedom is a beautiful word. Freedom suggests endless possibilties. Freedom is about what options are open to us and freedom is about what options are right for us. There's a desire to do anything and everything. But in reality this might mean you do nothing.

Freedom is not about doing nothing but is doing things that you want to do that are not meaningless, worthless or dreaded. Freedom is about doing what you're passionate about and not really bothering about what others might think, say or do when you follow that course of action.

More time equals more freedom. I can remember when I'd break up from school for the six weeks holidays and feel that I had an infinity of time to play with. I spent days, weeks doing nothing, sitting around talking to friends, or alone picking my scabs, watching the sun go down. That was freedom, that sense of ease of being in the moment.

I think some of us have forgotten how to achieve freedom.

Sitting

Hanging Around

Hanging around, spending time, sitting on a bench, on a wall close to their home place, at bus stops without ever taking a bus, at refreshment kiosks, at street corners and other places, in a village or in the city.
“Spending time without activity” happens across the world, through different expressions with many different reactions.
But is it really, "spending time without activity"?
For someone, it could be their way of plugging themselves into the day to day of life.
For someone else, it could be their only contact with the outside world, with someone else.
We look and we judge in a blink.
But really we should stop and think; what are they really doing when they are hanging around?

Take a seat

'Let meh explain. You no no set out to lime, it just happen. You meet one or two brudda’s down de road, in de street, roun de corner. Yuh jump up by chance and start de lime. Yuh ease into it, lean against de wall, take a seat and relax and let de juice flow. Talkin’ widout cares, telling tall stories and joke. De lime is juicy as long as de drink is coming and de man nat talk about his worries.'

nice 'n' easy