ANR Robinson - Seven days in April, 2014

Zorina Shah

These anecdotes are strung together from my Facebook posts of April, 2014. The stories are copied, which is why I am having difficulty with the layout.

Arthur Napoleon Raymond Robinson, December 16, 1926 - April 09, 2014, former Prime Minister and former President of the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago. 

Robinson with trade union leaders, oil and sugar strikes of the 1970s

Anecdote: The Sou Sou Land team were in Tobago as guests of Robinson, his wife Pat and Member of Parliament Pam Nicholson some time in the early 1980s. Robinson was head of the Tobago House of Assembly at the timeJohn Humphrey, Mr and Mrs. Sankersingh and Asad Mohammed were travelling in Pam Nicholson's car and I rode in the back of the Robinsons' green Land Rover. It was a Saturday and lots of people who had been to their Seventh Day Adventist services were on their way home. One white pick-up we saw was loaded, really loaded on the back and still waiting for more people. Pat commented on the safety of the passengers. Robinson pulled alongside the pick-up and I said to myself: "Oh oh we are in for it”, keeping low in my seat. He spoke to the driver "My brother, if you must carry my children like that, please drive with care". There was loud and sustained applause. As the Land Rover pulled out, Robinson looked at me in the rear view mirror and said, "Okay Zorina, you can lift your head up now". He had seen it all.

Day 2

Today, an ANR Robinson joke. I hope it is not in poor taste. After the 1990 coup attempt, Robinson went to Venezuela to recuperate (he did). He was provided with security by the Venezuelan government. Every morning the security greeted him with "como estas" (with all the accents included of course) and Robinson would reply "un dia". 

One day the security asked: Mr. Prime Minister, do you know what I am saying?

Robinson: Yes you are asking how I am doing.

Security: And why are you saying un dia.

Robinson: Well I am replying as Trinidadians do. I am telling you "ah day”....

Day 3

I was working at All Trinidad Sugar and General Workers Trade Union when the first ever Tobago House of Assembly elections were called for November 24, 1980. Robinson had contested the 1976 general elections as leader of his own party, the Democratic Action Congress, but the party was only able to muster two Tobago seats and he became the Member of Parliament for Tobago East. 

I travelled to Tobago for a weekend to assist in the campaign in the company of a ULF activist from Siparia, Dindial Maharaj and Joseph Lum Kin, a shopkeeper of Chinese descent who was also a councillor in the St. Patrick County Council. 

We visited Robinson at his office in Tobago and he made time to see us, give us his assessment of how the campaign was progressing, called it a win, indicated which areas we could visit to assist and gave us the names of campaign officials in those districts. He was thinking it would 7-5 in favour of the DAC, but they did even better winning eight seats.

***********

The green Land Rover made its way through the village of Castara, heading for Little Englishman's Bay. Robinson stopped the vehicle on a slope as we turned a corner. I stared in wonder. Both Robinson and Pat looked back at me. "This is what heaven must be like," he said, "I hope our friends at the back also get a glimpse of heaven".

Many years later, making this trip with Anise Maybodi, I asked her to stop on or about the same spot. Robinson had his heaven in Tobago.

Jerome Tang Lee- A Truly Special Person

 by Zorina Shah

I remember that night in May 1975, a hush-hush operation. 

Jerome ruled the roost in an all-male newsroom, all male until Sunity Maharaj arrived some time in 1977. Newspapering was exciting and Jerome did his best to make it so, to create an “Express” brand. There was a host of specialist reporters, Jeff Hackett. Charlie Ramsumair, Carlton Khan, Ramdath Jagessar among them.

Azad Ali, who I last saw writing for Jack Warner’s Sunshine newspaper, was the crime reporter. He tapped away noisily at the old bluish-green typewriter, walked to Jerome’s desk, went to the library a few feet away, came back to speak to Jerome and returned to the typewriter. I wasn’t going to get a ride to San Fernando in the blue car, so I left.

The story reached the night desk. It is said and I verily did not know what to believe, that a gentleman working on the night desk, meaning a gentleman engaged in laying out the paper and writing headlines, who was a stringer with the BBC, called in the story when it came to him as the newspaper’s lead. I had seen him operate before. He recorded the story on his small voice recorder. He removed the cover of that part of the phone that one spoke into, connected the recorder with a wire and played his recording directly to his contact.

It is also said that the Guardian’s press on St. Vincent Street was running and had already churned out a few thousand copies when the news came on the teleprinter. They stopped the press and changed the front page.

Jerome had been looking at an international scoop, that Michael Abdul Malik would be hanged at 7 o’clock on that morning, May 16, 1975.

Trinidad Express photo

While I worked on the Sunday desk, Jerome would occasionally ask me how I got a story, like the one on Sahara dust. I only worked directly with him, though not in his newsroom, from San Fernando that summer of 1976, leading into the September general elections. Harry Partap had just returned from the Turks and Caicos Islands. We were 30 miles away, but he treated us as if we were sitting at the desk next to his. 

Jerome, never left a story for the next day. Sometimes I wished I had not mentioned it to him. There was a day I returned tired from the trek on San Fernando Hill with the San Fernando Citizens Action Committee. I told him I had something that I would send the following day, but he wanted it right away. I spent the time writing the story while Mungal Chattergoon captioned the pictures. Then I stood on the corner of Chacon and Penitence Streets and waited for the next taxi going to Port of Spain to send the package of story and film to the head office. The report appeared across the centre spread the following day, a Thursday. At the statutory meeting that afternoon, Mayor Gertrude Kirton cited the contents of the story and ordered a halt to quarrying on the San Fernando Hill. Jerome waited for the new story. His instincts and timing had been right.

Jerome was brave in his quiet way and he gave his reporters the freedom to write despite the political pressures being exerted on media houses. His team was also made up of only the brave. The Guardian followed the lead of Dr. Eric Williams during the oil and sugar strikes and dubbed the coalition of trade unions “Communist”, without question, while state-owned radio and television were being censored by its board headed by the public servant, James Alva Bain. San Fernando became a big focal point in the news, a shift from a few column inches to leading the dialogue. The tired old PNM/DLP narrative was coming to an end as the United Labour Front made inroads in the sugar belt and picked up votes on the East/West Corridor. 

I lived just around the corner from Alloy Lequay, the leader of the DLP. At just after two o’clock on elections day, he conceded defeat to Raffique Shah in the Siparia seat. In fact, he just conceded defeat.  In Princes Town, Nizam Mohammed was contesting against the popular businesswoman (PNM) Amoy Mohammed. It was my task to tell Jerome that a second person of Chinese descent (partly) was losing at the polls, as if he cared about jokes or ethnicity. He cared about news. The split in the ULF kept the South office buzzing. Bobby Montano had brought the team of high powered reporters to launch Southern Star. Jerome was not the least bit fazed. I have often said that the turn of events gave Robert Moore, Thakur Persad Jharoo, Lenny Coolman and others reason to smile. I have hardly ever mentioned Jerome who opened the door and kept it wide open.

When the calypsonian Maestro died, he wanted me to cover that story. I told him I didn’t like to do funerals. I ended up there in Princes Town at a Catholic Church where people stood on the benches in front of me. He always liked Princes Town stories. He took my couple paragraphs on two guys who stole a PTSC bus and worked ‘PH’ from Princes Town to Moruga for Carnival and turned it into a front page story.

He was happy to see Phoolo Danny-Maharaj's book in print.
Phoolo's photo.

The last few years when I saw him, we met at the racing pool, both of us big fans of English horseracing. His programme was always well-marked from reading the forms like Racing Post and Sporting Life, while mine was clean from relying on my memory. We may have been there for horses, but we talked some politics, cricket and newspapers. It was how I learnt he had bridged the gap between old newspapering and the new, straddling the world of the old brigade from the post independence era and a new generation of bright young people. 

Sunity Maharaj who crossed that bridge with him said of him what we all know - A Truly Special Person.

Jerome Tang Lee. May his soul find eternal rest.

Sangre Grande by Two

by Claire Watson 

December 22, 2021

We were on the road again today, despite bad weather forecasts, off to chez Allison’s, our other Traveller friend and in-house poet and author. We were invited for lunch and some R&R. 

I picked up my co-pilot by Montrose KFC and off we went. I was well prepared in my boots, for ‘mud’ as Allison instructed. Zorina took her chances in her slippers, showing me the attire that got her braced at a Government office recently. Blue skies and gentle breeze embraced us until we hit Piarco and then the grey skies appeared. No rain so far. We took a right turn by the Guaico Tamana road sign after we left the Valencia Stretch. Down came the rain suddenly, just when we felt that we needed some directions from some native of the area to be certain that we were on the correct road to Cunaripo. 

I pulled up alongside a doubles vendor under a tent. He was so happy to see us anticipating a sale only to be asked directions to Cunaripo. He kindly assured us that we were heading the right way, so off we went again. My "straight road" strategy was paying off. Zorina was on the look out for a church and a school. She had some memory of her time spent on Sou Sou Lands Initiative so was happy to pass these land marks. We finally called Allison for more precise directions. She told us to look out for Rocky’s Bar and then turn right by the Country House sign. We passed Scottie’s Bar straight, still on the lookout for Rocky’s. No Rocky’s in sight. I did recall seeing "Country House" sign though, so we doubled back and took the right turn by Country House. We were on track. Good dry road so far. Lovely countryside. A strange big lizard like creature was crossing so we slowed down to look. It was a Matte, my son told me later when I excitedly recalled my outing.

This Matte was seen at Asa Wright Centre.

The ‘mud’ started and I convinced Zorina that my Honda City could take on bad roads. Well we had recently gone through the bad roads in Crest Camp Fyzabad and had once got stuck going to Erin Beach. When we finally saw Allison, who came to pick us up in her 4-wheel truck, we stopped. She waved and anxiously signalled us to stop and reverse to high ground. Sadly Honda refused to mount. My driving skills failed and I just could not find the right moves to get out of the mud. Help came in the form of a young gentleman who kindly offered to drive us out and park us safely a bit higher up. Bravo, he did it easily. So much for women's lib!

We were safely in Allison’s vehicle and now able to take in the view. It was beautiful. So scenic with lush under and over growth. Trees, vines, flowers, birds, butterflies, fresh clean air. Finally a lovely blue and White House with two smaller houses some distance apart. A Keatsian atmosphere, I thought. A place to forget all your worries and dance.

Shoes and masks off. All protocols observed, all vaccinated, we stepped into Allison’s Christmas wonderland of blinking lights, beautiful Christmas tree, a well set Christmas table, music, food, drinks, really lovely and festive. Breakfast and lunch called Brunch, was well prepared by Allison’s family. We started with cake and wine. Zorina had freshly brewed coffee with bake, pumpkin, bhaji and buljol.

Allison had a menu ready

A toast to friendship

The food was delicious. The huge meatballs tasted yummy with the sauce. We went down on everything written on the menu. Clean plates, no waste. There was a power outage, apparently nationwide, so we took the opportunity to tour outside. Lovely landscape, now overgrown with all the rain but still lovely flowers and plants, lots of butterflies flitting around. Very calm and fresh and peaceful. No pollution, noise, just oxygen and peace.

 

Allison had emergency lighting so we were inside again and shortly after electricity returned. We chatted about everything, the good, the bad and the ugly. It was great to socialize with friends. We heard about the robbery. House was burgled three times. The entry points were now sealed and more burglar proof installed. Items stolen included ice cream, scrabble letters, not the board. So we concluded that it must have been kids or teens who were the bandits.

No reason for the traffic congestion

It was getting late now and Allison’s family came in from work, so we started to make movements to head back home. Allison packed us with cupcakes, rum cake and black cake. All delicious, then her husband drove us back to our car. What a wonderful day we had. According to Zorina, we forgot all our cares and just relaxed and had fun. The Scotch and coconut and some fancy spiced tea went only too well. The trip back home to CHAGUANAS was cool except for one major traffic congestion just coming out of Cunaripo.

I am writing Kamla Persad-Bissesar's concession speech

I am writing Kamla Persad-Bissessar’s concession speech for her to give after the recount. 

Dear people of Trinidad and Tobago and my dear suppor- porters. Pardon this little stutter, although it is not as bad as Joe Biden’s, you know the thing. In 2010, the UNC was one of several parties which came together in the coalition People’s Partnership to win the elections and form the government. I quickly forgot that it was a coalition that won the elections and sadly and regrettably I behaved as if it was the UNC. All the forces in the country opposed to Patrick Manning, may God rest his not so gentle soul, were party to the Fyzabad Accord. People say that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, or something like that (looks to the left and grimaces). I never had absolute power. If I did I would have kept Anand Ramlogan throughout that administration and I would not have had to appoint Garvin Nicholas as Attorney General. Garvin has his good points, but producing a clone named Phillip E Alexander is not one of them. After Anand departed, I felt we should have a passably good looking AG and Garvin fit that bill. It looks like it will be a long time before someone as pleasing to look at will fill that position again. 

I am writing Kamla Persad Bissessar's concession speech 2. 

Anyway, let us get back to the matter at hand. While we were preparing for these most recent elections, I wrote a little history of myself detailing the struggles and hardships I endured as a member of the UNC. I said that I contested the Siparia seat in 1995 and became the first female to be appointed as Attorney General in this country. It will forever gall the present AG that he cannot lay claim to that achievement. I called out the leadership of the UNC for unceremoniously removing me to put Ramesh Maharaj in that position. It was only after publishing, that someone reminded me that I was holding on to the post, not as they do in pole dancing eh, until Ramesh cleared his desk at his private law practice. It was a toss up who was the better candidate for AG as I was adept at handling traffic cases and he touted himself as a human rights advocate. I use the word ‘tout’ advisedly. If we are to focus on tangibles, you would know who was better suited to the job. Anyway if I offended him, that accounted for no loss of votes. I must check to see if his and Lynette’s names were crossed off on the polling list returned by our clerks. I need to confirm if they voted for the forty third descendant of the prophet, the guy who also building up his own lineage of “for profit”. The people put me to sit at a desk in a corner and I had to take my own cushion from home so I could make myself as comfortable as possible while I dreamt of the day I could be prime minister. At the time the word ‘misogynistic’ was not popular because Hillary Clinton… let us not worry about people who only come close to power through their spouses. If I ever needed to be propped up by a spouse, I would have taken Dr. Bissessar to that little desk in the corner. People said I should not have called Ganga Singh, John Humphrey, Joe Theodore and Ralph Maraj misogynistic. Maybe Trevor Sudama, yes. Trevor showed a lack of respect for women doing house work when he called his appointment to the Agriculture Ministry as “Minister of Pumpkin and Bhaji”. What he wanted to be, Minister of Phoowa and Bhouji? I am just practising my Bhojpuri for when Clarence and Marlene cross the floor. What you say, Clarence lose, (looking right and rightly confused) he lose again? Well I don’t want him then. 

I am writing Kamla Persad Bissessar's concession speech 3. I am using her full name in case the auto correct puts Kamala. 

"Somebody told me I shouId have asked Clarence to cross the floor in the last administration, but you could just imagine Camille pleading, “No Clarencedass no, no, no! No Clarencedass, noooo!”. I had to remind them that Clarence was a senator. I just want to say a little more about the misogyny before we move on. In case people think that I discriminated against colleagues on the basis of gender, I want to say that the first person I demoted was Carolyn Seepersad-Bachan who won a seat none of us would have even attempted. I moved her from the Ministry of Energy to bring in Kevin Ramnarine. I reiterate that it is better to have a man around who bows under pressure than a woman who gets in one’s way. In my first draft of this speech, I didn’t have that word around, but I decided to include it for clarity. You all saw Kevin on the tv on election night, he doesn’t have a clue what is going on but is an expert just because of me. It was almost as if he drew a ‘blank’. I love that word ‘blank’. They really should not have put him on that stool to sit. The imagery! Then I moved Mary King and Verna. I had a little fear that Bhoe would have stood up for them, but he stayed quiet on Mary, his colleague from Tapia House and he too drew a ‘blank’ on Verna. I have full confidence in Bhoe knowing that when you put two slices of bread together, the butter goes inside, not on the outside and he also knows where the butter is stored. I held on to Anand and Jack and Anil until I didn’t have an excuse anymore. People say I shouldn’t have brought back Anil in this campaign, but I felt that since the prophet great great grandson legalise the pot, a man with a hookah might not be a bad thing. To tell you the truth I was glad last time that no calypsonian write any lyrics saying “Roll it, roll it!” 

I am writing Kamla Persad Bissessar's concession speech 4. 

As to these elections, I have this to say. The party now has 18 seats categorised as safe and fairly safe, about the same now when there are 41 seats as when there were 36. I am aware that citizens who are yet to decide on who they will be voting for, look at the people who will form the main cadre in the parliament. I myself, I am not a strategist. Let me digress one last time to give you a rundown on why my advisors have failed me. I now regret that in my election profile I did not deal with an important aspect of my involvement in politics. I began as a member of the Organisation for National Construction… come on who sabotaged my print outs… Reconstruction. My guru was Suruj Rambachan who ran against Trevor Sudama in 1981. It was my own feeling that Trevor who seemed laid back, I have to stop using these terms yes, could never defeat an energetic and high profile member of a well-known family in that part of the country. I became a member of the NAR when the party contested the 1986 general elections and the following year I was made an alderwoman and chairperson of St. Patrick County Council. Had I known that the county extended all down to Icacos, I would never have accepted that post, except that I viewed it as a stepping stone to leadership. I could barely make it to the statutory meeting, much less to Columbus Beach. When the NAR broke up I breathed a sigh of relief. I was glad some people had gone so there would be room for me at a higher level. I was selected to contest the Siparia seat in 1991. My huge defeat in that election showed me that the days of the NAR were numbered but Ganga Singh and I still hung around until we took the plunge into the UNC and were rewarded with seats in the 1995 General Election. Outside of the natural coming together of people in 2010, I have no idea how I would have got Vincent Lasse and the late Rupert Griffith to cross the floor. When I think back on it, this guy Dr. Griffith took so many risks, faced opprobrium from PNM supporters and I didn’t think twice about firing him when I had to show the public and the press that I was doing the shuffle, or ska or whatever. 

I am writing Kamla Persad Bissessar's concession speech 5 .

"People say I am doing too much talking, but I want to remind them how long Cynthia Nixon talk when she lost the NY governor race to Cuomo and nobody complained. To cut a long story short, the UNC is now run by the NAR guys who put me as the figurehead to secure the UNC base. The term people like to use is “hijacked” but we don’t have no terrorists here. Let me put it as clearly as I can, There are guys around like Suruj who have no political base. They grouped together to give me leadership of the party because of my stance on the eve of the 2007 elections. It took money to remove Panday and Jack was the facilitator. Even Ramesh Maharaj opposed Panday on my behalf and walked away without asking for anything. I still exercised my right to call him misogynistic. Well, enough people say there might be some truth in that, but I don’t want to go to court. I will have to represent myself and Panday always say that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client. I saw Robert Mayers on the tv elections night hoping we would win. It would have been a dream come true for him… 32 years of waiting but I will talk about that another time. In these elections I tried to change some things. People still asking how many cabinet posts I expected to have. Was I going to put Vandana Mohit, Anita Haynes, Khadija Ameen in the same ministry? People never ask that about Stacy Rooparinesingh. Gary Griffith was one of my advisors and he never asked either. Was I going to put Ravi Ratiram, Dinesh Rambally, Arnold Ram and Saddam Hosein in Legal Affairs like Rowley did with the propheteer and Stewie? So it was OK for them to have young blood and hot blood but it not OK for we? By the way, Darryl Smith didn’t contest again, did he? If I have to do it over, I would remove Barry Padarath from Princes Town and put Sean Sobers, let Barry run in Dade County if he want. I would give the San Fernando seat to somebody who could take some of the Presbyterian and Muslim vote, not like how we put Raziah last minute in 2015, eh. We already give Deyalsingh a 25-year lease on the St. Joseph seat. But I tell you, the amount of money we spend in the north east, we could ah buy the refinery with it. Joe Toney couldn’t even get a good candidate for Toco. Is like he still doh know who his leader is. But to tell the truth, I like the young lady who contest there eh, rolling in money and all that. More… just one more.

I am writing Kamla Persad Bissessar’s concession speech 6 

Pronouns: She/her “I should not have considered Ahloy Hunt for St. Joseph the way his sister was involved in a Black Lives Matter controversy just before the election. We live in a time when information gets around quickly and stays around. Moreover Anil had launched vicious attacks on Hunt’s brother, changing Gary’s first name, no no, not that Gary who has changed his first name to Commissioner… Anil had changed Hunt’s first name into Isaac. People are not likely to forget that. I should have ensured that all the big jefes who were in the NAR with me do some work during the elections. Instead of walking around with Arnold Ram, Bhoe should have been in St. Joseph giving Deyalsingh thunder and helping Nakhid kick hell instead of soft ball in Tunapuna. Everybody wants to work in a sure seat. You would think Suruj would have gone to San Fernando West, but I can only guess that he ‘fraid Faris. Suruj was talking for Moonilal, telling people that Moonilal should be the next leader and he scared away people. He is still using all the tactics of 1981, like we didn’t learn anything. Truth is, we didn’t. Look at Devant Maharaj, I only made him a Senator because Sat Maharaj begged for him, he couldn’t ask for himself. Imagine he playing big and the best he could have done before was lose as a COP to “come and go” MP Kelvin Ramnath, but one really should not speak ill of the dead. I would have put back some of them in the senate and the Cabinet like how I make Ramadharsingh chairman of a regional corporation. Sometimes God works in mysterious ways. For the next five years, every day will be Groundhog Day. Having said all this, there is now no need to say that we lost the elections or to say who won. I thank Lord Krishna for all the blessings he has showered on me and I move on… with or without Mickela.

North by Northwest

 by Zorina Shah

#RoadTrip4 with Claire Watson and Allison Wong Wai.

Our road trip changed direction from extended coastlines of the SE, SW and NE to a shorter stretch, that of the North Western Peninsula from Port of Spain to Chaguaramas. 

The final stop was at the security post where the soldier told the Coast Guard Officer. “Go and talk to the lady!”, when all I wanted to do was take a picture of the mango tree. Claire identified the fruit as long mango. I told the officer that Claire could spot something on a tree from a distance and exaggerated about her ability to hear a bird whistling from a mile off. He was suitably impressed.

He told me his Commanding Officer is Aldon Jasper and I showed off a little by telling him that I had interviewed Commodore Richard Kelshall many years ago “right inside there”. I am sure I said “Commandant”. That was too far in the past, so I topped it off with how I had accompanied Kirk Noel to a training session where Anthony Franklin was present, except that Franklin was no longer commander of the defence force. He was Director of the Institute of Marine Affairs at the time.

I want to come back later to Chaguaramas and its rich history, what little I know of it that is, so I am returning to the point at Chaguanas where we linked up. Allison was driving and Claire looked like she was prepared for a day at the beach. There was no Saturday traffic and I found no cause to complain about potholes. There was no rain either. Our highways, Uriah Butler, Churchill Roosevelt, Beetham and the Audrey Jeffers Foreshore disappeared quickly. Our first stop was a little lookout before Peakes giving us a view of the coast, not quite a clear day when one can see forever, but good enough.

No trip without a sip

We went past some high density, paradoxically "percentaged" (population versus means) areas into the lower income community of Carenage before we decided that maybe it was better to call on John Humphrey on the way out, rather than on our return. John was happy to meet Allison who he had read about. It was turning out rather well, until Claire began to question him on his ideas on money. I realised the visit was going to be longer than we planned. 

The drive through Carenage, in the constituency of Dr. Keith Rowley, was a little too fast for me but I saw enough and heard even more. Chaguaramas has changed a lot from when I first went there 45 years ago. The government had leased Chagacabana to Alvin Dorset and I had written a story about it. 

The peninsula represents many things in our history especially as a wartime base, the march to regain it from the United States, home of the country’s defence force, the tumultuous and defining events of 1970, the high profile of the Convention Centre, its importance to mariners and now its transformation into a playground. It is a place that evokes mixed feelings, depending on where one’s interests lie. All these events are well documented, yet subject to debate.  

Tucker Valley in the shadows of the Northern Range is scenic with its own lush greenery and attempts to preserve historic places. It is true that most of it is out of the price range of lower income Trinidadians. Ah, I remember that I once interviewed Glenn Tucker at the offices of Navarro on Wrightson Road The meeting was arranged by my friend Nizam Ali, may his soul find eternal rest. Tucker confessed that he had never spoken to a journalist so he did not know how much he should say. 

Macqueripe Bay, open to visitors during the pandemic, was not crowded. The walk down the steps took us a while but not as long as the walk back up. As usual I did not want to get my feet wet but misjudged the wave and climbed back to dry ground. It meant that I missed Claire’s walk to the rocks and I am using Allison’s words to described what happened.

"When she dived she drew a round of applause. One of the guys said she is so good the sun glasses never fell off her head"

The dive, best I could do from 100+ feet away

Lunch combined with a working session at Chaguaramas Farms UPick, affording us a clear view of the mountainside and making me very sleepy. We left Chaguaramas with its marinas and boat repair yards, its many coastal restaurants closed, its hospitality institute also shuttered, its Coast Guard and Regiment largely absent in the pandemic. 

Allison and Claire took the rain clouds with us, all the way to Chaguanas and for me all the way to San Fernando. As I walked in the rain along Circular Road, I was reminded of the march in the rain for Chaguaramas and the role that CLR James played in that fight.

CLR James Educational Centre, San Fernando Hill

Once upon a time...

Zorina Shah

Chaguanas, near Sasenarine gas station, is perhaps not the best place to be at 6.30 a.m. I stood under the eave of a house where a girl in my high school class once lived. The motorbike cop made a few turns but it seemed as if even he conceded defeat in the traffic chaos. Claire Watson couldn’t have rescued me soon enough and we headed through some back roads, avoiding the Uriah Butler Highway traffic to get to Sangre Grande. 

I had once moonlighted in ‘Grande’ for a few months, Allison had taught at a high school there and Claire, well let us not put anything past her. We changed cars at her sister Wendy’s house and we were in a hurry to leave the hub for the coast. I like to rattle off the names of the villages - Oropouche, Matura, Salybia, Rampanalgas, Balandra, Cumana, Toco, Mission, L’Anse Noire, Sans Souci, Monte Video, Grande Riviere, St. Helena and Matelot.

Yes Matelot! 

The village no longer held the magic as it did for me all those years ago. Approaching Easter, the mountains would be coloured yellow and red, purple, tangerine and a dozen shades of green. Today a dark foreboding colour posed no competition against the Caribbean sea, itself struggling to capture its poeticised beauty. The Catholic Church at the point where the Paria Main Road is broken, up to Blanchisseuse, is no longer there, the site cleared for construction. We didn’t have to walk along ‘below road’ and cross a rickety wooden bridge to go to the high school. I pictured infants diving from those planks into the river below, a common sight for decades. Now, no more! One can drive straight across the new bridge with its 1.5 ton limit. I called out to Monty's father, Mr. Alston Zoe as we passed, spoke to Hyacinth Cummings nephew and on the way out stopped by a house owned by Dennis Lau’s family where I met Reuben Garcia.

If it looks like I am telling the story backwards, I am not. I just wanted to get that Matelot blues off my chest.

Street named after Sr. Rosario in Matelot

Claire was not driving, so the road was not exactly straight, the wheels of the car and the potholes formed a strange but steady relationship and a left turn at a critical juncture was taking us back to Valencia instead of our destination. 

Between Matura and Toco, large sections of the coast are taken up by holiday homes and private resorts. With that and the Covid restrictions, there were few opportunities to walk on the beach, so we grabbed what we could. One was a semi-resort, fishing port in Salybia. The rain that follows Claire and Allison had not yet shown up. There was no one to talk to and we were the sole proprietors for that while, of all that we surveyed. When we passed back in the afternoon we saw that there were numerous new owners.

Proud owners of everything on Salybia Beach

Teachers with Antourage... 

We drove up the incline to another and were told that it was owned by a family and no longer accessible by the public. Claire and Allison thought the guy we spoke to was a guard but I am thinking he is a member of the family. What struck me is that he is of East Indian descent. On those parts of the road to Matelot, there is very little sign of ‘Indian people’. I had never seen a Hindu temple or a mosque in all the years I travelled those roads, but this day, there was a mosque just before Cumana, what looks like a relatively new building. It occurred to me that there was spread of the religion among young people of African descent in the community.

The small section of the beach before Cumana looked inviting but smelled fishy, bad fishy. They thought it might be rotting sargassum. As lovely as the Atlantic was, we also had good reason for a quick departure.

Sargassum weed

The road to Cumana was quiet except for the Electricity truck. The driver clearly did not know the corners and made a good attempt at overturning. Cumana Junction itself provided the first busy area with its gas station and lots of shops. At Toco we turned into the lighthouse road hoping to find a good view of where the Atlantic meets the Caribbean Sea. The area was closed off for construction and the contractor's guy proudly told us that when it reopens there will be bathrooms for which we will have to pay. The little stretch to the lighthouse looked desolate, very little activity, an indication of how Covid-19 has changed life for many. 

Near the Lighthouse

Our next stop was Mission Village where I hoped Claire would get a chance to see her friend. Instead as we pulled up she spotted the son Kwesi Alleyne, the Catholic priest for the coast. I was thinking it is still one priest but my friend Gail Coutain has told me there is a cluster from Cumana to Matelot with an additional priest, Fr. Raymond Francis.

Looks like someone is having a chat with God about the pandemic!

The surf at Sans Souci is usually a sight to behold, but we caught it on the moderate side. Lower down at Grande Riviere, where the turtles come in to nest, it was also quiet. Albert Nixon, who owned the shops in Toco and Grande Riviere had delivered grocery orders to customers down the coast. He has converted one shop to apartments, a sign of the changing economic activity on the coast. No private property blocked out the Caribbean Sea. We were given a full view in the distance, some places bright shades of blue and green, slightly more subdued in others. 

We had lunch on the way back at Acajou resort, a place where Claire had stayed before. Their Christian instincts must have dictated that they eat fish, but I was not so hampered even on Jumaah Friday. I had grilled chicken with fries, or ‘chips’, a word which became the focus of a long discussion.

The drive back was relaxing. I ignored most of the potholes and their conversation and enjoyed the scenery. In the middle of Sangre Grande, Allison sent me out to collect an item for her. I first entered the wrong mall at Plaza Grande, then the right one and walked right past the store to the back of the building.

We changed cars again and Allison went her way while Claire and I used the traffic all through Cunupia and Enterprise to talk. On the last two trips, I had been first to be home, this time around I didn’t make it until 7.30 p.m.

The End of the Road

Zorina Shah

Allison Wong Wai photo - Pitch Lake

I have concluded that Allison Wong Wai and Claire Watson will never choose a dry, sunny day for a road trip. They collected me in pouring rain, directly in front of the shrine of St. Joseph, patron saint of workers. We set off for the South Western peninsula, down the San Fernando bypass, along Mosquito Creek, past a lot of construction work which confused us at St. Mary’s Junction, Oropouche, through Rousillac before we made our first stop at the Pitch Lake in La Brea.

The tour guide who was having a slow day, because of the weather, told us of the medical wonders of the sulphur springs and that the land drops approximately six inches every year because of the mining. We didn’t pay guide fees as we could only do so much in the steady drizzle… drive onto the access road, turn and drive out again. We talked a little about the wider area, that there had been a golf course at Brighton, the industrial estate hidden behind the trees and I told them that someone once wrote a Mills and Boon romance, set in Trinidad, in which the couple had gone sailing on the pitch lake.

I should have said earlier that Claire still considers every road a straight one and I have come to like that approach. 

Several stops at the fruit vendors followed. Claire has an eye for things that grow on trees. She can spot a douce-douce mango (dudus) from a distance, a special type of flower, a bird’s nest. Allison, on the other hand, you have to bully her to take the picture. She is on the look out for people, what are they doing on this Saturday morning, are they happy, what do they do for recreation, why are the playgrounds overgrown? 

The cutlass mango at left. Who else would see mangoes on a tree in rainy weather, but Claire?                                                                                                                                   

We passed through the borough of Point Fortin and made a hasty exit, because of traffic, via Cap de Ville. Claire had worked at Auto Rentals for three months when she had finished high schooI. The sign was still there next to the market. I showed them the gas station once owned by Subrat Ali, also known as Chinee Boy, a friend of my father. Ali’s son Rasheed had been responsible for bringing a number of footballers from Point Fortin to play at St. Benedict's College, among them Warren Archibald.  

We entered the peninsula at the point where Cap-de-Ville forms a sort of T-junction with the road to Erin and the one which goes all the way to Icacos Point. Our first stop was my brother in Chatham and of course he produced the bottle with the black and white label, from which I am still not partaking. We had a good look at his yard, what was bearing, what was flowering and as Claire said, what will show up on the plants in six months time. 

What kind of orange is this?  
I don't think I was expected to answer that question.

We took a short walk near the immigration jetty in Bonasse where the Venezuelans had entered legally before the borders were closed. I was a bit cautious in the event that members of the uniformed services mistook my companions for visiting neighbours.

The jetty where Venezuelans are processed.

One of my favourite drives is along the stretch to Icacos from the village of Fullerton, where I was born, through the coconut estates of Constance and St. Andrew, past the lagoons, mangroves and down to the tip of the peninsula about seven miles from the Venezuelan coast, as the crow flies. We saw the primary school my brother lobbied for before his retirement, a wonderful sight near the end of the road. My own primary school, Lochmaben R.C. sits on a hill. It was an old wooden building which still features in my nightmares, along with the huge concrete cistern. I remember Ralph Maraj attended our school for a while when he came to stay with his family in the village of Los Gallos at Columbus Beach.

Barracks at St. Andrews Estate

On the way back my nephew Anil was at his new “office” near the junction by Low’s shop, some of the bars further up the road being closed. There was no lunch available anywhere between Icacos and Low’s but we found something left over at the roadside cafe opposite the Catholic Church. I had chicken with fries, but I swear that the wing I got belonged to a Pterodactyl. They were playing soca music and it did not take long for Allison and Claire to show their "Tiny Winey" moves. I ran, as opposed to sprinted, up the slope to the steps of the Church to find that it was also dedicated to St. Joseph. 

Waiting for their supper

We stopped off at Anil’s home to dine. My brother, who I have not seen in more than a year looked like one of the protesting Indian farmers, just home from tending his cattle, just the two he now has remaining. 

We talked villages on the way to  the T-Junction, driving straight on at the Puerto Grande junction where we should have turned left. Our straight road tactic got the better of us and thinking we were on the way to Erin, we encountered some bad roads, got stuck a little in the mud and turned back. If your wheel keeps spinning in mud, the person you need to give you a push is definitely Allison. There was an upside. We met a friendly family of two adult women and four children who had been to the coastline. I also swear that the younger adult spoke with a foreign accent.

Bad roads... no place to go

We drove through the village of Buenos Ayres and surfaced at the Erin fishing port where the tide was high and we got a clearer view of the Venezuelan coastline. It is enough to say that Claire spotted custard apple.

The Los Iros beach facility was closed, a police car in attendance, but no officers in sight. We made a stop at the mud oven shop in Rancho Quemado. The baker told me she is the niece for the former Councillor Sheila Lamorelle and she has a young baker in training. 

From there on it was mainly the drive back through the built-up and busy towns of Siparia and Penal with the obligatory stop at the doubles stall in Debe. I promise that the mention of doubles is not linked to the Minister of Agriculture.

Of course we had to venture into a no entry near the highway at Debe but we escaped unscathed.

It was already night when Claire pulled up again in front of the shrine of St. Joseph. I had refused the doubles at the stall in Debe, but when the girls decided to eat theirs while they were still hot… well Clarence Rambharat won’t get away with that the next time... finery or no finery.