Author: commonsensefeminist

In times of war, it seems pointless to just continue doing “normal” things – like keep writing this blog for example. I feel frustrated, exhausted, from reading all the news on the Russian invasion of Ukraine. And at the same time, I feel very far away and helpless. Still, it is not the case that this war has no effect on T&T. I saw an article citing the Minster of Foreign and Caricom Affairs working to get the ONE Trinbagonian (“and his wife”) out of Ukraine; apparently, he did not want to leave as fast as the ministry deemed necessary. The question of economic consequences of the war for T&T is discussed – a double edged sword because on the one hand, oil prices might be rising which is good for T&T, on the other, prices of many imports will also be rising due to increased shipping costs; that is not so good. And finally, I am not sure why, but it was reported that the mayor of Munich (!) announced he would dismiss the chief conductor of the Munich Philharmonic orchestra who is Russian and a supporter of Putin if he did not clearly take a stance against the invasion.    

At the same time, life goes on. As I wrote before, there are daily murder cases and disappearances reported on; arguably, that is much closer to people than the war, and it is actually VERY scary. And Covid keeps killing people, as the number of vaccinated inhabitants does not rise above 50%. Yesterday, 5 people reportedly died – four men and one woman. For a population the size of the US, that would be 1,176 daily deaths, so TT is very much in the vicinity of the US, but still somewhat lower. On a positive note (IS THERE ONE??), we are in the midst of Carnival – the most important thing on earth on this island. Even under Covid restrictions, it is not possible to completely suppress that enthusiasm.

All things considered, I thought why not tell you all a bit about what life here, in my experience, looks like, feels like, sounds like – if only as a short distraction from more depressing news. Because I have enjoyed so many things here, these small things that make your day but are often not elevated to topics that are worthy of being shared. So let me try that – also to provide a counterweight to the intense history lesson from last time (and I had not even gotten to indentureship …).

Some thoughts on sounds: I always wake up to birds chattering. Some of this is very melodic and peaceful, but other birds seem to be yelling at each other and make a real ruckus (the parrots in particular). Also, I have made a few little friends by putting breadcrumbs out on my windowsill – I think they are Great Kiskadees (see photo above).

When you walk through the streets, there is typically some music on, from some bar or store. This could be Soca, Calypso, or just Classic Rock; or some beautiful Indian music; a real mélange as you walk. Only silence is unlikely. Yesterday at the local market, I heard a nice steelpan player. I wanted to upload a file for you to hear, but that costs extra. Thank you, wordpress.

When I talk to people, it is in English. I have heard Spanish from the many Venezuelan immigrants here, but a direct conversation has not yet happened. However, the problem with the English is that I often don’t understand it. It has gotten a bit better in situations where I know what the person is supposed to say (for example, at the supermarket checkout: “Do you have a Massy card?”;  or when the rideshare drivers call, I NEVER understand a word, but I assume they say WHEN they will arrive, so I just say “ok, perfect”; or, the roti vendors when I tell them my order: “Mango and pepper” – do I want that? “Yes”, obviously). Often, I have to ask again, and if I then still don’t understand, I just go with the flow. Many of the people I talk to in more substance are academics and they know of my (and every foreigner’s) predicament and switch easily to what sounds to me like British English with a nice swing and some special Trini words. Perhaps this can be compared to the difference between Swiss German and German that Swiss people speak to Germans (for my non-German speaking friends, I NEVER felt more foreign than on my first visit to Switzerland where I expected to understand everything and understood nothing in a group of Swiss German speakers). The difference is that Trini English has so many cultural influences that result from the history of mixing – there are Amerindian, Spanish, French, African (I don’t know the exact languages that made an imprint) and Hindi expressions, among others.  

I LIKE the people here a lot. I find them friendly, but reasonably so, not in an exaggerated way. By which I mean: they know their own worth. When they see me, I could not say what thoughts go through their minds, but I represent a wealthier exterior for sure. So there is a bit of taxing (who is this person, what does she do here?), but then, very respectful, friendly, polite, warm exchange depending on the person. It sounds perhaps awkward to write this, because why should it be different, right? Well, it often is. You sense a creation of hierarchy through gestures, postures, ways of talking and many other things. And I want to believe that there is something in the broader history of this country – with all defects, that all societies have – that has instilled a profound self-value in people. As in: “look, we are not the richest or most powerful country in the world, but we managed to become independent from an empire and have grappled with that empire’s legacy of exploitation, we know these structures are still powerful, but we have worked hard to create a national collective through access to education and other measures that benefit everybody. We are not perfect, but we can look back at achievements.” There are also some other parts (increasing inequalities, corruption etc.) but I will leave that out for now.

To illustrate my friendly encounters: I always have nice chitchats with the people who work as guards at the Residence Hall. I asked one about a tree across the street that I found interesting because of its red fruit – and he told me in detail (of which I understood some) that this is an Ackee tree; that it is often cooked with fish; that one cannot just eat it because uncooked, it is poisonous; and that it is very prominent in Jamaican cuisine.

Another guard is just super upbeat and seems to be really happy when we come back in from an outing (e.g. Lopinot, see last post) that we are getting around and enjoying ourselves. When I first set foot on UWI grounds – remember that the university is still pretty much closed, and most classes are remote – I had all kinds of paperwork with me to get access to the library, which means to pass the guard post. But I was surprised to see the friendly guard from the res hall was on duty there, and as he saw me he just waved me through, dismissing the paperwork because “I know you”. By the way, I love the University – it was first an agricultural faculty, which explains the many trees. Of course, before that, it was a plantation.

When I walk along the streets and pass people, they typically greet me, either with a “good day” or a wave, especially when a bit farther away. I like that a lot, it is a recognition that you are there and that you are seen – I do the same in return (or just do it first). The other day, I was passing some workers who were taking a break in the shade of a tree and one of them said “have a blessed day”. What a treat.

The rideshare drivers are also interesting to talk to. I had one female driver so far – I always understand women better than men. During the ride, she pointed to the sky and said the weather might be changing. To which I said, I should probably buy an umbrella, if she knew a good place to get one? She said that wherever I went to buy one, I should make sure it opens right and does not break right away. I found a store (Chinese, very typical here) with all kinds of stuff, including umbrellas. I asked an employee if I could open an umbrella I wanted to buy, and she made sure to do it for me, meanwhile we were having a nice conversation. As it opened and closed well, I went to buy it. At the cashier, operated by the store owner, he asks me: “Did you open it?” It seems that everybody knows exactly what an umbrella purchaser needs to do.  

Let me close with a few visuals from Port of Spain: the Cathedral; Chinatown; Woodford Square, which is a very political place: Eric Williams gave public lectures there in the years coming up to independence, and the square was then called for a while “Woodford university”. Across the street is the Red House where the Parliament convenes. The Savannah, a huge park in the middle of Port of Spain, perhaps as important as Central Park for New York. Most of Carnival takes place there.

And finally, a little detail that called my attention: colorful tiles in otherwise really ugly cement benches. Enjoy!

Caribbean history is fascinating. From a European perspective, extremely sobering, because of all the brutality, inhumanity, and extraction that Europeans engaged in over centuries, yet in the present, we pretend this has nothing to do with us. We pride ourselves in the enlightenment tradition of valuing each human equally – well, except the non-European humans. Caribbean people know exactly what this means on the other end: dehumanization and genocide. I tread carefully on this topic; but I am also very interested in it.

The scholar I first read on this is Sidney Mintz (2010) Three Ancient Colonies. Caribbean Themes and Variations. He is (was – passed in 2015) such an exciting anthropologist. I thought of this book, which is written in the most accessible and gripping style, as knowledge accumulated over a lifetime of listening research, because he immerses himself so thoroughly into the realities he studies, and then he connects them to broad developments. In his words, the Caribbean is the world region with the longest tradition of colonization, and the plantation economy defined the social and economic fabric in the Caribbean – this has repercussions in everyday practices to this day. The book delves into Jamaica, Haiti and Puerto Rico, and while Trinidad and Tobago falls into this general description, the country’s history is actually quite different from those three (Tobago is closer to the “classical” slave plantation story).    

As for Trinbagonian history, I have looked into two writers in particular: the first is Eric Williams, eminent historian and “father of the nation” who led T and T into independence. He is such a fascinating character, more on him another time. He wrote a book in 1962 – listen up, academic friends, supposedly in ONE month – about the country’s history to be completed in time for Independence Day. And the second is Bridget Brereton, I think the first female Trinidadian professor of history. Fantastic scholar. Here is some of what I learned from them (I think I will make this several installments, just as a heads up).

First, the two islands of this twin island state have VERY distinct histories before they became “united” in the late 19^th century. Tobago is really the junior partner in this union, as only about 60,000 out of the 1.4 million citizens live there. I focus therefore on the history of Trinidad. Yes, that name sounds Spanish! Columbus himself called the island by that name because of the three summits in the Southern mountain range he spotted when landing in July 1498. Of course, several Amerindian tribes were living on the island and they called it “Iere”. This means “land of the hummingbirds” because 18 species of hummingbirds inhabit the island (these birds are gorgeous – check out these photos by Theo Ferguson, owner of Yerette – Home of the hummingbirds).

Also, if you have a look at the country’s coat of arms which was designed for independence in 1962, you can see: a) the three mountains, Columbus’ three ships – and two hummingbirds. The two big birds on that coat of arms are the national birds of Trinidad (Scarlet ibis) and Tobago (Cocrico).

I also noticed that hummingbird visuals are often used as positive national symbols, as seen here by the post office and the public wifi provider:

Back to history: The Spanish were very busy “discovering”, which explains why, after this first landing, it took them one century to establish a first settlement on Trinidad in 1592. They had found other, more interesting places in the new world and had only limited manpower, so Trinidad fell by the wayside. Nonetheless, the indigenous population was already decimated during this time due to slave raids (they were then shipped to other islands and the South American mainland).

In the next 200 years, until the 1780s, not much happens. Partly, because hardly any Spanish settlers are actually there, and they don’t have the means to “develop” the island. In other words, they were practically subsistence farmers and did NOT establish slave plantations which were in full swing in the French, British, and Dutch Caribbean colonies at the time. Good for the Amerindians, one would like to think, but they were still forced to work for the Spanish, but all of this happened on a much smaller scale and their population declined slower than in other places. The few Spanish settlers tried to complain to the Crown about how neglected they were – decades passed without a Spanish ship sailing by! – but without much success. So they helped themselves by trading with Dutch and British ships which frequented the region much more often. This was strictly forbidden by imperial law, but hey – if no Spanish ship ever comes by, how is Spain going to enforce this rule? In exchange for some important equipment such as knifes and hoes, they sold cocoa and tobacco which they cultivated in modest amounts.

The coexistence between Spaniards and the indigenous people was of course full of tensions. The labor regime was brutal, and there were some Amerindian revolts. Many also withdrew from Spanish settlements and retreated into the jungle. But there was significant direct contact, and that produced some mixed population. It might be that some of this was not the result of direct force, but in general, this “mixing” seems to be most aptly described as systemic rape. But I also found it interesting to learn that until the late 18^th century, the indigenous population was much larger than the Spanish settlers (Brereton speaks about 2000 Amerindians and just a few hundred Europeans in the 1770s).

In the 1770s, the Crown finally realizes that it needs non-Spanish help to make something out of Trinidad. Because it was adamant that additional settlers had to be Catholic it provided incentives for French planters from other Caribbean islands to come in and develop the island. Some other islands such as Grenada had just changed hands from French to British rule, so this offer was attractive to French settlers. The arrival of these dynamic people with their slaves, capital, and planter expertise impressed the Spanish crown, produced a culture shock for the local Spanish hillbilly-type settlers, and led to the institutionalization of Spain’s new immigration policy via the 1783 Cedula of population. This happened parallel to drastic changes in Haiti (then Saint Domingue), the most lucrative French colony at the time, which led to several waves of refugees from Haiti flocking to Trinidad.

It is safe to say that after three centuries of “backwater existence”, EVERYTHING changed in Trinidad in less than 20 years. The French soon outnumber the Spanish, and the imported slaves become the largest segment of the population (over 50%, which is still much less than in the traditional plantation societies of Barbados or Jamaica). The island turns into a plantation economy with sugar becoming the dominant crop next to smaller crops like cocoa, coffee and cotton.

And here some connection to an individual in this process: We travelled yesterday to a village in the Northern mountain range called Lopinot. It is named after Charles Joseph Count de Loppinot, a Lieutenant-General in the French Army and sugar planter in Saint Domingue who came to Trinidad in 1800 with his family and about 100 slaves. He settled and started a cocoa plantation – the estate home still exists and is being preserved.

I was struck by this stark discrepancy – the utter beauty of the place. And its brutal history as a slave plantation.

Back to the late 18^th/ early 19^th century. Two fascinating developments: First, the Cedula of Population was not limited to white Catholics, but also extended to colored and black freedmen, as long as they were Catholic. They did not get the exact same incentives as whites (e.g. less land), but this treatment was still the most favorable to them in ANY Caribbean island. For those who don’t know: Caribbean plantation societies such as Saint Domingue/ Haiti were much more complex than just white planters and black slaves; there was a lot of race-mixing and in that process, many colored and black people were freed; some of them were themselves slave owners. So, among the French settlers that came to Trinidad, the majority was colored or black; they were typically not planters, but skilled laborers and artisans. Within this French influx, there were different types of people: first came conservative French royalists; they left Saint Domingue after the French revolution which, for a short time, upended the hierarchical order on the island. In a second wave, supporters of the Republican cause left Haiti after the old order was restored on the island. On the receiving end, the elites in Trinidad did not want to hear anything of revolution. They were very supportive of conservative immigrants and suspicious of those thinking in more equality-oriented terms (automatically, the colored and black immigrants were assumed to fall into that category).

Second development: This fear, plus the closer alliance of Spain with France (which was considered problematic from the perspective of Trinidadian planters), plus the long-established interests of Britain on the island due to the presence of British traders … leads, by the end of the 18^th century, to the British takeover of the island. Spain reluctantly concedes; the islanders are “happy” (some more, some less – during British rule, the situation gets MUCH worse for colored and black freedmen).

Britain then does a paradoxical thing: it accelerates the establishment of a REAL slave economy (because remember that this process was very recent in Trinidad); BUT: because abolitionist sentiments in Britain become stronger and stronger, it also tries to create a kind of “model slavery” that is more organized and somewhat less brutal. However, this does not work out; according to Eric Williams, during these first decades of the 19^th century, the profitability of slavery also declines drastically; and, as a result, Britain abolishes slavery in 1834. Are enslaved people freed as a result? No. They are instead transferred into a new system called “apprenticeship” which continues much of the same but is apparently as much as the planters can handle. Legal emancipation falls into the year 1838.

You will not be surprised to hear that this is NOT the end of labor exploitation, but I think you deserve a break. Next historical post will proceed after 1838. Meanwhile, enjoy some guilt-free hot cocoa – because if it is from Trinidad, it is not only the BEST in the world, but also, historically, post-emancipation cocoa cultivation was much less exploitative than sugar and often community-based. Was this a positive enough spin to a post filled with dreadful brutality? I sure hope so.        

First things first: I was overwhelmed in the best of ways by all your responses to my “first” post – it is great to see that my processing of things here means something not only to me, but to many of my friends. My favorite sentence came from Jennifer: “Hope you stay happy and healthy there, and know that some of us perpetually infected by the travel bug are living vicariously through you, so take good care of yourself and make the most of it.” If that is not encouragement to keep exploring, I don’t know what is!

Some time has passed since the last post; I think more experienced bloggers post at least once every week, so I owe you some. In the meantime, I am of course experiencing lovely things – remember the monastery from the last post? I am staying at the adjacent Pax guest house this weekend. Just for one night, a nice little treat.

It is up in the mountains, beautiful and serene, and since I am the only guest right now, Gerard and Oda, the hosts here, take good care of me and we chatted through dinner and breakfast. It is strange with Covid: I contact places I want to visit, HOPING they may be open, and then I am so HAPPY that they in fact are. But the other end seems to have the same reaction, because hardly anybody contacts them anymore and they are happy about any business. This guesthouse, by the way, is not only a great stay in case you want to visit Trinidad (and very affordable), but also a place where important people have stayed before – even Fidel Castro, shortly after the revolution. Gerard seems to know many of them (not Castro). The person who most impressed him was Cheddi Jagan, transformative (to say the least) former Premier and later also President of Guyana and “father of the nation”. A true servant to his people, and apparently, that showed in his personality when he stayed here at the guesthouse. Others seemed to have been less impressive. Prince Charles, for example.  

One wish I have had since I came is to go on a hike. My Fulbright buddies told me clearly that they don’ t hike, so what do I do, go alone, as a (white) woman?? Difficult, as you already know. What would be a safe place to do that, if any? Perhaps the part of a mountain close to a monastery. This is why I came up here. Gerard, when he heard about my plan, did NOT like it, but deemed it doable. He gave me a walking stick (I think for self-defense, but it was fantastic for knee support). He also said there will be many people around. I started my journey and did see two or three people. The hike up was not very long, but strenuous. I plugged along, controlling my breath to make it up to the top – when three young men passed me. One said: “You are an inspiration to me.” I responded, breathless: “So are you, to me” because they were so much more energetic than my slow self. I asked him later what inspired him about me walking up there so slowly, and he said in a very honest and friendly way – that I try things even if they seem hard, and that many people don’t do that and lock themselves into limitations that are not even there. Along those lines. I felt very appreciated. Later he took a photo of me on the top – as you can see, next to the flag (that is the flag of Trinidad and Tobago, in case you did not know).

I felt very much at ease, on the top of the mountain with some strangers, and then, several more people arrived. I first did not see any women among them, only men, and wondered for a second if I was now in an unsafe situation. It turned out the opposite was true – this was a hiking group of perhaps 12 people who invited me to come with them, which allowed me to see another trail that I would have never embarked on, and I felt very safe among them. I had the perfect hike and got some great information. I also noticed protective behavior of some men in this group either towards the women in the group or towards me – helping over big tree trunks, for example. I am not used to this, but it was not unpleasant. Just really caring. 

However, I do feel sad about the fact that this thought (am I in danger?) even had to cross my mind. I don’t mean this as a guilt trip. The point is a) everybody constantly talks about danger, and preparing against it is something that Trinis do themselves all the time; it is not just a tourist thing, even if I am exposed to specific risks; b) murders are in the news daily; I guess in a small society, a dead person is not just a number, so you typically get the most gruesome stories; point being: there IS, truly, violent crime, and c) I really cannot read what is going on yet. These people were wonderful, but that is not always so clear. For example, the taxi ride up here. Remember that you have to be careful when getting into taxis? I have become, in the meantime, a seasoned rideshare user (this is deemed a safer way of travel than taxis), but this time, I took the taxi up again. That driver was driving very aggressively, on steep inclines with narrow curves and potholes. And no seat belts.

So, violence. Many different forms of it. As a tourist, I think the most dangerous is being robbed, and of course things can go wrong in a robbery. But within society, many people are at risk of becoming victims of violence, as far as I can tell mostly young people. There is a concentration of that in poor neighborhoods due to gang violence. Young women, I am sorry to say, are at particular risk of gender-based/ sexual violence (older women also, but in a different way). Where does all this violence come from? That is a big question with many answers.

One answer points to the country’s history and the deeply ingrained structures of violence and exploitation, and with that, the lack of valuing human beings. Or I should say EVERY human being EQUALLY. That is characteristic for the entire Caribbean due to the long practice of enslaving people, but is manifested in specific ways here, because the phase of slavery was rather short in Trinidad and then replaced (or extended) by indentureship (and Tobago has a different history). More on history another time, but it is interesting how this violence stays in a society; it has not been long that corporal punishment was forbidden in schools and using physical violence to educate children at home still seems to have a lot of currency. Another answer is blatant inequality, so the better-off protect what they have and (some of) the desperate try to get a part; but that does not explain theft from relatively poor people, except perhaps that these people don’t have the resources to protect themselves and their belongings (fences, barbed wire, cars, etc.), so it is easy to rob them. Of course, you know what Covid has done to already existing inequalities. Another answer is impunity – it seems easy to get away with murder, literally.

I leave you for today with this discrepancy as I have experienced it so far: on the one hand, friendly, responsible people whom I can relate to with ease; whom I trust and feel save with. On the other hand, people who represent real danger. Is it odd? Hell, yes because how do I know the difference between these two groups? I guess my German friends are shaking their heads – I at least have not grown up with such risks, and I think that feelings of relative safety do have a lot to do with wealth redistribution, existing safety nets, and reliable law enforcement. And of course, the neighborhood I grew up in which was affluent, safe and un-gated.  

And a final, final thought: On my way up, I was stung by some kind of a bee. It was odd, because it hurt much less than the bees I am used to, so I could continue, but it was a very aggressive bee. What if I had had an allergic reaction? Note to myself: it really is NOT a good idea to go hiking alone.

Not here, and not anywhere else.

In fall 2019, I applied for a Fulbright fellowship to do research in the twin island state of Trinidad and Tobago (topic: “Caribbean engagement with global gender equality frameworks”; more on this in a different writing). The idea was to carry out this research (and do some teaching) in fall 2020. Of course, the pandemic changed everything, including my Fulbright plans. My host institution here, the Institute for Gender and Development Studies at the University of the West Indies St. Augustine first advised to postpone to fall 2021; and then, to fall 2022. There were many complications: Fall 2022 was too late according to Fulbright rules; earlier dates seemed unsafe to the host; and in about July 2021, I decided that for me, the latest date would be Spring 2022 (considering several things I had to juggle in my life, mixed with constantly adjusting assessments of pandemic development). In fall 2021, my host became a bit more open to a possible stay in Spring, even if university life would still be remote and hence, there would be less for me to experience. At some point in the process, I had made peace with the possibility that I would not be able to go at all. When I got the green light in early November 2021, I was beyond excited and finally could start planning! 

I arrived in Trinidad on January 18, 2022. I had secured a plane ticket and a place to stay in one of the university residence halls in December; shortly before Christmas, our entire family got Covid, luckily in a mild form due to being fully vaccinated and boostered. During those “Covid days” (in which we isolated as a family), I first imagined that my trip might now again not be possible; and then I realized that I would have recovered and be non-infections long enough before my travel date. I also felt good and was confident I could travel. I got my negative test before my flight, applied for and got the Trinipass (online procedure to request entry into the country) and got ready in every other way. What also helped me believe I was really going was a visit from our neighbors who are Trinidadians. They supplied me with phone numbers of their relatives and reiterated that I needed to be careful (every person I have talked to since I arrived has reinforced this message).

The flight is a short one from Miami – less than three hours – and the first stretch is over the Bahamas. What a view! So many islands, many of them magically shaped, and turquoise and deep blue waters around them. And then, the first sight of Trinidad: a coastline with steep mountains, covered in forests – the northern mountain range, as my driver later told me. Toward the South the island gets flatter. 

I don’t know about you, but “the firsts” in a new experience (like visiting a new country) are really important in shaping later impressions and experiences. The first view: this lush, mountainous landscape; then the buildings and roads from above. The last time I flew into a Caribbean country was Cuba – big difference between what I saw there and flying into Trinidad. Not only that the Trinis drive on the left (remnant of British rule, more on that another time), but the buildings are in much better shape, and there are lots of cars on the road (traffic is a big issue here).   

The airport in Port of Spain (why Port of Spain? More on this in a history post later) was relatively small, well organized, and a bit greyer than I would have expected from a Caribbean country (memories from Jose Marti international airport in Cuba: a lot of strong reds). We had to get into lines to show our vaccination records and Trini pass, got our hands sanitized and then went through immigration. All of this was swift, efficient, and very polite (here, my comparison is to US immigration, which was often, before I became a citizen, uncomfortable because one was treated as a potential threat).  

I was offered taxi rides by many people, but I had made prior arrangements through the manager of my residence hall who had given me the contact of a “trusted driver”. Security, being safe, never getting into a taxi “whose driver you don’t know” (who knows a taxi driver beforehand?) are a big deal here. EVERYBODY I talk to reiterates this: while Trinbagonians are very friendly and open people, you have to be extremely vigilant and never create any opportunity for robbery or other crimes. As one is easily identifiable as a tourist (as a white woman, I certainly am), one is an easy target. Always be aware of your surroundings; don’t tell anybody where you live; NEVER walk alone at night (I think that is the most repeated sentence I have heard since arriving here); do not wear jewelry – well, I am safe on that last one at least.   

I arrived at the Sir Arthur Lewis residence hall in the afternoon, received by a friendly-relaxed employee who showed me my apartment. Within the hall, this was the most luxurious accommodation with private bath and kitchen, separate bedroom and all air-conditioned. Honestly, it felt great to have a place on my own so shortly after arriving in this new country; a place that I knew I would inhabit for a long time and make my home away from home. The residence is made for about 400 students, but due to Covid and the fact that classes are held remotely, there are barely 40 people in the building. So it’s really empty, but at least I won’t be bothered by neighbors who play loud music. By now, I have met some of the other residents, including two other Fulbrighters who are really nice people.

There are security guards here around the clock and the compounds are fenced in and barbed-wired. One can enter and leave the hall through one gate only and everybody has to sign in/ out. This helps to know the whereabouts of the residents – another important security measure (always let somebody know where you are). However, on this very first evening, I wanted to get out and withdraw money from a nearby bank and buy some dinner. Dexter, the employee who had received me, advised STRONGLY against it, because – it was already dark. He suggested to order some food from KFC; I asked if there were other places I could order from, perhaps with more tasty/ local food, but he said they were all closing early due to the pandemic. All of this, plus the fact that it was raining led to me calling KFC and ordering my first ever KFC meal. Which was also my very first meal in Trinidad. I don’t know how this transaction was successful because I hardly understood the person on the phone. The English here is hard for me to understand, especially on the phone, and I was not sure if I was understood.  

Other “firsts”: My first stroll in the neighborhood – the next morning, when it was light out, I dared to walk alone to explore a bit. There is a bank just down the road – I arrived safely, even if the sidewalks are sometimes very narrow, or not existing at all, and the driving style is very “sportive” – driving on the left side is one thing I have to get used to, but people also drive where it is most convenient, for example to avoid potholes, and the acceptable distance to pedestrians is MUCH narrower than in the US. I also discovered a fruit and veggie market and found the interaction with the vendors very friendly and the produce in good shape and very affordable. Things are typically cheaper here than in the US, but I have to get used to the currency to grasp the real price charged (1 US$ = 7 TT$). I realize that I love these simple things – exploring a neighborhood, walking to a market, talking to market vendors; and I have not done them much since we live in Miami because there is very little communal structure there.

My first grocery shopping at a supermarket! The residence hall provides a shuttle every Friday which is great and allows me to buy more bulky things. I found products that I know from US supermarkets (typically more expensive), but also many domestic ones and from neighboring countries like Jamaica or Colombia. The import-export situation is very interesting (more on that another time).  

My first taxi ride – ok, this was special in two ways: the destination was St. Benedictine Abby, a monastery which is up the hill from where we live, on the same road. I can see it from my window, and it is beautiful. Look it up (http://www.mountstbenedictabbey.org/ )! It was peaceful and wonderful up there, and I could see half of the island, almost. Also, THIS taxi ride was deemed safe by the residence hall employee I talked to (even if I did not know the driver), perhaps because the taxis have a specific spot from where they transport people ONLY to this spiritual site.

My first outing – my neighbors’ relatives picked me up and showed me around. That was the first time, apart from my ride up to the Abby, that I went anywhere beyond my pedestrian radius. They were so nice to drive me to Port of Spain (my residence is east of the capital) and we went along the Western main road all the way to Chaguaramas (west of Port of Spain), where there is a boardwalk which was, however, closed because beaches are only open until 2 pm due to the pandemic. In general, the pandemic-related rules here are SO much stricter than in the US. People are legally obliged to wear masks when in public, and I have been surprised to see people masked up even when they walk alone outside. We had dinner at Movie towne which is an open-air space with a movie theatre and many restaurants and shops. Unfortunately, many of those places are closed now, probably permanently. However, I had my first Trini beers: one is called Carib, the other Stag. Stag is also called “a man’s beer”, but both are made by the same company and pretty much taste the same (my first engagement with gender roles here … always on the lookout 😊).   

Also, I had my first doubles (most important Trini food, as far as I can tell; there are many other special dishes, but more on food another time).

And let me close with this: when I talked for the first time (over zoom) with my host, a wonderful Trinidadian gender studies scholar, and we touched on getting used to the culture and understanding how things are done here, I found out that people might have stereotypical assumptions about me that I had in all honesty NOT expected: especially in Tobago – NOT in Trinidad, she assured me – they might think of me as a sex tourist, aka a white, comparatively wealthy, middle aged woman with a foreign accent “who wants to have a good time with the beach boys” (inevitably, more on that topic in a later post; also on the different culture of Tobago).

I hope you enjoyed this post! Many more to come.