Maracas Beach , from a birds eye view , from Bay View lookout . Trinidad most popular Beach by all . We can never have enough of it!!! Today was no exception! Crystal clear waters , warm yet refreshing. Waves to keep you diving under the swells of the waves . Quite a workout , fun in the sun, sea and sand .

The 2010s: The Decade of Shitty White People

We were so close.
For a minute there it seemed like America had come to its goddamn senses. It closed out the first decade of the new century by electing its first African-American president, while simultaneously handing him healthy, veto-proof majorities in both the House and Senate after a decade of letting The Fear drive us into the arms of a half-witted dufus by the name of George W. Bush, who seized that opportunity to fail spectacularly at virtually every conceivable measure of the public trust in return.
During the Bush years — It took almost eight full years for people to realize that some random hirsute foreigner probably wasn’t going to blow up their ’91 Ford Taurus or reduce the local Piggly Wiggly to rubble in Allah’s name, but not before they let largely the same people who scared them into thinking so demolish their 401ks and drive the entire global economy screaming over a cliff. All this while simultaneously building the world’s largest self-service surveillance network ever conceived. Any pretense of the American notion of giving a shit about human rights took a pretty solid beating in the 00s, along with a lot of guys with names like Mohamed in CIA black sites scattered around the world.
But for one brief, shining moment towards the end of the oughts’, a green sprig of hope grew between the cracks of the nation’s thick, stony head. For about a minute and a half — it looked like America might be on the verge of a true moment of evolution. At least that’s what a lot of us told ourselves back then.
To be clear — Shitty White People doing Shitty White People Stuff isn’t anything new. SWPs have been on a pretty hard roll for at least the last six centuries. But for about forty of the last fifty or so years in America, we have at least made it impolite to be openly racist in most rooms. Usually, that didn’t comprise of much more than at least taking a cursory glance over each shoulder before making a racist joke, but when you consider we aren’t that far out in geologic time from when a white person could buy and sell black people out in the open market — it’s at least some sort of progress.
Few people have summed up this plan on how to closet their racism more succinctly than Republican strategist Lee Atwater — who spelled it out verbatim in a 1981 interview. As America evolved, racists still desperately needed a way to signal to other racists without just saying that shit out loud:
“Y’all don’t quote me on this. You start out in 1954 by saying, “ Nigger, nigger, nigger.” By 1968 you can’t say “nigger” — that hurts you. Backfires. So you say stuff like forced busing, states’ rights and all that stuff. You’re getting so abstract now [that] you’re talking about cutting taxes, and all these things you’re talking about are totally economic things and a byproduct of them is [that] blacks get hurt worse than whites. And subconsciously maybe that is part of it. I’m not saying that. But I’m saying that if it is getting that abstract, and that coded, that we are doing away with the racial problem one way or the other. You follow me — because obviously sitting around saying, “We want to cut this,” is much more abstract than even the busing thing, and a hell of a lot more abstract than “Nigger, nigger.”
In other words — how to say the loud part quiet. This has become the new white hood — find a thing you can do or say that every other racist can clearly identify, that’s just ambiguous enough to pass off as something else. “But your honor — we were just playing something called the circle game — I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
For most of the last 50 years, that’s how it rolled. You could argue that America didn’t get at any less substantively racist — in some ways, it got even worse (94 Crime Bill) But at the bare minimum, at least some, if not most Shitty White People went underground.
But then Barack Obama came, and SWPs lost their fucking minds. Its possible no single person in American history posed a greater existential threat to every pillar of white supremacist orthodoxy than Barack Hussein Obama, and that’s when they realized it was time to up their game.
Aside from the fact that Obama represented a shining contradiction to nearly every racist trope SWPs tell themselves — Obama created the fear in them that The Bill was coming. Shitty White People just naturally assumed black people in power were going to treat them the same way they had treated black folks for the last 400 years.
It took them absolutely no time whatsoever for them to start scaring the shit out of each other with ghost stories about eugenic death panels and FEMA concentration camps. In other words, we are talking about people so transcendently racist — that it was literally impossible for them to conceive of anyone else not being at least as racist as they were. It’s entirely possible most of the institutional racism since the Reconstruction has just been predicated on white people being absolutely convinced that the second they took their foot off the neck of the black man, white people would be getting lynched in the streets in droves.
The war over the ACA was really about health care the same way the civil war was about state’s rights. Some of the sickest people in the developed world actively pushed back on the attempt to give themselves affordable health care simply because the person trying to give it to them was black. Thus began the Tea Party Movement — essentially a Lee Atwater wet dream of white grievance orchestrated around right wing political fan fiction sculpted into a surprising array of bullshit policy positions all seemingly hand crafted as a trojan horse hope chest full of seething racism and resentment.
And it just kept going from there. In the mid-term elections of 2010, SWPs managed to fill the United States House of Representatives and a surprising amount of the Senate with a bunch of low watt amateurs, whose only qualifications for high office were the ability to make more thinly veiled audible dog whistle racist noises louder than the next guy in the local Republican primary. American would-be elected officials quickly learned by pavlovian response that the fastest way to fill a campaign war chest would be to light one’s hair on fire, preferably in prime time on Fox news.
Meanwhile — a large swath of white America was coming to grips that they were being left behind. Every time they looked at their increasingly larger and more ubiquitous screens — they were being acutely reminded that there were people out there living opulent lives of blinding excess (usually in some coastal state) and they weren’t one of them. Slowly it just melted into regionally based, inchoate resentment between people who took a shower after work towards people who took one before it.
Despite chart after chart showing how they were ostensibly the most productive work force in the history of mankind, none of that money seemed to be making it to them. For the first time since the end of the Great Depression, America was waking up to the fact that there were methodically and systematically being screwed; that everything they had been told to expect as a nation of temporarily disgraced millionaires probably wasn’t coming, and someone needed to be blamed for it.
Rather than blaming capitalism, it was just far easier, and much more on-brand for Shitty White People to punch down and blame the least powerful people in society as the cause of their problems instead. Rather than accept that the supposedly meritocratic prosperity doctrine that they bought into as a religion their whole lives was a total sham to all but a handful of winners — they declared open season on anyone darker than a grocery bag, and while they were at it, threw in women and the LGBT communities for good measure.
Donald J. Trump stumbled in to this shit zeitgeist like every other accident of success in his life. It’s a glowing testimony of how good it is to be rich. The only thing that ever separated Trump from being a 3rd rate used car salesman bouncing from one sketchy lot to another across Long Island was the Scrooge McDuck pile of money his father accumulated as a openly racist slumlord in the 1960s and 70s.
After burning though whatever money he inherited, along with all the money other people loaned him, It was the dumb luck of a Hollywood writer’s strike (and the end of antena-based television in rural areas) that helped launch his stupid reality show into the homes of slack jawed yokels in the flyover states, where he cemented his status as a poor person’s idea of what a rich person was. The longer Trump could keep a camera and a microphone in front of his face (things that Trump needs more than water or oxygen to survive) the longer they realized that Trump, for all his money, was a Shitty White Person just like them. He spoke their same language of perpetual victimhood and grievance, even in the midst of a game they were clearly doing so much better in than the people they were blaming for their perceived lack of success on. It turns out privilege is just like money — you can never have too much of it, especially if you believe in a zero sum game where your every failure is the result of someone else’s success. This is exactly why equality feels like oppression to people accustomed to privilege.
The greatest gift Trump gave SWPs was being proof of concept that an openly racist, mediocre white person with a fourth grade vocabulary and no more nuanced understanding of the world than could be learned from habitually watching Fox and Friends could not only become a billionaire — he could become the leader of the free world. Trump rescued the lie of American capitalism for a bunch of destitute people, thus sparing them learning any important lessons about their place in the New Gilded Age. Red meat was back on the menu.
In retrospect, it should come as no surprise that Trump ripped through the Republican primary effortlessly. The Republican party had been selling rich guy policy to poor people for a generation, and much in the same way you have to wrap a pill in some sort of meat to get a dog to swallow it, the right used the steady appeal of racism, homophobia and misogyny to get people that make less than $40k a year to somehow give a shit about things like the estate tax. Trump just stripped the extra parts away and said the quiet parts loud, and Shitty White People awarded him the American Presidency for it. (Turns out he may have had some foreign help as well, or at least the threat of him being party to people peeing in places other than where they should, and in front of more cameras than usual.)
To be fair, Shitty White People didn’t just limit themselves to the right. Shitty White people on the left managed to rediscover measles, and somehow serious people are having to explain how the world is actually round to some of them. That’s how good it is to be white. It means you can think that science or physics don’t necessarily apply to you all the time. White people will believe almost anything as long as it’s coming from a pretty white lady, or at least a convincing looking website. You’d be fucking shocked at what Gwyneth Paltrow can convince white people to stick up their bodies and why.
Shitty White People doing Shitty Things to anyone they could get away with bullying is nothing new. But the 2010s were a real comeback decade for SWPs. When police weren’t shooting unarmed black folks in the streets in broad daylight, they were chasing around one call after another generated by the fact that this was the decade that 911 for all intents and purposes became a customer service hotline for white people uncomfortable with the sight of black people doing just about any mundane activity you could imagine.
Donald Trump didn’t make America more racist — but what he did do was signal to racists that they still had numbers and could still pick one of their own for president, despite being told for decades that they were becoming the minority. It’s no coincidence that hate crimes started skyrocketing after his election. Trump ran, and has governed on an open policy of white supremacy, and now the racist fringe has convinced themselves that they have been the silent majority all along. You can rest absolutely assured that anytime you see someone in a red MAGA hat, the subtext for the word “great” on it is “white”. Anyone who tells you different is kidding themselves.
“Seriously, your honor — we were just playing something called the circle game — I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I, for one, am glad to see this tire fire of a decade burn itself out. In 11 months we are going to take a referendum of just how racist this country is, and I know I’m not the only one that’s afraid of the answer. We know for a fact that something around 41% of the 60% of the people that can be bothered to vote in this country are willing to tolerate openly racist rhetoric out of the white house, so long as it comes with the appropriate tax breaks and judicial appointments. The black box we have no way of peering into is just who makes up that 40% that doesn’t usually vote. Welcome to Civilization Edgeplay. Who’s ready to roll those dice?
When the history books are written, or at least scrawled on the sides of collapsed buildings in pig’s blood in the coming post-apocalyptic hellscape — let the record show that the 2010s belonged lock, stock and barrel to Shitty White People, and we are all poorer for it. Let’s hope maybe this go round we can shove these people back in the closet and start trying to perfect this union once again. I don’t know how many more shots we’re gonna get at this.

A Father Christmas wearing a tin helmet, walks along Regent Street, London.
23 December 1940

DID YOU KNOW!

According to historical records, Christmas was first observed in Trinidad in 1569. The festival was celebrated by six priests of the order of Observantines headed by Fr. Miguel Diosdados (Reyes). They visited several villages and were treated to local cuisine.

CHRISTMAS IN TRINIDAD AND TOBAGO

It is a very joyous occasion. Families commemorate the birth of Jesus Christ by going to church. For many, this means an annual pilgrimage to church on Christmas Eve to celebrate Midnight Mass. Christmas is also a memorable event that is celebrated by large gatherings of families and friends. Sumptuous meals are prepared, and visitors are invited to partake in the feast. These visitors include not only friends and family, but also those groups of people who go from house to house serenading the members of the home with indigenous Spanish carols, known as Parang. (Parang is an upbeat Venezuela-Trinidad hybrid music normally sung in Spanish. Now there's also 'soca parang' where songs are sung in English).

These groups are called Paranderos, and they sing traditional Parang songs. They trek through neighbourhoods, evoking the spirit of the season with joyful melodies and infectious rhythms. The cuatro, bass box, mandolin, ‘chac-chac’ (maracas), flutes, tambourines, guitar and other instruments are all used to accompany the Paranderos. The vibrant rhythms of Parang music encourage one and all to sing along. The Paranderos are rewarded for their performances with Christmas food & drink offered by the host of the house.

Traditional food served at Christmas time consists of generous helpings of ham, turkey, pastelles, fruit cake, sweetbreads, and other selected delicacies, along with traditional drinks such as sorrel, ginger beer, and ponche de crème.

Christmas is a very important time in Trinidad & Tobago. It is the fusion of the end of year excitement while ushering the imminent Carnival season. It is a time when loved ones gather to reminisce on the past year while celebrating the presence of each other. It is a time of food and drinks, music and celebration, and peace and love, as the birth of Christ is honoured and celebrated.

The Churchill Roosevelt Highway as seen circa early 1960s.

WOMAN SMOKING A PIPE- 1952

 Tobacco was one of the indigenous plants cultivated by the Amerindians  when the Spaniards made their first permanent settlement at San Jose de  Oruna (St. Joseph) in 1592. The first peoples used the leaf mainly in  spirit-ceremonies. Dried tobacco and other narcotics would be powdered  and inhaled through the nostrils by piaii (shamans) to induce visions.

 When the famous British marauder and explorer Sir Walter Raleigh descended on the  island in 1595, he was introduced to tobacco since he made contact with  Amerindians at La Brea, Mucurapo and Erin. He took back to England, a  quantity of cured leaf which he smoked in cigars. Since this was a  pastime unknown in Europe, it is alleged that his manservant, seeing  smoke emanating from his master’s head, doused Raleigh with a bucket of  water. Tobacco continued to be a crop of importance in 17th century  Spanish Trinidad, along with cacao and cotton. Not only was it  cultivated on the conucos (smallholdings) of the Amerindians, but  several Spanish settlers grew it in the area known as Valsayn today and  in Maracas valley. Tobacco needs light, rich soil, good moisture and  generous spacing. The large leaves were semi-cured until golden brown  and then packed onto canoes at Puerto Grande (the confluence of the St.  Joseph and Caroni Rivers, then a shipping place) to be sent to the  principal seaport , Puerto de los Hispanioles (Port of Spain) .
  Trinidad also played a part in sparking off the American tobacco  industry which is still a billion dollar enterprise. John Rolfe, a  colonist from the Jamestown Settlement, was the first to grow tobacco in  America. He arrived in Virginia with tobacco seeds procured on an  earlier voyage to Trinidad, and in 1612 he harvested his inaugural crop  for sale on the European market. In 1784, 132,000 pounds of tobacco were  produced in the island. At the conquest of Trinidad by the British in  1797, tobacco was one of the crops noted by Sir Ralph Abercrombie as  being of significance. By 1820, sugar was king and most of the lands  devoted to the older order of cash crops (cotton, tobacco, indigo) were  converted to sugar cane and the production dwindled. Quantities of  tobacco were being imported from Tobago and Venezeula to supply the  local demand, but in the old Mission settlement of Siparia, tobacco was  still an important crop. This may have been so for in that little  village, the old ways of the first peoples still were strong and many of  the villagers were of mixed Amerindian ancestry. Writing in 1848, a  traveler recounts

 “I entered a neat Spanish mud casa where two  men were busily employed in rolling cigars, the quality of which is  deemed by smokers to be very good. The celerity with which each cigar  was fashioned was quite remarkable and between them, these two can make  over 900 a day”.

 Production of tobacco in Trinidad declined  steadily throughout the 19th century until in the 1880s, Sir L.A.A De  Verteuil could write

 “Trinidad tobacco, from the district of  Siparia, was judged at the Exhibition (London, 1880) as inferior only to  Havana (from which the world famous Cohiba cigars are made) , yet its  cultivation is limited only to a few acres of land , the quantity of  which is consumed on the spot where it is grown , whilst a sufficiency  might easily be raised for the entire island’s consumption. The annual  quantity of tobacco imported into this island is 318,300 pounds equal to  10,000 pounds sterling.”

 Another account from 1893 went thus :

 “The soil of certain districts of the colony is admirably adapted to  the growth of tobacco, and samples grown in the district of Siparia have  been pronounced by competent judges to be second only to the finest  Havana. As yet, however, the cultivation is confined to a few patches  scattered here and there throughout the colony, but principally in the  above-named district. During the administration of Sir William Robinson  the services of an expert from Cuba were engaged, and an experimental  cultivation established by the Government at Siparia. Although the  experiment has not proved a financial success, and has consequently been  brought to a close, it has, in other respects, been both useful and  profitable,”

 The 1892 report of the Superintendent of the Royal Botanical Gardens was as follows:

 “"The experiment of growing Tobacco at Siparia has been terminated. The  officer imported as specialist and employed temporarily by the  Government to superintend the culture decided at the conclusion of his  engagement to remain in the district and has purchased land on his own  account. This, I take it, is an encouraging feature, as in his hands I  believe the industry is likely to increase, the more so, as he has  identified himself with the people, and is prepared to settle for good  in the district. The last crop, like the former ones, was small, but  being of the nature of an experiment I could not advise the Government  to expend large sums in cultivating a sufficient area to become a  remunerative culture. The first question to be decided was : Can a  Tobacco of a suitable character for making good cigars be grown iu  Trinidad ? The second question : Can it be grown to pay ? is a question  which the industry of the people themselves should solve. The first ques  tion having been resolved in the affirmative, on the Report of London  brokers and manufacturers, on Reports of samples of cigars sent to  England, and on numerous Reports of local smokers, the second question  may safely be left to the hands of enterprising planters to whom it  properly belongs. In the meantime it may be said that the quality of the  produce of the district in which operations were conducted (always a  tobacco-producing one) has much improved. Tlie native cultivators having  seen and partially adopted the methods employed by the skilled  cultivator, and it may be confidently anticipated that the industry will  continue
 to make progress during future years."”

 The Sosa  family was involved with tobacco propagation in Siparia at least from  the 1870s. Much of the imported tobacco came from Venezuela and in the  early 20th century there were several small manufacturers of cigars and  cigarettes in POS, the principals being J. Orsini y Hijos and Machado.  These concerns lost out to the large-scale importation of Anchor  cigarettes beginning in the 1920s. Even so, pipe-smoking was commonplace  among men and even women of the lower classes. To supply this market,  small quantities of tobacco were still being grown locally. West Indian  Tobacco Co. opened here in 1948, but most of its raw material was  imported. Small quantities of tobacco were still being cultivated in  Siparia well into the 1960s for local consumption.

BRING OUT DE HAM

Author :An­ge­lo Bisses­sars­ingh

Christ­mas just ain't Christ­mas with­out a good ham. In Trinidad of yes­ter­year, the pre­cious leg of pork would be boil­ing in a pitch-oil tin for many hours be­fore be­ing baked, ei­ther in a coalpot tin oven or a bee­hive mud oven, to be served with oth­er tra­di­tion­al fare like pastelles and fruit cake.

Chances are the ham would be di­min­ished long be­fore the fam­i­ly could have a go at it, through the in­roads of "mop­pers," oth­er­wise known as vil­lage paran­deros.

The choic­es for ham lovers were not easy. Price was a ma­jor con­sid­er­a­tion as well as qual­i­ty. In the coun­try­side ar­eas, the ham every­one knew was a salty, well-cured leg of pork hang­ing from the rafters of the Chi­nese shop. This would be an Amer­i­can ham, im­port­ed in bar­rels of saw­dust with some of that still cling­ing to the sur­face.

Af­ter boil­ing the skin would be stripped off be­fore bak­ing. The skin it­self was kept un­til af­ter Christ­mas, when mon­ey was scarce, and would be used to pro­vide pro­tein in a meal of rice or as the meat in a sand­wich. It could al­so be fried crisp and eat­en as a snack. The fat was used to leav­en bakes. Even the ham bone did not go to waste. Bro­ken up in pieces, it was used in soups, callaloo and oil-down.

The low­est grade of ham was what was known as the "pitch ham." This was lo­cal­ly made and smoked. To pre­serve it, the pitch ham had a coat­ing of as­phalt on the out­side, which made the skin ined­i­ble and im­part­ed a min­er­al flavour to the meat which I am told was far from un­pleas­ant-al­though one can imag­ine that it was not the health­i­est food around.

In the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry, an Amer­i­can ham cost about $5, with the pitch ham sell­ing for $2 less. This was no mean ex­pen­di­ture in an era when it was a de­cent month­ly wage for a do­mes­tic ser­vant, mak­ing the ham an in­dul­gence.

The ham most Tri­nis were fa­mil­iar with was the York ham. The York ham is mild­ly flavoured, light­ly smoked and dry-cured, which is salti­er but milder in flavour than oth­er Eu­ro­pean dry-cured ham. It has del­i­cate pink meat and does not need fur­ther cook­ing be­fore eat­ing. It is tra­di­tion­al­ly served with Madeira sauce. Folk­lore has it that the oak used for con­struc­tion for York Min­ster in Eng­land pro­vid­ed the fu­el for smok­ing the meat.

York hams were sold from most city gro­ceries like Can­nings and the Ice House and al­so de­part­ment stores with pro­vi­sion de­part­ments, like Stephens. The fa­mous Ice House Gro­cery on Ma­rine (In­de­pen­dence) Square in­clud­ed a York ham in its fa­mous $5 Christ­mas ham­pers.

Packed chock-full of good­ies like Mus­ca­tel wine, nuts, im­port­ed sweets and dried fruits for the fa­mous rum cake, these ham­pers could be packed in­to a wood­en box and for­ward­ed by rail to cus­tomers deep in the coun­try­side.

Even though some pre­fer turkey, the hall­mark of Christ­mas is still a ham.

Photo 1. : Salt ham hanging at Sing Chong Supermarket on Charlotte Street, Port of-Spain. Photo Credit : BRIAN NG FATT.

Photo 2: Boiling the Christmas Ham- Drawing by Rudolph Bissessarsingh (2012)

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES.
Reminising about our childhood memories what vividly comes to mind is our carefree childhood days of playing and having fun in the rain ( like children in the photo) without any thought of catching the cold or getting sick.

As children growing up in rural village where we still live , my siblings and I could not wait for the rain to stop falling . Behind our home the cocoa estate each time rain fell was transformed into what we thought was a magical wonderland . My father always found the time to take us on these magical adventures. What a beautiful sight it was to behold the many babbling streams and tiny waterfalls created by the heavy rainfall , to explore the little pools formed around the immortelle tree roots filled with fishes and tiny morocoys. Alas these are only memories conjured up in my mind as I reflect on my childhood .

TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE.
Courtesy Historisn Angelo Bissessarsingh.
Article being reposted lest we forget the hard work and sacrifices made by our ancestors to educate and take care of their families in the past. In many rural communities today planting crops is still main source of their livelihood for many families.

PAY-WEEK MARKET NEAR WOODFORD LODGE SUGAR ESTATE 1951

In the second chapter of Sir V.S Naipaul’s iconic novel, ‘A House for Mr. Biswas’ he describes the scene in the pay-yard of a sugar plantation in Central Trinidad which would have been set in the first decade of the 20th century which was when Sir Vidia’s father, Seepersad Naipaul (the hero of the book in the guise of Mohun Biswas) was born:

“Every Saturday he lined up with the other labourers outside the estate office to collect his pay. The overseer sat at a little table, on which his khaki cork hat rested, wasteful of space, but a symbol of wealth. On his left sat the Indian clerk, important, stern, precise, with small neat hands that wrote small neat figures in black ink and red ink in the tall ledger. As the clerk entered figures and called out names and amounts in his high, precise voice, the overseer selected coins from the columns of silver and the heaps of copper in front of him, and with greater deliberation extracted notes from the blue one-dollar stacks, the smaller red two-dollar stack and the very shallow green five-dollar stack. Few labourers earned five dollars a week; the notes were there to pay those who were collecting their wives’ or husbands’ wages as well as their own. Around the overseer’s cork hat, and seeming to guard it, there were stiffblue paper bags, neatly serrated at the top, printed with large figures, and standing upright from the weight of coin inside them. Clean round perforations gave glimpses of the coin and, Raghu had been told, allowed it to breathe.”

This was a play which could have been staged in any random sugar belt plantation in the Caroni Plain or the Naparimas- Woodford Lodge, Palmiste, Orange Grove, St. Augustine etc. Some of the men’s wages of course were already committed to a spree at the local rumshop and for various ‘grease-hand’ payments to the sirdars or Indian headmen who represented the link between the white overseers and the Indian ‘gangs’ of labourers. The Sirdar would have to be kept happy for he could make their tasks as burdensome as possible if he wished or could make false reports against the labourers which would end in them and their families being kicked off the estate.

On larger plantation combines like Woodford Lodge, Ste. Madeline and Palmiste in particular, there would be a space near the pay-office (usually just an acre of beaten earth) where every fortnight an impromptu market would spring up. These supplied a vital need for procurement of various necessities as well as for socialization for which there was little opportunity in the humdrum work-filled lives of sugar-belt peoples, both of Afro and Indo descent. The local estate shop would provide certain staples such as rice, flour, dried peas and beans, rum, salted meat and fish etc. The market however was where the REAL shopping took place. The late Wilfred D. Best, most well-known for his textbook ‘The Student’s Companion’, also penned a novel called ‘Tikasingh’s Wedding’ which drew heavily for its setting from Best’s early life on Frederick Estate in Caroni where he was born in 1911. Part of the novel describes its title character being introduced to estate life, part of which is a vivid description of the market which could have fit any of the others in the period.

A city of rough wooden trestle tables and improvised stands made of packing crates would spring up. In the rainy season , the ground would be muddy and many patrons would be without shoes, preferring soiled feet and braving ‘jiggers’ to sullying their prized footwear. Firstly, there would be a place where vegetables and fruit would be sold. Sundry types of bhagi, tomatoes, ochroes, watercress, lettuce and cabbage were vended separately from ground provisions (yams, eddoes, cassava, sweet potatoes etc.)nearby which were simply laid on the ground or on mats of jute sacking usually bought for a few cents at the shop after they had been used for storing granulated sugar and wet salt. Mangoes, pommeracs, pommecytheres and other fruits (especially watermelons sliced in glass cases to display their juicy redness) would follow next. Another section would be for soft drinks only. At this period in history, there were larger soft drink manufacturers like Cannings and Serrao’s who could distribute their products in vans or by rail, but in almost every village of size there was a small maker of aereated drinks who employed coloured syrups (limited to cola, cream soda and kola champagne- everybody knew Indians only drank this red stuff GIMME LAL WALLAH) and carbonated water, infused with fizz by means of a simple Brateby and Hinchliffe soda water plant which was imported from a dealer in Demerara (later British Guiana) . The bottles were heavy glass ones with a marble stopper in the neck to prevent the gas from escaping. A wooden plunger was used to push the marble down to release the pressure on the liquid- a dangerous process since sometimes the compressed gas would cause the bottle to explode in the hands of the opener.

At every market there would be a dry goods area where clothing and other items were sold. Cheap combs, buttons, laces and ribbons as well as colourful handkerchiefs were in gaudy array. There would be tailors as well, usually Muslim men, who would make up ready-made trousers and shirts during the week and take them to market. The wily Baksh from another of Sir Vidia’s works “The Suffrage of Elvira’ provides a good character sketch of one of these men. Naturally of course, there would be the hardworking Syrian/Lebanese peddlers with their boxes of piece goods- dress and trouser lengths- carried about on their heads and backs from railway stations either by themselves and their sons or else a hired porter. In the shade of a tree they would sit and wait for business and that they had because the cloth and other haberdashery they sold could be had on terms with the payment of a few shillings every week. One wonders at the level of trust between them and their customers, because there are few if any stories of swindling on either side. Indian jewellers or small operations or the agents of larger ones in the towns such as Gokool’s in San Fernando or Y. De Lima and Sultan Khan , would be on hand with velvet lined boxes, displaying rings, coaoa-headed bangles and necklaces for sale on terms as well.

Cooked food would be on hand for those feeling peckish. Usually this was the preserve of Afro-Trinidadian women and their legendary ‘sweet hand’, as they would stand near coalpots set on packing cases turning out accra and floats, fried fish, roast corn, boiled corn (wither plain or seasoned in a broth of pigtail and herbs), corn soup and boiled chataigne which was sold by the pennyworth, being scooped out in an enamel cup and drained before being plunked on a square of brown shop paper. A few would have glass cases stocked with sponge cakes, frosted cupcakes and more earthy favourites like pone, coconut drops and sweetbread. Occasionally, an Indo Trini woman would be there with a wooden tray filled with meetai (kurma, barfi, gulab jamoon, jelibi and ladoo). Only much later did vendors of bara-and-channa appear. Most likely there would be a coconut vendor and his donkey cart too.

Unlike similar markets in Jamaica and British Guiana in the period, there would be no livestock sales as these were usually transacted privately between interested parties and not at market. There would sometimes however, be a woman with some trussed fowls for sale to those who could afford a shilling (24 cents) a pound for the bird for their Sunday lunch. Beef and fresh pork sold off a bloody chopping block by a burly Afro-Trini man with his expert cutlass in hand could be counted on as this was usually 12 cents a pound

Children also had a ball while their mothers did the shopping, impromptu duels of marble pitch or top spinning would be organized out of the way of adults and they could be depended on not to end in trouble. Teen aged boys would be parading in their best shirts and handkerchiefs to see if they could catch they eyes of any of the young girls while their mothers’ backs were turned. The presence of an estate constable or policeman from the nearest station kept the peace though there was little for him to do. The estate markets were a fixture of plantation life well into the 1970s for those who remember them and provided an idyllic setting for the small pleasures which made the arduous life of a cane worker bearable. One may surmise that current recessionary conditions in the nation may have a silver lining if it drives us away from expensive big-box multinationals and superstores , where we push trolleys mindlessly up and down aisles of expensive food, and back to the wholesome goodness of our town and country markets.

BLAST FROM OUR PAST
Credit : Historian Angelo Bissessarsingh

GOVERNOR JACKSON AND HIS ENTOURAGE VISIT SAN FERNANDO.

On May 25th 1906, Governor Sir Henry Moore Jackson (1904-08) visited San Fernando with his wife and entourage. They were received by Mayor Edghill Johnstone (1906-1908) whose father, Dr. Robert Johnstone was the first Mayor of the Borough in 1853. Governor Jackson and his wife visited the Court House ( the present-day Old Police Station) , inspected the King's Wharf and ended with a function at the Drill Hall (present day location of Naparima Bowl) , the old Town Hall being too small to receive them. Governor Jackson and his party would have journeyed to San Fernando via rail and then proceeded by horse. Note Lady Jackson's full riding veil and the heavy security presence necessitated by the Water Riots only three years before which nearly saw the then governor, Sir Alfred Maloney being burnt alive.

Classic Land Rover Fire Truck
( Photo taken June 20th 2009)

This is a mid-1970's LR Series II light response unit owned by the Petroleum Company of Trinidad and Tobago (Petrotrin). This unit is in pretty good shape considering its age. These old Rovers will run forever on their original petrol inline 6 engines and aluminum bodies.Angelo Bissessarsingh
Classic Land Rover Fire Truck.

P.S This Vintage Fire Truck was the one used to transport Santa Angelo to the Schools in the area during Christmas Time.

Why Christmas In The ’80s Was The Best

When I think about what the holidays mean to me, I am always transported to Christmas in the ’80s and sitting on my knees at our coffee table making my list after browsing fat catalogues and watching commercials which tempted kids of the world during Saturday morning cartoons.

Neighbors Came Over To Visit
There were fewer “things to do” and more visiting. I remember coming home from school many afternoons around the holidays and there would be a neighbor or friend sitting at our kitchen table with their hand wrapped around a mug of coffee.

They’d come unannounced and drop off a jar of jam or a coffee cake or a box of nuts and chocolates and my mom would return the favor by sending them home with a Tupperware container of homemade cookies or loaf of bread. These gestures were meaningful and made us slow down and wrap ourselves in the very thing the holidays are supposed to make us feel—pure joy. It’s rare anyone has the time to do this anymore– we are rushing around like ping-pong balls trying to keep our wheels spinning.

There Were More One Income Families
This meant we got less throughout the year, and the holiday and birthday gifts were highly valued. Many parents had to save most of the year to provide a nice holiday for their family and people were more likely to make gifts than they are now. As a kid, I didn’t dig my homemade mittens and hat, but there is something so charming and nostalgic about homemade gifts.

Amazon Didn’t Exist But We Got Catalogues In The Mail

Instead of being able to use your one-click button on Amazon, we waited for that huge Sears or Montgomery Ward or JCPenney catalogue to come in the mail. I would peruse those for hours circling and folding the corners of the pages, then I’d change my mind again. I remember hearing the sound of my mother’s soft voice ordering things after we were in bed and the excitement would be so intense, I couldn’t sleep.

Stores Brought Out Their Christmas Stuff Later (Much Later)
I love this season and always decorate early, but the holidays weren’t shoved in our faces early like they are today. The blaring of Christmas music, and seeing the stores being taken over with glittery merchandise before Halloween ruins it for many and can turn any excitement they have for the holidays into dread.

In the ’80s, you started hearing Jingle Bells and seeing lit up trees after Thanksgiving which not only made us savor it more, we were really ready to spread the holiday cheer by that time.

It Was Just A Simpler Time
When anyone remembers their childhood, it always seems simpler, but so much has evolved since the ’80s: technology, sports programs and the way we parent have gotten much more time-consuming. We are all so busy attending sporting events all weekend, going to meetings, volunteering and over half of all households have both adults working. This doesn’t allow as much time to bake and visit and just lounge in front of the television to watch a Christmas special on a Friday evening with a TV dinner.

We Celebrated The Holidays In School
Elementary school holidays parties were the most exciting way to spend the day before winter break. We drew names, everyone brought in goodies to eat, and the entire whole school was buzzing in anticipation for what was to come.

We Had To Wait For Christmas Specials And Christmas Music To Come On The Radio
Sure, some of us had a VHS but even then, we had to talk our parents into renting a Christmas movie which was pretty unlikely. When Charlie Brown’s Christmas or It’s A Wonderful Life came on the television, you made a family night out of it.

And I clearly remember my sisters and me hovering around the radio hoping Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer would come on because nothing was available at our finger tips. Now you can produce Christmas in 100 different ways with a few clicks any time of the year.

You Recognize Wrapping Paper From Past Years
Nothing, and I mean nothing was wasted. My mother used the same wrapping paper and ribbons for  years. There were times that she and my father would let us rip through our gifts but when it came to the bigger items, we were always instructed to be careful so the precious paper could be saved and packed away with the Christmas decorations.

Of course, we always remember our childhood being better and more exciting than it actually was, but I’ve celebrated Christmas for over four decades and now that I’m the boss of the house and we do it my way I still say nothing beats an 80s Christmas

25 Ways to know if you are a TRUE Floridian...

1. Socks are only for bowling.

2. You never use an umbrella because the rain will be over in five minutes.

3. A good parking place has nothing to do with distance from the store, but everything to do with shade.

4. Your winter coat is made of denim.

5. You can tell the difference between fire ant bites and mosquito bites.

6. You're younger than thirty but some of your friends are over 65.

7. Anything under 70 degrees is chilly.

8. You've driven through Yeehaw Junction.

9. You know that no other grocery store can compare to Publix.

10. You know that anything under a Category 3 just isn't worth waking up for.

11. You dread love bug season.

12. You are on a first name basis with the hurricane list. They aren't Hurricane Charley or Hurricane Frances. You know them as Andrew, Charley, Frances, Ivan, Jeanne, Wilma, Irene, Cheryl, Rita, Mary, Alison.

13. You know what a snowbird is and when they'll leave.

14. You think a six-foot alligator is actually pretty average.

15. 'Down South' means Key West.

16. Flip-flops are everyday wear. Shoes are for business meetings and church, but you HAVE worn flip flops to church before.

17. You have a drawer full of bathing suits, and one sweatshirt.

18. You get annoyed at the tourists who feed seagulls.

19. A mountain is any hill 100 feet above sea level.

20. You know the four seasons really are: hurricane season, love bug season, tourist season and summer.

21. You've hosted a hurricane party.

22. You can pronounce Okeechobee, Kissimmee , Withlacoochee , Thonotosassa and Micanopy.

23. You understand why it's better to have a friend with a boat, than have a boat yourself.

24. You've worn shorts and used the A/C on Christmas and New Years.

25. You recognize Miami-Dade as "Northern Cuba."