By Johnny Coomansingh
In almost everyone’s experience, there are times when they’re up, and there are times when they’re down. In our house, when I was a high-schooler, this ‘up and down’ scenario occurred every day. Many moons ago, when we were living elsewhere, I remembered visualising the expression on my little sister’s face when she looked into the ‘safe’ and did not see a morsel of bread; nothing to eat! Things that other people take for granted, for example, like having enough food, were problematic for us. Money was always in short supply. We literally lived, as the saying goes, ‘hand to mouth.’ Nevertheless, we believed in the ‘Invisible Hand,’ a power to provide that is definitely beyond our imagination.
Struggling to survive was an everyday thing; Christmastime was no exception. Everyone knows that Christmas is a time for enjoyment. It is an exciting time of the year for that ‘extra special’ good food, the niceties, and presents that people look forward to all year long, but when there’s nothing with which to celebrate, the joy diminishes like a dying Sun in the west.
Well, there was a year when our house was “dry,” dry as the hills of Gilboa; nothing to be expected. A hardship unmatched with nowhere to turn. Nevertheless, hope for a Christmas blessing was always high; we believed that we must trust God where we cannot trace God. We always prayed for better times. Hope was the only capital we had. That year, poverty got the better of us. Food was scarce and there was always a struggle to meet the monthly payment for rent, electricity bills, and other necessities. Thank heavens that the landlord was a kind and compassionate person who understood our difficulties.
Around that time, I was attending Northeastern College (NEC) in Sangre Grande, Trinidad, and part of my education at school included Agricultural Science. Note well, at NEC, I was very astute regarding my attention to agriculture. I somehow knew that if I understood how to grow food that I would never be hungry. I loved the land. In the school’s two-acre plot, we cultivated a variety of crops. I spent most of my ‘free time’ in the garden.
As part of the practicum, the school involved a few agriculture students in the raising of broiler chickens. I found myself quite engaged in the preparation of the site for the chicken coop. When it was time to erect the building, I was ‘chief cook and bottle washer.’ The building was then sanitised, and the sugar cane ‘bagasse’ (chicken litter) was spread for the arrival of day-old chicks. I cannot remember how many chicks we introduced to the coop, but I think we bought 200.
I was excited to have the hands-on opportunity to raise our very own chickens. It was such an experience learning the entire process. As agricultural science students, we were given the routine to tend the chickens for eight weeks during the Christmas term. In this ‘chicken’ exercise, I learnt almost everything about broiler chicken production. In juxtaposition with all this excitement at school, things were still very ‘brown’ at home.
Needless to say, our house promised nothing for Christmas; nothing at all. Nada! There was a sombre atmosphere of despair and hopelessness. Many factors contributed to our penniless situation, of which I will make no mention. Despite our efforts to plant a kitchen garden, which we hoped would have supplemented part of our diet, sad to say, the garden was fraught with failures.
Nature wasn’t so kind to us that year. It seemed that we were effectively fulfilling “…when you’re down, you’re down.” The few roots of cassava became infested with a worm that destroyed the apical buds of the plants, causing the yields to be quite small. The bodi (asparagus bean) did not produce as expected, but we had ochro (okra) in abundance. Stretching from the road to the end of the allotment, the line of ochro trees went crazy with their production!
During this time of food scarcity, we ate whatever cassava roots we could harvest. Almost all of the roots were small, lean, and tiny, but we managed. Complementing the cassava, almost every day, we had boiled common fowl (yard fowl) eggs, a few bodi, and boiled ochro seasoned with salt, black pepper and cooking oil. We followed my mother’s mantra, “Eat little and live long.” She also said to us, “If you don’t want it. Sit dong by it.” What more could she have done? She was always at her wits’ end to provide food, clothing and shelter for us, especially the younger ones.
We had to make do with what we had. Some of the ochro remained and dried on the trees. We collected almost five pounds of dried seeds in that season. Wondering what to do with the dried seeds, someone from the church we attended told my mother to parch the seeds in a pot and grind them to make a kind of postum for us to drink. She did as she was told, and to our surprise, the postum was quite refreshing and tasty. Then there was ‘Bupp,’ a fritter made with overripe moko (a type of banana), eggs, flour, baking powder, sugar and cinnamon. The fritter got its name because one fell on the floor and someone said it fell “bupp,” hence the label. I will never forget the ventures of my mother to provide food for us.
Years later, the ‘ochro seed story’ came up for discussion and the inevitability of laughter in my class when I attended the Eastern Caribbean Institute of Agriculture and Forestry (ECIAF). The lecturer concerned with vegetable production was talking about ochro production and asked us what we thought were the uses of ochro. I explained that my mother made ‘ochro tea’ by parching and grinding dried ochro seeds. Almost the whole class laughed at me when I told them about ochro tea.
It was clear that no one ever heard of ochro tea. Everyone knew that ochro is used primarily in the preparation of “Crab and Callaloo,” the national dish of Trinidad and Tobago. I vaguely remember someone mentioning ‘fried ochro’ (chopped ochro fried up with garlic, onions and hot pepper that is normally eaten as a talkaree with saada roti). In the wake of this new information and ensuing laughter, I was labelled and heckled with the nickname “Ochro Tea,” at least for a couple of weeks.
Returning to my experiences at my high school, Christmas week came with the receipt of two huge broiler chickens. The chickens were almost seven to eight pounds each. They were nice, healthy roosters. My mother was overjoyed with the fact that at least we were having chicken for Christmas. But that was not all. The day before Christmas Eve, after having received permission from Kelvin Branche, my agricultural science teacher, I went up to the school garden to see what I could find to bring home for Christmas. To my consternation, the dwarf pigeon pea (Cajanus cajan) trees were in full fruit. Pea seeds were planted about three months ago. Note that pigeon peas is one of the favourite dishes at Christmastime in Trinidad. I harvested about ten pounds of full pods; miracles do happen.
There was another surprise. Some stray sweet potato vines that we rogued from the garden about three months before were thrown upon a heap of well-rotted bagasse and vegetable material, literally a compost heap. The vines took root. I noticed that the vines looked a bit shabby and dry, so I ventured to investigate why. Lo and behold, about 18 inches deep in the middle of the compost heap was a nest of what to me looked like huge, smooth, round eggs, light pink in colour. I became sort of ‘frightened’ for a moment until I realised that the extremely fertile conditions of the compost created the optimum conditions for the production of sweet potato.
This red-colored potato was the variety known as O49, a variety developed by the University of the West Indies (UWI). I ‘harvested’ close to twenty pounds. The school’s garden provided all the food we needed to celebrate Christmas…and we were thankful. While we were worrying, someone, or something somewhere, was providing what was needed for Christmas. I remembered quite well the adage: “Man’s extremity is God’s opportunity.” Always keep hope alive. Giving up is not an option. What seemed in the beginning to be a drab, dull, hungry and empty Christmas, a Christmas of nothing, became a Christmas full of joy, smiles, good tidings and food for all. We will never forget…never!
