By Johnny Coomansingh
If you don’t know about Trinidad and Tobago (T&T), I just want you to imagine one of the nicest places on Earth. However, that was so once-upon-a-time. Let me make it pellucid, this is not a fictitious once-upon-a-time story. At one time, it was such a delightful place where I think everyone else in the world should have been born. I was born in the town of Sangre Grande, Trinidad. ‘Grande’ is located about eight miles from Manzanilla Beach on the east, and 29 miles from the capital, Port of Spain, on the west. Translated from the Spanish, Sangre Grande means ‘big blood.’ Further up on the Eastern Main Road (EMR), heading towards the Atlantic Ocean is Sangre Chiquito or ‘Little Blood.’
Once-upon-a-time, a long time ago, there were enslaved Africans in T&T. Now hear this. I don’t like to call anybody a slave. I don’t even like the word ‘slave’ because I am of the feeling that nobody should make a slave out of somebody else. I am disgusted by the slavery thing and what happened in the Middle Passage. That was such a sour, horrible and treacherous piece of history.
Legend has it that “Grande” got its name because there was a big bloodshed between slave masters and their slaves. Others say it was the red colour in the Cunapo River that gave Grande its name. I don’t know what to believe, so I am not taking sides. I am not going to argue with anybody about any toponym. One thing that I know is that when the Cunapo River overflows, Grande becomes inundated with floodwater; water that flows down in a rush from Mount Tamana in Central Trinidad. Grande is located in the floodplain of the river. Socially and culturally, most of the little towns in T&T was just like Grande. Downtown Grande is the Central Business District (CBD), Cunapo, contracted to ‘Cunaps.’
Many things happen when it floods. For all the years of flooding, there was one drowning; a young girl fell into the large waterway adjacent to the Texaco gas station and drowned. Livestock such as cows, goats, and chickens also face the fury of the flood waters. Concerning the flood, my book titled: Sweet and Sour Trinidad and Tobago (2010) has this to say about the Cunapo River and its flooding behaviour:
“When di river coming dong yuh could hear the roar ah di water from ah distance. Doh talk, buh caiman, them beast and dem does even come up in people yard. These days it eh have so much ah caiman around because people eating them as doh it going out ah style. People in Trinidad does refer tuh caiman as alligator. Ah think the caiman-eating public should hold up ah little because we still want di caiman around. Leave some ah dem fuh mih grandchirren tuh see nah man. Dem caiman is part ah we heritage. Some Trini people so damn greedy dey does eat anything dat move. Some ah dem does even eat tiger cyat [ocelot] and all.
Oh gawd boi, nah boi, ah cyar believe dat dem damn people does eat we nice cute ocelot. In T&T we could really and truly see and understand the concept we know as “The Tragedy of the Commons.” The common people in T&T does hunt dong di poor wild animals in di forest as though there is no tomorrow because it is ah fact dat everybody like ‘wild meat.’ Big, big money does pass fuh wild meat in T&T. Some ah dem people does make dey living hunting and selling wild meat in and out ah season. Ah does feel so shame fuh some ah we people. Ah hear even some foreigners does come dong from di cold tuh hunt we caiman. Could you believe dat? Buh whatever di circumstances, everybody used tuh live nice in Grande.”
Once-upon-a-time, life in Grande was really nice. It was ah sweet easy going and wonderful place but now what we are hearing is that so many people are getting shot and killed in my precious Grande. Grande turned sour like a bucket of lime juice; It’s frightful. Did you hear what I said? People are getting shot and killed! Shot! When I was a boy I knew quite a few badjohns, but these badjohns didn’t have guns. One of them used to walk around the town with a canvas bag with all kinds of weapons, but not guns.
Grande had some badjohns with a cutlass (machete), icepick, hatchet, and razor; implements to chook, jook, chop, and stab, but didn’t have the amount of gun-toting bandits and murderers in the area as we do today. Back then, as far as the social fabric was concerned, the badjohns didn’t use to bother about anybody but other badjohns. I could safely say that they never terrorised the neighbourhood. Home invasions were few and far between. In fact, even though they had the cutlass wrapped up in newsprint gripped tightly under their arms, they were “good,” and respectful. Some of them even helped senior people to cross the street. If you want to talk ‘bout sweet and sour, that was almost the epitome.
Almost all badjohns used to mind their own business. Nevertheless, they were always trying to be the top badjohn, but most of the time they were serving time in jail. Some years ago, I met up with one of them while walking near to the Cunaps market, and hailed him.
Surprisingly, he recognised me. He was looking old, decrepit, and broken. In almost begging tones, he asked me for a few dollars. I gave him five TT dollars to buy a sandwich. He was nothing more than a street dweller. As the old people would sometimes say: “Wuh yuh go do when it come so bhai…how yuh make yuh bed is so yuh go lie dong on it oui.” Many of these badjohns used to wait till carnival time to come out to settle grudges, but there were no guns; bottle and blade, yes.
The badjohns of today in Grande are now carrying guns; illegal firearms of practically all makes and models. It seems that Dodge City and its attendant ‘Boothill’ is now present on the T&T landscape. Some years ago, when I returned T&T to continue my research in Grande I had to look like a vagrant for fear that I would be robbed. Most times now I wear ‘ah lil old figskin’ (flip flops) and the only wristwatch I carry is a cheap Timex that I bought in Walmart. The bandits could take that if they want. Once again, I quote:
“Papa, doh wear no gold chain and expensive wrist band and ring nah. Doh play dat yuh is more Yankee than Uncle Sam nah…dem bandit waiting fuh yuh. Thing so bad, dem bandit and dem might chop off yuh hand fuh di bangle, beera bracelet, and ring. Dem tief so good, dey could tief milk out ah tea. In general, plenty people go say how ah bad talking Grande and T&T; buh dat is the reality! Somebody must tell di truth. Some go say dat ah exaggerating but ah telling it as ah see it. If everything was still nice and peaceful and quiet, then tell mih why all dem house and business places have so much ah burglar proofing? Tell mih nah? Yuh eh know who is who in Grande no more. But, yuh couldn’t go wrong with T&T in my day. Sometimes life was hard, but it was nice, nice, nice…”
Once-upon-a-time, everybody in Grande knew about each other’s business…who frenning with who, who mamaguying who, who bad talking who, who making child for who, who got pregnant before they were married, who is the child’s father, who is who child, who is a whore (hoe), who is a jagabat, who is wajank, who dog bite who, and who pig eat up who gyarden. I heard some ol’ talk about Bebe, a Saint Lucian man who lived in the Brooklyn Settlement in Grande. Bebe had a pig. His neighbour planted a garden, probably with root crops. Bebe’s pig got away and ate up the neighbour’s garden. The man came to Bebe and complained that his pig dug up his garden. Bebe retorted: “So wat yuh want mih tuh do? Beat my peeg?”
Some people in Grande used to go and spend the whole day in the courthouse just to mind other people’s business and all the commesse occurring in the society. The residents referred to such people makoes. These makoes love to mauvais langue (bad talk), shu-shu and spread ‘rake’ about other people, especially those they saw on the stand in court. One woman in particular called me ‘famalay’ because she was from Grenada, as was my father. She lived alone and was one who loved kuchoor, kankah, and jhanjat; basically, talking other people’s business. However, such people are still of interest to me because there is always a story behind that kind of behavior…that is life that you’re talking ‘bout, and I love to write about life as I’m doing right now. The memories must remain with all of us because it’s part of Trini culture.
Once-upon-a-time, a great cultural geographer named Wilbur Zelinsky said that all of us have cultural freight that we carry around from place to place. So if there’s no one who didn’t do it as yet, I believe that I have much to scribble in a special little book. This book will contain the ‘stories’ of the waifs of Grande that I could recall, people such as ‘Leano,’ Dahlin Boy,’ ‘Pick-it-up,’ ‘Bipta,’ ‘Suckee-Tongue Sahadeo,’ ‘Ten Cents Quamina,’ ‘Book Belly,’ ‘Wahzay,’ ‘Selwyn,’ ‘The Mook from Brasso,’ ‘Lagoon Bird,’ ‘Pretex,’ ‘Black Cyat,’ ‘Beef and Rice,’ and several others.
Leano was a short, Spanish-looking fellow who would drink ‘four cents rum’ and play ‘ten cents drunk.’ He was one who would lie on the sidewalk and appear to be sleeping but he always had one eye open to peep under the dresses of the women who passed near to him. Dahlin Boi would oftentimes sit in front the Pioneer Pharmacy to grind his teeth. He was thought to have been complaining about his wife: “Ah tell mih wife tuh cook rice and peas and she cook peas and rice…and I damn vex!” When I think about all those people, a feeling of nostalgia rises in my soul.
Once-upon-a-time, we children had respect for all, especially the old people in the village. We used to say good morning, thanks, please, excuse me, sorry, and we’d wait our turn. Pushing and shoving was not part of the process. Misbehaviour at school was met with severity. I was totally alarmed that police officers are now stationed at both schools I attended in Grande, the Sangre Grande SDA Primary School and Northeastern College. This does not sound too pleasing. It is clear that discipline has deteriorated in both schools.
According to Bob Dylan: “The times they are changing,” but they do not seem to be changing for the better.
