By Johnny Commansingh
About 20 years ago, it was quite frightening being chased off at gunpoint in the village of Gonzales, Port of Spain. In the hilly suburbs of Belmont one late evening, while taking GPS readings of steelpan sites, I had a harrowing experience. It was a good thing I had a guide who raised the alarm that we were being pursued by three gunmen.
Things have not changed! Yes, the terrible pursuit to maim and kill people in Trinidad and Tobago (T&T) seems like a new fad. It looks as though people cannot stand up in one place for too long a time lest somebody strip them of all their clothes and leave them naked. There are a whole lot of really frightened people living in T&T. Just look at my little stories: ‘Searching for ah Panside…not looking for Trouble,’ and ‘Hiring a Guide: a Game of Chance.’
Searching for ah Panside…not looking for trouble
“It was nine o’clock in the morning on Friday, and I found myself looking for the steelpan orchestra ‘D Untouchables Pan Groove’ at #205 Pioneer Drive, Sea Lots. I had been on this road before, but did not go deep enough into the squatter settlements. With no idea about what this area looked like or what type of people lived there, I took it upon myself to investigate the surroundings in search of the panyard.
Totally missing the panyard to the left of the narrow entrance of the clutter of seaside shacks that comprised the maze in which I found myself, I had no choice but to reverse for fear that if I went further, I would not be able to come back out. My decision to take this action was a wise one. In such places, residents become curious when ‘strangers’ enter their territory. I reversed and then stopped to ask a resident for directions to the place I was looking for. Even though it was right before my eyes, I could not imagine that the structure to my left was indeed the panyard.
After taking a GPS reading, I disembarked from the car to take a photograph only to be yelled at by a bareback young man who shouted: “I eh want nobody tuh take no pictures rong here. Is me yuh snapping?” I ignored the aggressive shouting and continued with my work. He continued: “So yuh eh hear wuh ah say O wuh. I eh want no picture taking here!” With only her top half showing, dressed in just her brassiere, the voice from a sizable lady bellowed from an upstairs window, “Leave the blastid man alone!” That episode faded.
Before I had a chance to get back into my car, five young men surrounded me. One of them, probably not more than 14 years old, was smoking a huge marijuana cigarette or joint (spliff). Another one wearing a pair of tall tops (Wellingtons) demanded of me my pair of Hush Puppies. Menacingly and pointing to my feet, he said: “Ah want dah pair ah shoe yuh wearing dey.” I knew he meant what he said but somehow I managed to talk him out of it. Despite those tense moments we eventually became friends. One of them asked me for five dollars to buy a sandwich. I gave him TT$20 (US$3.50) to share among them and left unharmed, but with an unforgettable experience. The next story was almost the same.
Hiring a guide: a game of chance
Later that day, my next stop for more steelpan investigations took me to St Francois Valley Road, Belmont. In the late afternoon, I chanced to encounter a 23-year-old woman who was seen speaking with a young man adjacent to the eastern wall of the Fifth Dimension Steelpan Theater. Smilingly, I teased the couple in my own “Trini” dialect, “Wuh he tellin’ yuh dey gyul?” She replied, “Yuh know wuh all ah dem does want…buh he eh getting’ nutten from mih.” I smiled and drove off to the top of the narrow, steep and winding hill in Upper St. Francois Valley Road to look for a turntable. On my return, the young woman was standing alone. The young man was nowhere in sight. I asked her for directions to a panyard that I had missed a few months earlier. She told me that the panyard I was looking for no longer exists. She then asked if I had anything to eat in the car and confessed that she was indeed very hungry.
Since I had no food in the car I offered to take her to get something to eat. We drove to the Long Circular Mall and there in the food court I bought her a box of noodles, chow mein and Chinese chicken. I also bought some for myself. I couldn’t eat all of mine and decided to just dump the rest. She told me not to throw away the food because she could eat that later for dinner. I gave the rest of the food to her. Then she turned to me and asked what I was doing in the area because she had never seen me around. I told her that I was doing some research on the steelpan and that I was looking for some places that were difficult to locate.
When I showed her the list of addresses, she gladly offered to assist me. Time was against me because it was getting dark, and I was due to fly to the United States the following morning. I hired her for the next two hours and I managed to finish the GPS readings, but not without incident. I found myself in locations in East Port of Spain, “behind the bridge” that I would never have traversed under normal circumstances. Sectors such as Upper Nelson and George Streets and the lower reaches of Besson Street were areas where there were steelpan orchestras. It seemed like I was entering a simulation of the ‘Twilight Zone,’ where denizens of the city were seen walking aimlessly around as though under the influence of some drug or trance. Moreover, it is well known that these areas of tenement dwellers in Port of Spain are hotbeds for drug running, drug addiction and other forms of illicit activity.
The street corners were pestered with unkempt ‘pipers’ (drug addicts), literal vagrants, looking for another ‘fix.’ The stench rising from the streets was horribly putrid, somewhat like rotting fish offals, and faeces combined with urine. During the day these streets are littered with all kinds of vendors (fish, vegetables, fruit, dry goods, and even bread) who ply their trade and leave their garbage behind. It was altogether awful and frightening to be in such a place at that hour in the night. The GPS readings were taken inside the car and we left in a hurry. However, the most terrifying event was experienced while taking a reading in Lange Street, Gonzales.
This GPS reading was concerned with ‘Sheiker’s Steelpan Orchestra.’ In our quest to find this panyard, we inquired from some people who were “liming” under the streetlamp on the crest of the hill. It is well known that it is customary for people to congregate under streetlamps in Trinidad to ‘blague’ and lime (exchange ideas and tell stories). After receiving the directions, we drove down the hill and took the reading. While slowly driving back up the hill, in a frenzied mood, the young woman yelled: “Drive! Drive this car right now!” It was suggestive of saying, “Get to hell out of Dodge.” She was literally shaking with fear. In seconds, the people who were standing under the streetlamp disappeared like cockroaches. Speeding through the maze of narrow and winding alleyways, we managed to escape from three gun-toting bandits.
Escaping this episode, we made our way down Charlotte Street. At the corner of Park and Charlotte Streets, we saw a battalion of police and defense force officers all armed to the teeth. She looked at them and started describing the type of guns that the officers were carrying: “M16, SMG, SLR,” were the words she spoke. I turned and asked her if she was in the cadet corps or the regiment. She tactfully avoided my question and answered with her interest in sewing and wanting a sewing machine more than anything else in the world. “I could sew, and I could make a good living if I had a machine,” she said.
At that moment, for the first time since our encounter, she asked about who I was. With enough apprehension, the young woman pointed to a little ramshackle house as we took the corner to the Besson Street Police Station. “You see that house there? That’s where my mother lives,” she said. “And do you know how I know the names of the guns?” She told me that her mother was paid to keep such kinds of guns in boxes under her flooring boards. Sometimes she had to take them out and clean off the dust from them. She also mentioned that there were hand grenades.
We eventually completed the GPS readings for all the steelpan sites (panyards). I asked her whether she wanted to go back to the Fifth Dimension Pan Theatre. She replied that she wanted to be dropped off at the walkover on Lady Young Road. I paid her TT$86, for her hours of work. I pulled up at the base of the walkover. She alighted from the car and disappeared into the night. Who or what she was are the questions I have, but definitely no answers. If this chapter seems complete, there is so much more to swallow in this twin-island state.
Let us desist from talking about burglar proofing on houses and places of business. Trinidad does not want any more jails because all of us are already living in jail. The place is now overrun with gun-toting gangsters and kidnappers. “Ah never thought that ah woulda live tuh see so much police and regiment soldiers so heavily armed up dey in Charlotte Street. Ah tell mihself like dey preparing for war. Wuh wrong wid Trinidad?”
Charlotte Street, George Street, and every other street in Port of Spain are homes for pickpockets, thugs, and hoodlums who bully everybody. I experienced this on Charlotte Street many years ago. No change. No, ah lie. It geh worse! The police and members of the T&T Defense Force patrol certain corridors in Port of Spain constantly for fear that some little war will suddenly erupt. Stay indoors people, stay indoors…lock yourselves inside! He is dead and gone, but Raoul Pantin warned us a long time ago to stay indoors after six o’clock in the evening…no freedom tuh walk about.
Trinidad and Tobago has metamorphosed into something that I cannot now understand. We stole the cake of violence and murder from Jamaica who originally stole it from Colombia. With the way things are today in the land of my birth, it is quite possible that right now we have the highest murder rate in the whole wide world.
Take a peek at the headlines around the world (2010): Concerning the twin-island state of T&T, international news media and the dailies carry headlines such as: “$12,000 fine for robbing tourist,” “Tourism woes worsen: stakeholders worried after attack on British couple,” “Death stalks Trinidad and Tobago again,” “Trinidad and Tobago: Tourist beware, caution required on beaches,” “Swedish couple hacked to death in Tobago,” – “Trinidad declared danger zone by Britain: Tobago even worse,” “Trinidad and Tobago now murder capital of the Caribbean,” What impact would such news have on tourists who may want to visit T&T? Isn’t such news frightening? [(Adapted from Sweet and Sour Trinidad and Tobago (2010)]
