Simon Draper: 1 Year xoxo

Exactly one year ago yesterday, a great friend was… lost… taken… stolen.

I had been feeling a bit anxious this week just gone. The date loomed over me and memories flooded back of where I was and what I was doing this time last year. The weather was warming up, people were feeling good. We had the Queens Jubilee and the Olympics on the horizon. We were spending lots of time socialising and making plans of how we’d spend our summer and generally everyone was pretty relaxed, happy and excited for the months ahead.

And then it happened. Just like that. He was gone.

It was a shock to everyones system and instantly we were all deflated. The colour seemed to drain from our little world and it seemed to get very still and very quite. We were numb.

I didn’t know what to expect at the memorial gathering we had for Simon. I know what I wanted. I wanted it to take on a different light than the dim, heart-wrenching sadness that fell over everyone last year. Instead of being still and melancholy, I hoped that it would be light and vibrant and full of stories and laughter. But I tried to prepare myself for the former.

As I walked in I could feel the emptiness in the air until I saw one of Simon’s best friends. Paul (known affectionately as Crumpet) could hardly stand this time last year. He was broken. He was a physical embodiment of how we all felt. This year, he came over to me with a big grin and a cuddle and said “we’re gonna do it right for Si tonight” I smiled and nodded and hugged him back. He had lifted everyones spirit and taken it to a place of celebration rather than grief. I’m not entirely sure it would have taken such a tone had he not been there. I was and still am very grateful to him.

Thankfully, I can report, I only cried three times this weekend (quite the feat if you had seen me last year). The Millers staff closed the bar and called for a two minute silence at 10pm in remembrance of Si. I quickly positioned myself next to one of the more tight lipped, stoic men in our group, named Steve. Steve a man of very few words and he is seemingly unaffected by things around him. I figured I’d be able to hold it together next to him. The manager rang the bell to signify the start of the two minutes. I could feel the sting of salt in my eyes as they filled up, so to stop myself I looked at Steve. It was a bad move – his eyes were fuller than mine he looked and me and sobbed. That broke me. I started to cry, his wife Trish followed and we just hugged each other for the remaining seconds.

All in all, it was a great night and I did (overall) get what I was hoping for. Terrible and embarrassing stories were told, uncontrollable laughter and banter took over. I have a feeling that’s what he would have wanted too.

Although there were a few faces that were missing, I’m sure they had their reasons and I have no doubt that where ever they were, they too were having a flick through their bank of memories with Si.

We love you! This one’s for you Si xoxo

Best Carnival Ever!

Since Carnival season ended last week, I have been struck down with an almighty flu. I’m not one of those people who take a beating with a little sniffle and a cough – but this flu has completely taken me over. So I decided to lay down, shut up and give my body the rest it needed to re-charge and recuperate. I seem to be turning a much anticipated corner and so, I can finally tell you all about my Carnival experience…

My besties, Jelly-Bean and Mandino, came all the way from England to spend the season with me and to finally see where I was born. They have now met my whole family and we have already started planning trips to their ‘back-home’ countries!

Before we could really kick off the festivities I was told that I really had to get them to a fete. Fetes are basically big parties with a concert like atmosphere where pretty much all of the music you’ll hear are big Soca songs for the up coming Carnival season. It’s a great way to get into the music quickly and it really prepares you for the songs you’ll hear all over the place by the time things get started.

My cousin got us tickets to a Jamboree fete at Queen’s Park Oval, which featured Machel Montano and Patrice Roberts. It was a cooler fete, which means that you can bring your own drinks in a cooler so long as there is no glass. It worked out perfectly for us and we had an amazing time! Luckily I had played some of the songs for them before the fete so they were able to recognise songs and get excited about them. There was dancing, wining and chippin galore. The girls were some-what worried that they’d fall short on the dancing side of things, but let me assure you – looking at them, you’d have never guessed they were tourists! They did me proud and they had a wonderful time. We got home exhausted but exhilarated by the whole night.

Next, was the main event: J’Ouvert!

J’ouvert (a contraction of the French jour ouvert meaning dawn or day-break) is the start to Carnival and the madness begins at about 2/3 am. It is a big street party that moves through the city during the wee hours of the morning until about 8/9 am.

There’s a big truck which has huge speakers and a fully stocked bar (drinks and breakfast are included in ticket prices). You stay with your truck and your tribe and just let the partying begin. Soca music blares from the speakers and revellers sing along, run up and hug/dance with you… Oh, I forgot to mention the best part of J’Ouvert… you get to play.

Play?.. With what?.. You ask?

Well it really depends on the tribe you’re with. But there are a many. Different options include mud, oil, cocoa and paint (blue, red, yellow, green and glow in the dark).

We played with mud (which actually comes from a Trinidadian landmark known as Devil’s Woodyard). Above is a picture of us nice and fresh – we ready!

You might remember my complaint about Trinidad as a difficult place to socialise and meet people – those complaints went straight out the window for J’Ouvert. We had just arrived at our start point. The music was going and everyone was just getting started with the drinks. There was a bath tub on wheels filled with mud and I watched as people covered themselves in it. I figured I’d wait until I had few more drinks before venturing over to the mud. I turned around to check out the other people in my tribe when I felt a cold trickle of something on my back I spun around to find a guy covered from head to toe in mud holding a mud drenched clothe over me. I tried to dodge him but he just hugged me and that was the end of me being clean (it lasted all of 4 mins). The rather tall man (a local white) turned and said “you can’t play and stay clean!”

From that point on, I decided to just let go and enjoy myself, mud and all!

As the morning went on a kind of camaraderie happened within our tribe. People would just run up to me and we would hug, dance, sing, chip or laugh together.  Occasionally someone would decide that we looked a little lacking with mud so they would just attack us with filled cups or coconut shells of mud, pouring it on our head, down our tops or just splashing us as they ran passed.

We would cross sections with other tribes, which, could be fun and was a sure way to show with whom you intersected since you’d get a dash of whatever they were playing with. When a different tribe member lingered for too long one of the guys in my tribe came along and intercepted by dancing with me. The other guy tossed his hands up shrugged and chipped his way back to his own tribe. By the end of it all I had green and blue paint, cocoa and of course mud, all over me.

I think I can safely say the girls had a blast! It was a pretty incredible experience and I would love to come back and play next year. My friends and I had met some American’s at the fete who told us that they return to Trinidad every year and have done so for 10 years just so they can play J’Ouvert! Now that I too have played – I can definitely understand why people make it a regularity in their social calendar. It was quite possibly one of the best experiences I have ever had

And the fun didn’t stop there – after we made it back to our start point we briefly hosed off – I tell you, it’s very strange to see people clean. A couple of guys who Jelly-Bean had spent the most time with were at the car park with us. Then in the light of day, slightly cleaner and relatively sober we finally introduced ourselves to Miguel (Portugese) and Jack (American). You see, J’Ouvert has no real social rules. You could be dancing with someone for the whole event and leave never getting their name – and it’s not seen as unusual, it’s just… J’Ouvert! But since we had seen them in a slightly clearer space we got to talking. I told Jack that we would be going to the beach to wash off the rest of the mud, relax and get some Shark and Bake for brunch and that he and Miguel should come along.

Sure enough Jack (left) met us there and we had a great catch up on the nights events while Miguel (right) lay passed out on the sand slowly getting sun-burned. It was a pretty perfect J’Ouvert. We have kept in touch with our J’Ouvert friends and they have introduced us to their friends. The girls have sadly gone back to England but at least I have Jack and Miguel to keep me entertained until I return home.

If you haven’t done it yet, do it. Seriously, you have no idea what you’re missing. And if you even think about saying “well yeah, I’ve done Nottinghill and Brooklyn Labour Day Weekend, isn’t it pretty much the same thing?” I say to you: Bite Your Tongue. I have been to both Nottinghill and Brooklyn Labour Day Weekend Carnivals and it simply doesn’t compare. There is nothing like J’Ouvert in Trinidad – and you will never have a Carnival experience like this anywhere else in the world.

One thing that will stick with me for sure – I was chippin away and I bumped into a girl in my tribe, I turned to her and quickly apologised. She grabbed me by the shoulders and looked me square in the eye and said “there are no apologies in J’Ouvert” and then she smiled and winked before getting lost in the crowd.

How refreshing! xoxo

I Got A Bad Feeling…

Life just got a little more complicated.

While here in Trinidad I have been working at a well-known organisation that homes abandoned and abused children. All in all everything was going pretty well. The kids are nice (especially when you consider their often heart-breaking circumstances). The staff (in general) are pretty nice and my bosses (manger and board directors) are pleasant to say the least… all except one.

You know when you meet someone and you just don’t get a good vibe. They talk nicely to you and seem polite enough but something is just… off? Yeah, we all have at least one of those at work, right?

Ok, so this is where my soap-box gets pushed to the middle of the room and before I jump on top, I just thought I would give you a little warning.

1. This is going to be a long post.

2. I was told once (by someone who I now recognise to be an asshole), that I complain too much. While that might be true, as Lesley Gore would say “it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to”. This is my space and if I want to complain, I will. So there. Don’t like it? Click the little X at the top of the left/right hand corner of this screen. Consider yourself warned.

Now, to the rest of you who don’t mind my ramblings – Here goes.

The worker who we’ll call Karen (don’t really know why I’m protecting her identity…) has never liked me. I mean never. From the word ‘go’. I can’t figure it out – she has no need to be threatened by me. I get paid less then she does and she gets to spend more time with the children that I do. It never really bothered me since my job at the home is to tutor and council the children. I in fact spend only a few minutes in her company – when I arrive and when I leave.

I have never let the kids know how I felt about her since that would be mucho unprofessional and besides, my problem is not their problem.

After my first week I was in the kitchen asking one of the girls how her day was at school – in strolled Karen and interrupted our conversation to tell me that volunteers and visitors were not allowed in the kitchen and that I would have to continue my conversation elsewhere (I paraphrase, she didn’t put it quite so nicely). I informed her that I was neither a volunteer nor a visitor and that I was in fact a paid worker like she was (not paraphrased). She replied, “well, I didn’t make the rules I just follow them”. I decided to leave the kitchen before I lost my cool.

Later that same afternoon the kids seemed to be less bubbly then they had been before. I asked them what was wrong and one girl told me “nothing, it’s just, you know Aunty (they call us Aunty as a sign of respect) Karen’s working today…” when I prompted a fuller explanation they laughed and said “Aunty Tara, you’re new, but you’ll figure it out.”

I never understood what they meant but decided not to push any further. About a week went by and I refrained from entering the kitchen when Karen was at the house, until one day when two of the board members came over. I particularly like one of these board members. She is warm and genuine in her communications – the kind of woman you wish was your own Aunt (we’ll call her Sara). Sara and the board member who hired me (we’ll call her Paula) arrived to check up on food and resources for the kids. While Karen stood in the kitchen I greeted them and talked to them about my work with the children so far (all about 5 feet from Karen). As Sara was thanking me for taking the job she told me that I was to take whatever food I want and to help myself to anything in the house (as a small token since they are not paying me much). As I was about to bring up Karen’s mildly threatening rule recitation one of the younger children tugged at my sleeve and asked me to get her a drink. I turned to her and said “you’ll have to ask Aunty Karen because I’m not allowed in the kitchen”.

Nice, right? I know.

Paula spun around and exclaimed “What? What nonsense is that? Tara who told you that?” As innocently and non-threatening as could muster, I turned and gestured to Karen. Paula marched towards Karen and said “Karen, Tara works here, she is a member of staff. Only visitors and volunteers are not allowed in the kitchen, bedrooms or bathrooms. Tara is allowed everywhere.” She turned to me. “We expect you to take an active role in the children’s lives. You are to help them in all aspects not just academically. How can you do that if you can’t go in all the rooms? Pour the child a drink”. Without looking at Karen or saying a word I nodded respectfully, took the little munch-kin by the hand, led her into the kitchen and poured her a glass of water all while Karen’s eyes burned a hole in the back of my head. I know it killed her watching me go into the kitchen.

That was mainly the end of us. I was polite but I made sure our time in the same room was brief. She’d nit pick occasionally, you know the sort of thing – undermining my authority in front of the kids, or going over my head and disrupting activities I had planned with her own impromptu demands. She even went so far as to tell me not to pick up one of the crying children.

I understand that lifting up children too often can spoil them but this particular child is 2 years old and at the time she was crying because she missed her Mum (she’s 2 years old and doesn’t understand why she no longer lives with her Mother at home. Instead she’s surround by lots of strange kids and adults in a foreign house who have changed her routine). Now call me old fashioned if you must, but I believe that babies (yes, 2 years old is still a baby to me) need to be held and they need to be made aware that someone will comfort them if they are hurting.

A few months went past and this is how it would be. Karen would make some kind of remark or order and people were expected to jump. The kids, I learned, are terrified of her. I’ve seen, myself, how verbally rough she can be on them. I learned that she has certain kids who she routinely picks on and humiliates. One of the boys is not very popular with the other kids or Karen for that matter. For some reason he just seems to grate on them. Today one of the girls confessed to me how terribly he is treated. She said, “Aunty, you know I don’t like him at all. That boy annoys me so much. But no one deserves to be talked to the way Aunty Karen talks to him. I wouldn’t speak to a dog the way she speaks to him”.

No doubt about it – she needs to be reported.

When I told the young girl and boy that they would need to tell the manager – they exclaimed with a chuckle, “Aunty Tara, Aunty Karen and the manager are good friends – she’ll never believe us.” The young girl turned to me and said “It’s easier to just keep your head down and stay out of her way.” I asked how long it had been going on for and they told me that she has been like that with them ever since they’ve been at the home (Karen has been there for 11 years). They told me that the verbal abuse was just the tip of the iceberg, and that she was a cruel woman who bullied all of them, although she clearly has her favourites.

As I tried to convince them that I would help them deal with it and that we would go to the board and log a complaint, they sighed and rolled their eyes. “No one will ever believe us. And even if they did it would mean we would be sent to another home… a worse home. Plus she could make our lives much harder if we complained and nothing came of it. Aunty Tara, you’re forgetting… You get to leave, but we live here.”

I tried to persuade them that it was the right thing to do. And even if it failed maybe the board members would be forced to pay more attention to what is going on in the home.

I am horrified that this has been going on under my nose for months… and longer. I asked them why they hadn’t told me and they shared their fear that I would just be another adult who didn’t believe them.

These children have been abused and abandoned by the people who are supposed to protect and love them only to be placed in a ‘safe’ environment where another, more subtle, but just as damaging, type of abuse is being inflicted.

I am over-whelmed by the situation and don’t quite know how or where to start putting information together for the board. I am sure of one thing.

I am going to raise Hell…

Banksy: Art Terrorist

“We can’t do anything to change the world until capitalism crumbles. In the meantime we should all go shopping to console ourselves.” – Banksy

I’m not a big art person. By that I mean, I know what I like and that’s about it. My personal knowledge of techniques and period pieces is… well… I have none. None whatsoever. I don’t speak art. And beauty is so subjective, I’ve never really bothered to spend much time learning about it – I mean, what would be the point? (I probably sound really ignorant right about now…) Anyway, on with the post.

If you live in or around London/Bristol, you would have been personally familiar with the work of graffiti artist Banksy for some time now. If you have never personally experienced his work, no doubt you will have heard about it or at least seen pictures of it. He has even taken his art around the world.

To some, Banksy is thought to be a breath-of-fresh-air-genius, to others a threat-to-social-fabric-vandal. Where ever you fall, there is no doubt his work is always controversial. He provokes outrage and he inspires in equal measure.

Banksy – the pseudonym of a well-known English based graffiti artist, painter, film-director and political activist has become quite the celebrity (albeit avoiding celebrity status by keeping his identity shrouded in mystery). His street art is satirical, subversive and poignant and he manages to combine dark humour with a political and social commentary. His art appears in public spaces and he has even completed works on the barrier wall which separates Israelis and Palestinians.

He is also well known for his controversial headline-making stunts, such as leaving an inflatable doll dressed as a Guantanamo prisoner in Disneyland, California, and hanging a version of the Mona Lisa – but with a smiling face – in the Louvre, Paris.

But perhaps his most provocative statement, and the one that generates the most publicity, is the fact that Banksy’s true identity has always been a highly guarded secret, known to only a handful of trusted friends.

A series of myths has grown around him. One being that his real name is Robin Banks. Another being that he used to be a butcher. Also, that his parents don’t know what he does, believing him to be an unusually successful painter, decorator and labourer. Then there’s the suggestion that Banksy is actually a collection of artists which belong to a very secretive artist-guerrilla-society and that the individual man doesn’t exist at all.

Of course there are suspicions about his true identity and certain investigative reporters claim to have uncovered his identity, but the truth is, there is still no real conformation… and I kind of like it that way. I think of Banksy as the last Santa Claus/Tooth Fairy/Easter Bunny for grown ups – why ruin the illusion. Whenever I go into London, I look for evidence of his presence and every now and again I have gotten it!

Banksy has characterised graffiti as a form of underclass ‘revenge‘, or ‘guerilla warfare‘ that allows the individual to snatch away power and glory from a bigger and better equipped enemy. His work has also shown a desire to mock centralised power. He demonstrates, through his art, that although power does exist it is not terribly efficient and it can and should be deceived. Banksy’s work deals with an array of social themes including war, social class, capitalism, fascism and existentialism, to name but a few. He also provides a commentary on the human fallacies, such as greed, poverty and alienation. He subverts tradition and plays with contrast.

I think it’s pretty clear that I’m a fan!

I can’t help but feel he’s the Andy Warhol of our time (with our obsession with his works and messages but without the excessive fame).

Through a telephone interview Banksy once told a magazine: “I have no interest in ever coming out. I figure there are enough self-opinionated assholes trying to get their ugly little faces in front of you as it is.”

Desiderata: Desired Things

This is one of my favourite poems. I use it almost as my commandments or my prayer – reminding me to take care in my daily goings about. It is a beautiful piece of writing which I wish to share with you all. If you know it, it needs no further explaination. If not, you are most welcome…

Desiderata

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann

xoxo

Opportunity comes a knockin’…

You may or may not know this about me: If I could live anywhere, it would be the United States.

More precisely I would live in New York City. I did a 3 month stint there to see what it would really be like to live in the Big Apple. As much as I loved it, I quickly realised that as someone who works with children I would never, truly be able to live the life I want in Manhattan. I simply would never be able to afford it. I made my peace with this and set my sights on somewhere within the United States that would be more realistic…

This is not to say, of course, that I would never return. Manhattan will always have my heart, and I imagine it being a place I will treat myself to as often as I can afford.

Yesterday I got a call.

A job offer.

In Manhattan.

For just over a month.

I was paralysed with happiness.

 

Of course I took the offer. Although it would mean that my main plan is put on hold, it could also afford me some great opportunities to research where I want to, realistically, end up.

A dear friend of mine has generously offered me board for my entire stay, which is about a 10 min cab ride from the family I will be working with. The pay is pretty great – and I estimate it will afford me living expenses, a little recreation but most importantly – I can save most of it!

If you ask me, anything short of forever is too short a stay in the City That Doesn’t Sleep, but I’d rather a month, than nothing. So the big picture can wait. I would do anything for the chance to spend another summer in New York City.

But wait! That’s not all! The job sounds pretty great – I’m not exactly a tutor and not exactly a nanny, my job is somewhere between the two. The family has asked me to work with their 4 year old daughter. To keep her occupied for the summer and take her out and about…

That’s right-

My job will entail taking her to The MoMA, Guggenheim, The Met, Central Park Zoo along with many more cultural delights.

What could be better than getting paid to go and absorb New York City at it’s best?!

It’s a full time position which means there won’t be much ‘me’ time, but that’s ok. The family go up to the Hamptons every weekend during the summer and have said they are more than happy for me to tag along – the time would be my own and I would be able to stay at their house and explore where-ever my little heart desires!

Who knows what other adventures I might find..?

Having said good-bye to my Manhattan dreams, this opportunity is like a ray of light in a dark room. I know it’s only a little summer job, but I’m certainly not going to snub it just because I can’t have it all.

New York City is definitely my Achilles heal.

Instead of fighting it, I’ve decided to get lost in my wonderful weakness! xoxo

Shurwayne Winchester – Don’t Stop

This song was a huge hit a few years ago. The song is performed by a Afro-Trinidadian and he’s talking about the beauty of an Indian-Trinidadian woman – he even includes endearing terms such as beta/beti which are Hindi words for son/daughter (beta/beti are also used by elders as a loving generalisation, like the term darling). The music in the background are traditional Indian instruments such as the tabla and the sitar!

You’re probably wondering what the big whoop is…

You see, Trinidad has always had race relation problems. It’s no secret that the Afro-Trinidadians and Indo-Trinidadians can’t seem to find harmoney. It even reaches into class and politics (but, really, when you think about it, doesn’t everything?) So, when this song came out it was a hugely positive message. An Afro-Trinidadian, embracing and loving an Indo-Trinidadian. The song is an ode and even though he is pursuing the Indo-Trinidadian, there is reference to their shared culture as Trinidadians. This is the first chorus:

“I found my East Indian beauty, when I say beauty boy, she is ah cutie
Drown me in her eyes, dimples when she smile, waistline is alive, she could be my wife
Roll it now show dem de motion, brighten my sky with yuh love and devotion
First gal roll dat bumpa round, yes gal to you it all belong
Roll it, oh roll it up for me, dats how its meant to be my baby, beautiful beti.
The skies the limit for us baby, without you by my side im lonely, so gimme yuh love“ 

I love this song and feel empowered every time I hear it – it’s good to see people trying to bridge the gap between cultures in Trinidad.

An oldie, but a goodie xoxo