Pictures from school

Teaching Tales: Rule # 1: Don't sing 50 Cent songs in Church!!!

I have finally started teaching in my classroom here in Trinidad. I am teaching grade one in a classroom of 12 students. What they lack in numbers they more than make up for in volume! The class is LOUD LOUD LOUD!!!! It also does not help that the classroom is separated by a chalk board, and on the other side of the chalk board is a class of 25 kindergarteners. They are very cute little children, who are also very noisy.

The School is very religious, and on the last Wednesday of every month they have a mass at the Catholic church at the bottom of the mountain. We walk as a group down the mountain and line up outside of the church. I was walking with two boys from the kindergarten class and one older girl named Marsha from the 6th grade class. We passed a man on the road who was making various comments about me and how he wants to "be family" with me etc... In an automatic act of confidence, Marsha turns to the man and says "Have a lil' respec' fo Miss, PLEASE!" I am taken aback. It is a hilarious that an 11 year old girl just stood up for me like that. I say thank you to Marsha.

In the church we wait and wait and wait for things to get started. I was sitting with the older children, and a couple boys in front of me turn around and ask me if I had 50 cents (or so I thought). When I told them that I didn't bring any money to the chuch, they said "no, no, do you know any 50 Cent songs?" (as in the rapper guy). The only one I know happens to be the "Go Charlie, it's your birthday, we gonna party like it's your birthday, gonna sip Bacardi like it's your birthday, cause we don't give a crap cause it's your birthday"... That's all I know of the song, so I sang it and they thought it was hilarious. "How you know that song, Miss?" they ask. "I heard it on the radio" I reply. "But you so old". They are astonished at my knowledge of rap music.

Ok, so I am officially "old" by virtue of being considered a 'teacher'. It was a staggering moment of realization.

The next day at school, the boys rounded up all the students from their classes and demanded that I "sing the song that I sang in Church yesterday!" Oh no. The kids have memories like elephants. A teacher is walking by as the students request the song. I say "you mean Holy Mary Mother of God?" "No Miss, you know Miss, the song about "Go Charlie, it's your birthday..." Hmmm, now they only thing they remember about me is that I am the teacher that sang a 50 Cent song in Church.

Another quite embarrassing problem about teaching at my school is that I sweat an outrageous amount. It is sooooo hot in the building. I sweat through my shirt on the first day. Here is a sampling of comments from the students pertaining to the matter:

"Miss, why you so wet?"
"You sweatin' plenty, Miss"
"Miss, you lookin' like my dad when he get home from huntin'"
"Who bounce you, Miss?" (bounce means to throw a bucket of water on someone in the local creole).

Anyways, I am sure that things will only improve. The kids seem to quite like me so far, which is a good sign. I am looking forward to letting you all know what is new and exciting in my teaching adventures!!!

PS: Keep emailing me because I miss home from time to time!

Diwali Hindu Festival of Lights

Yesterday night was Diwali. It was amazing! The very large Hindu population of Trinidad celebrates this week long festival that culminated on Saturday in a huge street festival of lights, food, music, and fireworks. Our group was walking down the main street of a town called Chaguanas. We got invited into a family's home for dinner and it was amazing. Here are some photos!

Saint Benedict Monastery

On Friday I went to the top of Mount Saint Benedict, above where the school I teach at is located. The monastery that we were visiting was built in the 1700s by Dutch Monks. The ambience is so perfect and amazing. The monastery is nestled high in the hillside, embedded in the thick greenery that seems to be respiring in a way that you are almost sure that you can feel the rise and fall of the mountain's breast as you stand, watching the mist wave by your skin in bands of wispy, dense, damp veils. Undulating. The seduction of this nature is complete. The weather rolls in like a viscous locomotive, the momentum is palpable and consuming. The breath of the mountain encompasses the monastery in a warm amniotic embrace; it breathes its open mouth against the windows, smothering them so closely in a gentle but measured exhalation. Sitting on the verandah in cushioned wicker chairs. Who has been here before me? Who has shared this state? I wonder if I am absorbing the energy they left behind with the electricity of their thoughts. Residual. What did I leave behind there of myself? What of my own electricity was transferred to that space? Who will find it, knowingly, unknowingly. Wind and rain blows through the open air of the seating area. Hairs stand on end despite the consuming warmth of the mountain's life. I feel astonished and exhilarated to be reading here in this cocoon of history steeped in the smell of damp earth and high priced tea.

Celebrity Soccer Player

Hey there everyone! Thanks for staying patient with my blog. The internet has been down for nearly a week, and it is super frustrating!!!

Anyways, you may recall my adventures at the soccer game a while ago, and how there is one white player on the Trinidad soccer team, and how all the spectators thought that me and my two friends were his family. Well, I had the chance to meet him in person a few days back. Apparently this is quite a big deal in Trinidad. Everyone's jaw dropped to the floor when our group mentioned that we had met "Chris Birchall". He signed my Trinidad flag, and I got a picture of it to prove the deed.

The funniest part about meeting him was that my professor mentioned to him that 3 of us had attended the last game and Chris Birchall said "yeah I know, I saw them" !!! Perhaps it is more hilarious for me because there was 26,997 black faces, and 3 white ones glowing like misplaced beacons in the dusk...lol

Photos

Asa Wright Tropical Rain Forest Nature Conservancy of Trinidad


Me and Robin Hopkins having lunch at the Nature Conservancy high in the Andes Mountains of Trinidad (yes, the Andes extend into Trinidad, I was surprised too:)


Steel Pan Drum Class: The whole class had the chance to work in a steel pan studio and learn a traditional calypso folk song in ensemble format! One of my favourite activities since I arrived here.




This is me and my roomie Heather. Heather is a mother of two teenagers, and she is a really wonderful and energetic woman. We are standing on Mount St. Benedict, which is an area just outside of Port of Spain. I will be teaching in a school on the Mountain starting next week.


At the Beach


Trinidadian candy stands are actually pickled fruit stands. All the jars are filled with delicious fruits and spices that are all pickled or sugared. My favourite is the coconut fudge, cilantro pinapples, and tamarin sticks.

Scariest Night of My Life -Hands Down!

The national soccer team of Trinidad and Tobago is called the "Soca Warriors" (Soca is a variation of Calypso music, not a slang word for 'Soccer' as I so incorrectly thought). Tonight Trinidad was playing Panama, so after school Laura, Tim and I made the rash decision to make our way to Port of Spain to see the game. It is rumored that the Soca Warriors are going on strike after today and that this would be the only time we could see a game. We left campus in the middle of an outrageous rain storm, bundled in our most water resistant (and consequently unbreathable clothes). We felt relief once me managed to flag down a mini bus that appeared to be heading in the general direction in which we wanted to travel; our bodies veritably sweating as if we were mummy wrapped in saran wrap. So maybe we felt a little too comfortable once we got on board...

HERE IS ANOTHER IMPORTANT TIP ABOUT RIDING MINI BUSES!!!

If you ever see a person with num chuks sticking out of their backpack DONT ASK THEM ABOUT IT! EVER! NOT AT ALL!!!

So there is this really big guy sitting in front of us, a little intimidating sure, but since we were instructed to be friends with EVERYBODY, Tim goes and sits next to the guy and asks if those are real num chucks. This massive man of about 30 years old, takes them out of his bag, and I immediately imagine my skull as pulp. Yes, he assures us indignantly...they are indeed real num chuks. At this point Laura and I are kind of laughing anxiously as the man who was supposedly accompanying us for protection hangs us out to dry. We keep barrreling down the road, weaving in and out of rush hour traffic, changing sides the road as if the painted lines are merely suggestions. I try to forget about the scary man until I glance cautiously in his direction and see him crack the knuckles of his giant hands that look like they could crush bone into flour, then lean over to his bag and pull out a 10 inch knife and strap it to his calf like an asassin. He pulls out a black shirt and puts it on, rolling up the sleeves like he means business. In his bag I can see the bronze glint of what I am sure is brass knuckles, and another handle of some type. I nudge Laura and gesture with my eyes at what I was seeing. We both feel terrified. Our bumbling gentleman company sits by obliviously. The giant man starts breathing rapidly like he is psyching himself up for some physical exertion.

I pee my pants a little. Im not going to lie.

There is literally nothing I could do, we were sitting at the back of the mini bus and the driver was busy avoiding goats and small troupes of banditos on the side of the road. A gun goes off outside the mini bus and nobody cares. I try my best not to pee more.

Then, the most miraculous thing happens: The freaky asassin man pushes the stop request button, hops off the bus, bounds across the road in two well-timed leaps and scales a brick wall topped with razor wire and broken glass so deftly and seamlessly that I am not even sure if I saw him do it. The man was a professional. I have no idea where he went, but from the contents of his bag and the lethal paraphernalia strapped to his body, I know he was going to do conduct some business.

After we get off the bus in the heart of darkness (or Port of Spain, the two could really be used interchangably without much exaggeration), we dash across the road to to the next mini bus exchange to get on the 'priority' line that will take us to the Stadium. One would generally assume that the priority line would mean that the road is for high occupancy vehicles only, but in Trinidad, it just means that there are wire fences on either side of the road to prevent too many livestock from wandering carelessly into traffic.

At this point we went from the frying pan and into the fire. Once we walk toward the stadium I spy a half dozen military men standing in a Crow's Nest at the top of the stadium. They are staring down at the three white people, waving UZI's around like they are putting on a conversational puppet show. One officer in particular catches our eyes, and yells something at us. We can't understand the man because he speaks Patois incredibly fast. We undestand by the gestures he is making with his assault rifle that we must wait for him at the side of the entrance gate. We meet him and another officer, they lead us to the admin section of the stadium and we proceed to get the full shake down, which is apparently a customary tradition for white visitors who appear to be Americans. None of us have passports with us. Between us, Laura and I have $700 TTs stashed in various locations on our bodies, since we were warned against money belts around the waist and necklace pouches.

For some reason that I could not understand, but seemed very important to the officer, my watch had to be 'confinscated'. I comply. That was the worst of it. We were free to go watch the game from then on. We find some excellent seats and sit tight. The game is off the hook intense. There are people blowing conch shell horns, goals are scored, people jump to their feet, beer flies freely through the hot warm air. An Indian group is drumming so loudly and with such deep drums that every cell in your body pulses rhythmically. You cannot be sure that the sound is outside of you since it engulfs your entire being from the inside out.

The stadium feels very secure. Dozens of police officers in full riot gear with shields, tear gas, clubs, and assault rifles surround the field at all times.

Stadium vendors walk up and down the aisles selling cashews and beer. If you want something, simply raise your fist and holler "eeh eeh eeh" emphatically. They will literally throw the item at you, and you then crumple your money into a little ball and throw it back at him. People are suprisingly honest about redirecting misthrown money wads. We are the only white faces in the crowd. But, incidentally there is one white player on the team. Everyone in the stands thinks that we are his family and they swarm us with questions about him. We don't even know his name. The Trinis are disappointed and the game continues on.

Given the circumstances of the evening, Laura and I felt like we should leave the game early to avoid the massive rush to leave at the end. Thankfully, there are 3 ladies sitting behind us that ask us who we are and where we are coming from. They turn out to be teachers from one of the schools that our SFU students teachers will be working at. They offer us a ride home since they did not want us to take the mini bus home. Evidently they are not safe, as we had found out earlier that evening. They kept saying "We don't want to read about you in the papers tomorrow..." So, once again, the crazy danger situation was pleasantly averted by seemingly divine forces.

The teachers dropped us off back at Milner Hall and we timidly recount the evening's transgressions to the rest of our group. Nobody wants to take a mini bus ever again.

I change my drawers and go lie down.

Pardon my French, but I have realized that when I am in Trinidad my #$&* is on the line at all times. Scariest day of my life -hands down!

the fabled mini bus

Expect danger every time you decide to get into a taxi; but expect death in a small minivan. Maxi Taxis:

Imagine what happens when your body decelerates from 60-0 mph in two milliseconds. Now imagine a forest of rusty seat backs and a plate glass window in your way. Not pretty. I am sure you will never imagine yourself on one of these rickety, belching conveyances, but the first time you need to get from point A to B in countries where gum and deodorant are considered luxury items you will find yourself on a bus. I would have to say that after a few days of having my knees wrapped around my neck and old men drooling sound asleep on my should that the most dangerous form of travel in the developing world is the fabled mini bus. These are usually designed to haul a small family of four, but ingenuity and greed prevails, and some will pack up to 16 passengers in one minibus. The minibuses are used primarily for rush hour transportation of poor people to make their money by carrying as many people as many times as they can. The deadly driving style is a result of drivers who must make their money within two hours of rush hour in order to make a profit on their rental owner’s charge. A rough estimate pits the chances of a fatality in a mini bus at 30 times the normal US accident rate. So the next time you plunk down a quarter for on of these rides, consider how much you just sold your life for!

How to survive Minibuses:

Be friends with EVERYBODY. And by friends I don't mean in a walking target kind of way, but you get the drift.

Don’t travel at night. Many buses travel at night because it is way cooler and the road is less crowded. Drunks, rebels, livestock and hidden washouts all seem to be more prevalent at night. Local drivers also like to sleep at night, usually when they are behind the wheel.

Avoid mountainous roads. Fly if necessary.

Bring water with you

Ask whether the route goes through areas frequented by bandits.

Sit near an exit or on top, at least make sure that you are near an open window.

There is a reason why you paid 83 cents to travel. You don’t buy a lot of brake pads and clutches with that pocket change.

Your luggage is prey for rummagers, slashers, and thieves. Put your luggage in trash bags like everyone else, or at least under everyone elses.

Shirt slashers wait for you to doze off and slip out your money pouches. Put your money in your shoes if necessary.

Random Trini Observations

Random Photos




So here are some more things I’ve noticed about Trinidad:

The fruit juices they sell in stores are sooooooo tasty and fresh and amazingly flavourful! You really 'experience' what the fruit tastes like, it is just that an experience everytime you drink it!

Every building, park, and home is surrounded by either razor wire, barbed wire, tall spikey fences, or tall cement fences with giant shards of broken glass embedded vertically along the top of the fence (or any combination of those things together). Don't ask me why, I have no idea who they might be trying to keep out. Our university residence is surrounded by two barbed wire fences...kinda different from home...

There are packs of wild dogs that roam the streets at night. During the day they sleep under shady trees, and at night they rummage through the garbage bins for scraps. They dogs are so interbred that they are all the same size. About knee height, but they come in various colours.

In any empty lot along the streets you will encounter a sea of plastic and glass bottles mounded as high as the fence holding them in. There is no recycling program in Trinidad at all! Everything goes in one garbage...pretty weird. There is just a fortune lying around the streets.

There are more beggers and street people in Vancouver than in Trinidad.

Due to Trinidad's very long Colonial history, the university we are going to was established in the 1800s, and was an agricultural and natural sciences college in the 1700s. The students at the schools wrote exams that were written and proctored by Cambridge university in England, and they still maintain a very high academic standard to this day. It is very difficult for students to even get into university in the first place because at the end of 6th form (grade 7), they write exams that determine what type of high school they will go to. They may go to a trade school high school, or an academic school. There are 5 different types of high schools, but only students who go to the top two types of school qualify to write the Cambridge entrance exams to get into university, and of the people who write the exams, only about 45% of students score high enough to get into university. The upside of this rigorous system is that university is free. The downside is that the people who can get into university in the first place are usually from affluent backgrounds anyways.

People walk much slower here than in Vancouver. In fact they make fun of us for walking so fast. They wonder where we could be going that is so important that you cant get there when you get there.

Parties spontaneously occur at any time or place. It is not uncommon for a raucious get togther to spring up at 1:30 in the morning and go till 4. We seem to need more sleep than they do.

There are Hindu prayer flags throughout the mountainous countryside, since many of the Indian indentured laborers were forced to work in the mountains, and when they were liberated, they chose to stay there. The prayer flags are there as offerings to the gods for plentiful crops. They are pink, red, blue, white, and yellow.

Sour cream and onion ripple chips do not have as pungent a flavour as they do at home. Still greasy, but the taste doesn't hit you in quite the same way.

There are KFCs on every street corner. KFC makes more money in Trinidad than in any other country in the world. They love their fried chicken here.

Initiation Continues...

Random Photos:





There is a little bug boring into my leg, munching greedily. I am not sure if it is capable of turning around and leaving, or even if it will want to ever go. Last night we got hazed again from 10pm-12:30am. We stood out in the field in military rows; grass fleas savoured our sweet bare ankles. I won’t get into the details of the night’s transgressions, but when I get home I will fill in the blanks for those who want to know. All I will say now is that it is definitely embarassing, but apparently gut splittingly hilarious to the hall seniors. So like the good sports we Canadians are, we participated for another night in the ritual “grubbing”. Few of us were given our hall names that night, so many of us are still not allowed to walk on grass (unless instructed by a senior), or use the very convenient cement walkways that link all the residence buildings. Despite the gruelling night of grubbing, we were woken at 4 am this morning by pots and pans, and various Carnival noise makers, forced out of our beds, and into the lobby. The whole Milner Hall population came out to organize and put up posters around campus advertising their upcoming talent show (which they take VERY seriously!). We were warned before we went to bed that this would happen. We Canadians asked so politely if they could simply knock on our doors to wake us up. “No,” they chortled incredulously, “It must be pots and pans”. So, 4am rolls in thunderously, as pots and pans assault each other metallically. We crawl out of bed, unimpressed. As our group assembles and goes outside to meet the rest of the Milnerites, we are completely aghast at their total lack of haste in this majorly ill-timed task. They are shooting hoops on the b-ball court, taking slow drags off their cigarettes, showing off bmx bike riding skills, and generally not moving toward the mission at hand. At this point, we were so unenthused at the pace of Caribbean time, that we take charge, demanding to be given posters and tape, and accordingly stormed off into the hot, muggy, dark morning to complete the assignment. The other Milnerites are tisking and clucking at our hastiness and impatience. “You’re lucky we are not Swiss!” we chime back to them, as our hot footed it up the road. “What does that even mean?” asked one of our group members. “I don’t really know,” replied a Bethany, “but I think the Swiss are more anal about timeliness than we are.”

Greetings from Trinidad

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Here is a little snapshot of things seem to be like in Trinidad so far:

I had an awesome day going to a little township next to the university called Tunapuna! We bought some supplies that we all needed to make our stay a little more comfortable, which was very nice. We went to a small department store, and they basically shut the whole place down for us and have personal shoppers available to us at all times while we were in the store. We felt a little embarrased by the special treatment, but it was definitely helpful:)

After Tunapuna, our driver Sam (he owns a 20 passenger bus that is perfectly air conditioned), took us to Maracas Bay and it was just stunning. On the way, we stopped on top of the mountain that we were driving over at this little candy stall. The candy in Trinidad is very different! It is actually pickled fruit. So when you get to the stall, you see all these jars of amazing pickled fruits and veggies that are all sweet and spicy in a more savory way. It is just lovely stuff. Everywhere you go there are people listening to music and just 'liming' or 'hanging out'. The local people are very friendly to us, and a couple of locals who were liming at the mountain summit with no place to be and all the time in the world to get there insisted that we have a drink with them before we carried onward. So we had a little cheers, and off we went:) We had a great time playing in the surf, walking on the beach, and having bake and shark for lunch. This time it had a lovely Tamarind sauce on it and it was totally delicious!

The residences are quite interesting too. Arriving in Trinidad, the first thing I noticed was that the air smells thick like soft decaying foliage mixed with an overtone of high priced tea and spice. After it rains (which is very intense rain that falls horizontally and with fury for about 20 minutes per day), the water evaporates in the heat so quickly that you are sure that you must have gills because the air is so wet that you are breathing. It doesnt even seem like breathing.

I often wonder how I am going to get through these three months. It is not easy to adjust here. I have to walk to the grocery store, which is about as far away as extra foods is from our apartment. It is not too far, but it is hot, and I have to cross a highway that has no rules about stopping for pedestrians. Every so often you will see some white lines painted across the street that to a Canadian would seem very much like it would function as a cross walk. Not so. They merely indicate that this is a place where pedestrians are often known to cross. That seems very dangerous to me. Anyways, once we are in the grocery store it is fine. The store is called Hi Lo foods and it is exactly like Safeway. It is a pleasant experience, but it is soooooo sloooowwww!!! The people seem to operate on a much less urgent sense of efficiency and nobody seems to mind at all. It is bizarre. I thought I chose the shortest line, but even so, it took me half an hour to buy my food. We don't have any cooking equipment yet (we are getting it tomorrow) so we can only eat foods that dont need to be cooked. That doesnt matter anyway because the kitchen stoves are out of gas, so they dont work.

The bathroom is another thing. During our floor meeting, the "block rep" curiously named "wrap it up" strongly emphasized that the toilets must be flushed when we are done. Problematically, they don't really work properly (as with many things) and about 50% of the time they don't flush. Alas, one need not worry about this as we have been instructed to merely dump a bucket of water into the toilet in order 'to give it a boost'. The second issue with this seemingly flawless solution is that there is no bucket in the bathroom. I did see a little bucket outside, but it appears to have been part of an informal architectural remedy for a sagging staircase (evidently, being sued is not a worry for the university). So yes, using the 'WC' is always an adventure. There is nothing worse that eliminating the excellent chick pea and cauliflower curry one had for lunch, pushing down the toilet handle then hearing the pathetic watery burp of defiance, as the toilet experiences performance anxiety.

The shower is great, however, even though it is just a pipe sticking out of the wall. The water pressure is amazing, and there is no way that I will end up with product build up in my hair. Perhaps in an effort to coordinate the shower stall aesthetically, the drain is nothing more than a hole in the floor that is incidentally perfectly in line with the protruding pipe from the wall. I enjoying showering, even though it seems futile since skin never ever feels fresh.
October 1st was our first night of hazing (which lasts about a week aparently). They call it "Grubbing", and we all have to perform fairly embarassing acts in order to appease them. We are not allowed to walk on the grass or use the cement walk way leading to the common room until we have been initiated properly and assigned a completely humilating hall name.

Gender and Sexuality in Trinidad

Gender and Sexuality in Trinidad:
An Anthropological Connection Between Pre-Columbian Amerindian Cosmology,
Neo-Colonialism, and Calypso Music

After talking to some of the other people going to Trinidad at the June 10th orientation meeting, many of us were discussing the seemingly unconcealed nature of female sexuality in Trinidad, and were questioning how this is both similar and different to similar issues in Canada. In keeping with my minor in First Nations studies, I was originally going to write my assignment about the indigenous people of the Caribbean, but I happened to stumble upon an article that hinted at what might be the origin of the obvious overtones of female sexuality in the traditional indigenous culture. The following paper attempts to connect this history of female fertility with modern day calypso culture within the rubric of contradictory colonial attitudes toward female sexuality. Essentially, my research indicates that the primacy of female sexuality has always existed in the Caribbean, but its meaning has become complicated by prudent colonial attitudes.

As with all First Nations groups in North and South America, the indigenous peoples of the Caribbean, known by their colonial oppressors as the Caribs , hold a distinct ‘cosmology’ or way of conceptualizing the natural world. Through an oral tradition, the Amerindians transferred their perceptions and understanding of their traditional knowledge to younger generations in stories, songs, by instruction, and in ceremonies (Wilbert 1993:81). The Carib traditional knowledge is based on observation and a deep knowledge of their environment.

Unlike the four seasons in Canada, indigenous Caribs divided the year into two seasons: wet and dry. One half of the calendar year was male and the other half of the year was female. According to this division, the male half (the dry season) was represented by the Bat while the female half (the wet season) was represented by the Frog.

The following description is from Honychurch’s 2002 research. Bat Man: Because the bat likes to be dry and goes out hunting then returns to his shelter, the dry season represents man as a bat due to his traditional role as the hunter and provider of meat. Frog Woman: On the other hand, by summer solstice, the wet season begins. Frogs come out when it rains and they produce many eggs. The Frog Woman represents fertility. She is always depicted as half frog and half woman. Her hands and feet are webbed: she faces us with her arms and legs presented like a squatting frog: her navel is always positioned prominently at the centre of every image of her and her genitals are on display. According to Honychurch, the Caribs “were frank about such things before the influences of colonization introduced the concept of shame, cover up and sexual hypocrisy” (2002:5). Thus, Pre-Columbian indigenous concepts and imagery of female sexuality have always featured strongly in Carib culture and political economy.


Gender and Sexuality in Calypso

According to Maude Dikobe, a professor of Black literature at the University of Botswana, “the woman’s ‘bottom’ matters a lot in calypso and real life in Trinidad” (2004:1). For example, during Carnival, the primacy of “bumsie” (also bum bum, bumbulum, and bam bam) spotlights the explicit sexual nature of celebration. However, the one thing that is most important about men’s vision of women’s “bumsies” is that it is deeply contradictory: simultaneously celebrating and derogatory. Consider the following lyrics to David Rudder’s song “The Trail of the Bumsie”

I’m on the trail of a bumsie
Camouflaged in this party
Camouflaged in this party
Has anyone seen the bumsie
I know right in this party
The bumsie was in a red maxi…

Lord Kitchener’s “Sugar Bum Bum” (1977) lyrics

Audrey, where you get that sugar?
Darling, there is nothing sweeter
Audrey, every time you wiggle
Darling, you put me in trouble
You torture me the way you wine
I love to see you fat behind…
Gimme the bum bum Audrey

And George Victory’s “Biggie Bam Bam” (1994)

She said, “Music Man, I want to dance with you now”
I said, “You boyfriend here, I don’t want no row”
She said, “that’s all right, my boyfriend’s blind”
If you see me jam she from behind
Watch me jam biggie bam bam
She just tell me, “Rock me from side to side”
This bam bam is yours to ride

Taking these examples of Calypso lyrics into account, it is easy to infer thatfemale sexuality in Trinidad has become conflicted since the influence of colonial attitudes toward sex was imposed on Trinidadian morality. Prior to European contact, in my opinion, the importance of female fertility and sexuality was significant and celebrated as the time of the planting season. As Franco asserts, “The female archetype represented abundance and survival in indigenous Trinidad” (2000:60). Problematically, for the colonial administrators of Trinidad, the traditional association of the female with agricultural and economic prosperity contradicted the European gender norms, “specifically regarding male superiority and dominance” (Butler, 1990: 48).

Thus, when we examine modern Calypso lyrics, it appears that the male singers simultaneously objectify the female as their property, while celebrating female bodies as dynamic and capable of agency. Consequently, the neo-colonial attitudes that are pervasive in the present day status quo of Trinidadian society have confused the European ideals of male dominance over the Caribbean concept of powerful female sexuality. Overall, the historic cosmology of the indigenous Trinidadians suggests the deeply embedded nature of female sexuality in their society –a tradition that has carried into the present culture of Trinidadian dance and Calypso music, which continues to be complicated by the conflicting dualism of neo-colonial moral ideology.































Works Cited

Butler, Judith. 1990. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity.
London: Routledge.

Dikobe, Maude. 2004. Bottom in de Road: Gender and Sexuality in Calypso.
Proud Flesh: A New Afrikan Journal of culture, Politics and Consciousness. 3(3)
pp. 1-18. Retrieved July 26th from www.proudfleshjournal.com/issue3.dikobe.htm

Forte, Maxmillian. 2005. Writing the Caribs Out: The Construction and Demystification
Of the ‘Deserted Island’ Thesis for Trinidad. Issues in Caribbean Amerindian Studies. Pp. 1-37. Vol 6(3) August 2005.

Honychurch, Lennox. 2002. The Lost Cosmology of Indigenous Caribbean. Cavehill
Press.

Wilbert, Johannes. 1993. Mystic Endowment: Religious ethnography of the Warao
Indians. Harvard University Press.

Discography:

Many calypsos are never “officially” recorded on albums or CDs. Consequently, it is not always possible to provide complete discographic information for every song quoted. In this assignment all the song lyrics are derived from Dikobe’s 2004 article.

Kitchener, Lord “Sugar Bum Bum”
Rudder, David “Trail of Bumsie”
Victory, George “Biggie Bam Bam”

Diagram and Photos:

www.cavehill.uwi.edu/bnccde/grenada/conference.htm

www.guardian.co.tt/photos/details.php?image_id=564

www.davidsanger.com/stockimages/8-150-6.dancer