Our trip to Trinidad and Tobago this December, 2022 was an adventure in which serendipity played a central role, and the “connectivity gods” smiled upon us. The impetus to go in December came when my cousin sent me the letter from the University of West Indies that notified my Uncle Allan, who turned 89 while we were there, that UWI St. Augustine would be renaming their Education library in his name. Uncle Allan is a force majeure in Trinidad, he only just retired this past fall after an illustrious career as headmaster at Naprima College and then another two plus decades at UWI teaching English Literature, persisting during COVID by zoom. My father and Allan sailed to Canada together in 1953, and spent three years as roommates in Hamilton at McMaster. Allan regaled Ali and I with stories, and we had a memorable reunion. We also spent time with his son Dylan and daughter Alana, the eldest McKenzie cousins – and were happy to find more points of intersection with them as the adults we now are.
Another highlight was tracking down my father’s youngest full sister, Glen – from whom he had been estranged for sixty years. Glen was/is a burst of joy and energy. She was three when she was taken away from my father, who was ten after their parents’ divorce. We had connected with Glen on Ali’s first visit in 2002, and it was as if no time had passed when we met. I am struck by the power of early childhood imprinting, Glen’s whole body reads like a lexicon of the minutia of my father’s movements. Glen urged us to visit her sister Jean. Jean is one of the six children my father’s mother went on to have, that he never met. We visited Jean and questioned her about the grandmother I never knew.
Research and adventure, also prominent sojourners on our trip. With no set itinerary, we allowed each day to unfold. I had participated in the 2020 World India Diaspora Congress, that was to be in Trinidad, and moved online due to COVID. One of Trinidad’s most prominent scholars and historians, Brinsley Samaroo contacted after my presentation to let me know that he knew my father well, as a teacher and mentor. I contacted him before we left on the off chance that we might meet – and Brinsley, at 83, responded by arranging our lodgings in Trinidad at the first Canadian Presbytarian Mission in Tuna Puna, invited us to his home, opened many doors for us, and “curated” many of the people that we ended up spending time with. Hemraj Ramdath from Ottawa was staying at Morton House with us, and we found ourselves friends, entangled in each others’ stay in the best sort of way – me even copy editing a chapter of the book Hemraj was furiously readying for print on Indo-Trinidadian entrepreneurs. Naeema Khan was helping Hemraj, and a joy. Hermaj arranged a meeting for us with Gideon Hanoomansingh (the cousin of our Ian) with an even more illustrious international career as a journalist, anchor and filmmaker. We have a date for our return visit to hike into her land to see the Indigenous peoples’ petroglyphs. Naeema connected us with the Arawak People’s site in Arima, literally five minutes’ drive from aunty Glen. Such a rich history, and so many correspondences with our Indigenous peoples in Canada.
We visited Yrette, a relatively new private home come hummingbird sanctuary. Theo, the owner and retired teaching, gave his audience of ten a 3 hour history lesson on the Indigenous Peoples and the hummingbirds. Ali photographed the rare Red Tufted Coquette with great artistry among the other 14 species on the site. We also spent half a day at Ornatola Cocoa Plantation with the daughter of the owners who took over and renewed the estate to its glory. I “danced the cocoa” literally feeling the words of my father’s autobiography come to life (his mother and their family owned a cocoa plantation, where he vacationed as a child). We spent over an hour in the fields forest bathing, exploring and birding – the sounds of that tropical rain forest will haunt me forever.
In the same area, Maracas Valley, we happened into a visit with writer, filmmaker and scholar, Patricia Mohammed and her husband, Rex Dixon – abstract painter. We had a lovely morning and Ali’s just got her books out of the library, and we are set to view and read her critical research in the field of visual arts, women, and the Caribbean.
Ali booked us into a swamp tour of the Caroni river. Witnessing 25,000 Scarlett ibis “come home to roost” while a flock of wild flamingo entertained us in the foreground is an experience I will treasure a lifetime. And visiting the abandoned sugar cane museum, complete with guided tour arranged by none other than its champion and mastermind, the inimitable Brinsley Samaroo was a rare gift indeed.
We managed two visits with an old acquaintance/friend, Chris Cozier, turned art star – who introduced us to the first cohort of young resident artists at the newly minted Alice Yard artist studio and soon to be residency in Port of Spain. So exciting to glimpse the energy of this new generation of multi-media artists, and to imagine me returning to this site to undertake my own project.
Tobago was the “chillax” part of the trip. We meandered in small villages, had impromptu chats with many local people and got a sense of the politics and vibe on the island. We even happened into a 17th stone slave house, which Ali managed to investigate up close and personal. The beaches are stunning, but climate change continues to ravage, and the islands had seen unprecedented rains and landslides in November and early December, making sea-bathing virtually impossible, and completely disorienting the local wildlife compass. Ali enjoyed early morning birding magic, and I settled into exploring and writing.
Our Christmas was full of adventure. We had connected with a naturalist/birder from Trinidad and his wife at the Nature resort where we stayed for two nights, and he had set us up with an expert ornithologist for a not-to-be-missed excursion to Little Tobago. Seas were rough, and docking was a 20 minute dance with the waves – even then we all got soaked up to our mid-riffs. It was more than worth it – gazing out on the vista’s where two of David Attenborough’s documentaries had been shot. I impressed myself by recognizing the relationship between the gannet birds of the Eastern Atlantic, destination birding during my childhood summers, and the blue legged boobies. The array of sea-birds found only this little island, circling into their crash-landing tiny caves was mesmerising.
We would never have experienced 90% of what we were able to without Ali’s fearless and expert driving skills. The drive back Christmas eve was a harrowing two and a half hours on hair-pin turns with no shoulders in the dark. Christmas was spent at Native Abode – a lovely guest house in Crown Point. Co-run by a local sister/brother team, we got to know Kaye and Steve, and to hear their extraordinary stories: Steve with a phD in mathematics from NYU, teaching in his native land, Kaye, having ventured to an international entrepreneurship residency training program in Delhi. The world is surprisingly tiny. Kaye cooked us the most wonderful Christmas Day meal, and we headed homeward, this time on a direct flight, landed on time, only two and a half hours to get our bags and we are home.