So what?

As per usual, it's Sunday evening and I'm dreading having to go to work tomorrow. Actually, that's a mild understatement, I'm hopping around the living room trying to pretend that it isn't so close to the end. Having to face the morning drive to work is enough to set me off. I hate sitting in traffic and even worse, I can't stand what passes for driving around here....

And so what?

Is it going to change anything? I doubt it.

Am I going to wake up tomorrow morning and find out that we all suddenly got efficient, grew a brain/conscience/spine? Again, probably not.

And so what.

Imagine, we put a flag that cost two million dollars. Unbelievable right? Perhaps not, because it's up there and having gone up, we break all manner of protocol which says that it should fly between 6:00 am to 6:00 pm and then come down. This is the practice all over the first world, but not HERE. Because you see, it takes all manner of things to put it up and take it down, so up it stays.

And so what?

In the scheme of things don't you think we should be more worried about the $10 million spent on ANOTHER performance area at the Diplomatic Centre? Nah, that's just peachy. Because we all know that the hospitals are all equipped and adequately staffed. You tell me okay.

And so what?

You see, one of the first lessons you learn in monitoring and evaluation is that "so what" question. Have we fulfilled our objectives, have we added value, have we promoted sustainable change?

Several years ago a worthy citizen mobilised hundreds to protest something or other. One Saturday people turned out to march around the place and then congregated in Woodford Square to make their voices heard about....something! I can't remember what now even though I was around when it was happening. Can't take the old journalist out of me I'm afraid. And what changed? Nothing. Because once all the folks had dispersed so did all the fervour and passion. Because you see, for most people, the march was the end, not the beginning. They could say, look, I marched against something...now someone else go do something about it. And that's the truth about most things. We complain, we write a few letters to the editor but mostly, we're content to be armchair commentators and wait for someone else to do the do.

Look in the mirror. See the person staring back at you. Get to know them well, because that's the person who is going to initiate change.

And so what?

Well, you be the judge of that.

And by the way, if you haven't been to see it yet, Michael Jackson's "This Is It" is worth the trip. Go see it for yourself.

Going global

Luckily for me someone decided not to go to a work related function and I snagged their ticket otherwise my evening would have been spent watching Cold Case with the hound. It was an $800.00 dinner and the speaker, Peter Kageyama. Well it was an evening well spent if only for the twenty minute talk, because ladies and gentlemen, pardon my language, the brain f*** was amazing. He talked about creativity being a catalyst for transformation, for accepting failure because of of the opportunity to grow and learn. In an evening of somewhat pedestrian delivery, he was witty, interesting and most of all, he spoke a language I'd not heard in a long time.

Creativity, innovation, two concepts that people talk about but which it would seem, we have but passing acquaintance. That's because most people don't think of themselves as being creative; creativity is something that is ascribed to, well, creative people. You know, artists, writers, performers, people of that ilk, but we all have it in us to be creative and innovative, it's just more latent in some personality types. That however, should not be a a deterrent, until you get out there and try, you'll never know what you could accomplish and being creative is not limited to only artistic type pursuits. You can apply it to many situations that are a part of your life.

Mostly these days there is little room in my professional life for creativity, which is more than passing strange given my profession and my employer. We are actually responsible for promoting transformation, innovation and finding solutions but alas, all we seem to do is turn over.

Tonight's little outing was get another slap upside the head, a sign of things really. Thanks Peter.

In the news today....

Pick a day, any day, scan the newspaper. What do you see? Most days; someone shot someone, someone died in an accident on the road, some government minister did something, some commission of inquiry has inquires into it, or some residents are protesting something somewhere. Yup, that's pretty much it, I don't why we bother to buy the newspapers or watch the television news, it's like that Bill Murray/Geena Davis movie that you geriatrics who read this blog should remember, Groundhog Day.

Anyway, due to occupational hazard, I cannot avoid the news so mostly, it's suck it up and wade through it with the, increasingly, dim hope that somewhere in there....well, whatever. Recently I took down a blog because it upset someone. That's not something that happened lightly, suffice to say, it was necessary. But it left a residual burn. You see, every day that I go through the news I become more convinced that I want to quit the "I am a Trini" club and head off to somewhere else.

Sure there is crime etc everywhere but you know what, I'd like to live in a place where people respect the law, or at least a place where the law is enforced. Where people do not think it's okay to go through the red traffic light. Where businesses do not take their customers for granted doling out shitty service because they can. Where grocery prices are not arbitrary. Where there are rules for landlords too. Where good sense it applied, not whatever vaps catch some politician on a given day.

Take for instance the whole property tax brouhaha that's been occupying us lately. We've always had to pay land and building taxes but now we're upset because, god help us, they're actually being updated! Sure it's going to cost some folks more, but it's going to cost some folks less, and if you're a pensioner, you have the right to appeal. In other words, if you can't pay, you can't pay. Or so the Ministry of Finance people say. The irony is that we will whinge about it, but in the end, it will be something else we accept. How do I know? Does anybody remember the furore over Value Added Tax. I sure do. When introduced about twenty years ago, VAT was supposed to be a temporary measure. Given that there are temporary buildings that have been around since World War II, I don't hold out much hope that it's going away in my lifetime. The bright side is you don't have to pay property tax every time you take out your wallet.

And then there's that thing about swine flu being the reason the Caribbean Games were cancelled. Yeah, sure, right, whatever you say dude. It had nothing to do with the lack of big names participating or dwindling enthusiasm or even post Summit burn-out. Swine flu, which by the way is rearing it's swinish head again with lethal consequences. As a rule I never agree with Sat Maharaj, the Maha Sahba man, but you know, when he advocated closing schools to slow the spread he was on to something. Clearly Felipe Calderon was a man with brass balls, in Mexico they shut everything down. Sure it didn't completely eradicate it but it did cut down on the number of cases. Of course, how would Trinis be able to lime if we did that? Twenty lashes with a wet noodle for stupidity for me. In five weeks our little island is going to be flooded with people from some fifty countries around the globe. This is "where the world meets" right. So all these people, carrying all their germs are going to descend upon us and our wonderful, efficient health care system. I don't know about you, but I rest easy knowing that the MInistry of Health has got it all under control if their news releases are anything to go by.

And then there is Keith Rowley. Well wouldn't you know, time in the cold, away from the comfort of Cabinet and colleagues suddenly makes one grow a conscience. It would appear that all his concerns materialised overnight because surely they could not have been cumulative if it bothers him so much? He would have spoken up before now, right? And the Uff Inquiry...well, does anybody know what the outcome of Piarco 1, 2 and 3 was? Remember those, what happened?

Look, as things go our lives could be worse, think about it. We're blessed, we're not freezing our collective asses off, we have free education, free pharmaceuticals, access to training, grants etc and when all else fails, we fete. We're really good at blame, not so good at solutions but everything in time. And yet, considering the shrinking globe, the information age and all that, with all those "best practices" lying around you'd think we would bloody learn......and this is why I'm contemplating turning in my membership.

Fix You

Sunday, day of rest. Or something like that.

Chris Martin at the BBC crooning, "in my place, in my place...how long must I wait for it...come back and sing to me"

I'm singing along, badly. We all know I can't sing but my dog does not mind, in fact, to him it's music because his mummy is home and he can bug her to throw a ball to his little furry heart's content. Not that his mistress is amused but you take the lovies where you can get it.

A week ago, a post full of resignation. Not a commentary on anything, just some introspection. Lot of that going on lately. Asking, what if, why not, maybe...a word filled with infinite promise. Crap, my download speed has just stopped speeding and slowed to a trickle and Coldplay is reduced to stops and starts. Yes, I confess, it was You Tube that I was "watching". Technology not always working for us in the third world.

So I took the post down. Because I couldn't stand to have it up anymore. Not because the person was close, or because the subject matter was distasteful. Because it simply did not matter anymore. Recently an artist friend did a body of work on crime in Trinidad. She put a lot of thought, effort and time into it. She is my friend, she is someone I care about, I went to see her work. I admired her passion, wished that many more people could have seen it. But truthfully, realised that while I supported her, it was her show, her opinion, her passion. Not mine. Sure there is bad stuff happening here, bad things happen everywhere, it is how we cope, how we acknowledge and the things we do to change or not as the case might be. She's doing what she can, as am I.

I write about things. Another friend takes pictures and yet another gets out and crusades. We are what we are. This morning with Chris crooning there is a part of me that wants to re-affirm that I'm living.....

Doubles as an economic indicator:

The Trini street food doubles, when googled will get you a lot of hits. There are pictures, stories, blogs and recipes that the search will run many pages. Doubles have been around for a long time and though there is much discussion to their origin, they, like Carnival, are a great leveler. Essentially, doubles are two rounds of soft dough that are fried so that they are crisp but pliable. They’re filled with curried chickpeas that have a thickish sauce to prevent drippage. When done well, they are delectable and are known as the things you must have when coming home from a late night party, the grease perfect for sopping up alcohol. They are filling and once, they were considered to be the “poor man’s food”. Like so many other things over the years they have morphed into one of those foods that have snob appeal. We now have our favourite doubles vendor, the condiments have grown more and more elaborate (and silly) and on many a morning you will find people of all shades, hues and economic backgrounds lining up for “two with slight (pepper sauce).

Recently however, there has been much grumbling in this place called Paradise because the price of an average doubles has gone from $1.50 to $4.00 and even $5.00 in the last two years. The outrage! Much has been written, including in this blog, as to the grasping, opportunism of doubles vendors who raised their prices when the price of flour went up and never dropped them when it fell. Well truthfully a lot of companies did that but no one has yet commented on HiLo’s predatory pricing practices.

In the recent budget it was once again apparent that the middle class would be made to bear the brunt of the shrinking economy. If you are an unmarried person with no assets there is a good probability that you are going to remain with no assets because of the difficulty in saving. In the last three years the cost of everything has increased exponentially but not my salary and things look pretty bleak there. Rents have increased, the cost of electricity, basic services, food, you name it, I don’t sell a product that I can raise the price on to cover my shortfall in revenue. Unlike the business community, I cannot charge the VAT back to my business and recover it. I pay the same rate of tax that the people who make real money do, but I have no tax breaks at all. At the same time, I am responsible for my pension and health plan because my employer does not cover me. I must also shell out for clothing and hair etc as consistent with my job. I don’t entertain clients, if I do; it comes out of my pocket. I don’t party; eat out (other than the occasional Burger King). I maybe get together with friends a couple of times a month and we all split the tab. My bank manager used to laugh and say that I could work a hundred dollars better than anybody he knew. I get that from my grandmother who never spent a bad penny. Sure I scrape by and hope for the best but I know, the day something really happens, I’m quite frankly in shit street.

As per usual there was grumbling after the budget but I am reminded by something a colleague always points out. In Jamaica what do people do when they are dissatisfied? They revolted against the slavemaster, they take action in some form; they generally do not sit around whining but do something. If the price is ridiculous they just don’t buy it. In Trinidad what do we do? Previously we would mock our “masters” in the street, sing calypsos and drink rum. What do we do today? We complain, dress up in expensive costumes that are not worth the half what they cost, drink rum/vodka/Baileys, brag about how much we spent on something and complain about the Government. In short, we have remained sheep who prefer to do nothing but to baaa at our situation. We don’t even sing about it anymore, now we have performers who tell us how to dance and how to behave and generally add very little to our lives. It’s really appalling because it seems to imply that we are unable to think or act for ourselves. It’s always someone else’s fault or responsibility.

And what does this have to do with the doubles vendor you might wonder. Look at it this way. The cost of living has increased for everyone, even your doubles vendor. They are really a barometer for society: though they may not have the overheads of a shop in the mall, they still have mortgages, kids in school, insurance payments, health care etc that they must front themselves. And yes the price of flour may have gone done but by golly, the price of few other things have, they may be making slightly more that they were a couple of months ago but really, how much more. They can’t claim the VAT back like most businesses, the day they are ill or unable to work they make no income. Street vendors know that theirs is a balancing act, their price must be affordable to the masses because they rely on volume to make their profit. Their margin of profit comes down to less than a dollar per item for the one item they sell. While we bitch, whine and moan about everything, I notice that Carnival costumes are still selling, bars are still full, new cars are still hitting the road and people are planning their Carnival fetes and jetting off for weekends in Miami. Well some people anyway, the rest of us are just trying to get by best we can.

Why are we so angry about the rise in the price of doubles? You could always stop buying them except what we are angry about is not the price, it is that we feel more comfortable complaining about doubles vendors because they seem to have no voice of their own than go up against the bigger issues that assail us every day. Do you know what the mark up on that blouse you bought in the mall is, I kid you not, roughly two to three HUNDRED percent. I was going to make one of those unequivocal Coffeewallah statements that are supposed to make people think about circumstances but I find these days I really don’t care anymore. If people wish to remain sheep then that’s their choice, carry on smartly. When I was going through my new age period I would have said, you are where you’re supposed to be, there is a reason for everything. Now I’m pretty sure the reason is, we like it so, why fuss. We continue to accept the status quo because it suits our purpose to not accept responsibility for ourselves. And for those of us who do try to make a change, keep up the fight good people, be the change you want to see in the world even if that means lugging the sheep along behind you.

What gives?

You might have noticed of late the posts here have been somewhat middle of the road forays into the day to day activities of Coffeewallah-land. There's been an absence of commentary about the state of the country, the news, in fact anything that could raise the level of one's blood pressure or cause offence. In fact, this has not been about apathy, it has been a deliberate experiment in 'positive living".

What in heck is that you might wonder? Or more to the point, have I finally lost my mind? Well, I've never claimed to be normal so there might be some small insanity going on but after the crazed intensity of the early part of this year, I thought that I'd give what a friend of mind calls "being positive" a try. That is, always looking to find the good in everything, taking every situation as it is and not getting caught up in the emotion etc. It's been an interesting experiment, one that in a way has been good and in others, has made me understand that medication is not the only way you can duck responsibility for yourself.

Now other than a long standing addiction to caffeine, a newer hang-up on Reese's peanut butter cups and a habit of talking to my dog I would say that geezer-dom has been wholly embraced. I've gone from having a circle of friends and plans most evenings to coming straight home from work and settling down to a quiet evening with my book, the dog and the tv. It's not a bad existence and I'm not a hermit by any stretch of the imagination, I've still got friends, I still go out from time to time but truthfully, only when I really want to instead of feeling like I have to. So far so good. Now, just to conquer the personality quirks.

Anyway, the theory of positive living was to always approach life looking at the good things, seeing only the good in people, being upbeat all the time, in short being one of those people who sometimes make you want to beat your head against the wall in the hope that they go away because they are so constantly upbeat. One of the things you very quickly learn while on anti-depression medication is that you feel nothing or you feel everything. It is artificially induced well being where there are no highs nor lows, life tumbles along in somewhat oblivion. It is unnatural and after a while, despite how "good" things are, you long for something else. Some people might call it self destructive but as my counselor pointed out, it might also be a part of being human. What can I say, all that goodness was quite frankly, tiresome. Now there is nothing wrong with being positive and always looking at the bright side or whatever but in truth it is another way to not take responsibility for yourself, in long, there must be some middle road. What do I mean? Well, if you constantly dress things up all the time you only see the things you want to see and sometimes, fail to see the situation for what it is. Or worse, in your well meaningness, you belittle or play down someone else's right to express themselves authentically. If you constantly tip toe around always going with the flow, you never take a stand, you never acknowledge that something is not right or that it could be better. You never innovate because you're too busy pointing out that "everything happens for a reason" or that "you are where you're supposed to be", instead of maybe asking, "what the hell was the reason for this" or "screw it, this pisses me off". You're right, everything happens for a reason, maybe that reason is to question, to exercise free will or just to make you appreciate what you have or to make you want to do better.

I don't know, the answers are somewhere out there in between. But if it means that I've got to give up seeing the things that are not working and commenting on them, well, maybe this is not for me. Because sometimes, all it takes is one person saying something....it might just be you.

Why would you want to read this...

Sweat is trickling along my shoulder blades and between my breasts, prickly heat raised along my arms. It is sticky, humid, outside a breeze stirs but all that is blowing is hot air. The brief interlude of rain earlier in the afternoon has only raised the heat. This situation is not helped by an intensive session of elliptical walker and resistance bands, cooling down will take a while.

The bout of exercise was really to counteract the after effects of a late lunch of stewed chicken and red beans, admittedly not cooked at home. The heat of the day negated any desire to spend time in the kitchen, which incidentally gets heat reflected from the roof next door. At first there’d been some guilt, of late the kitchen has seen little cooking and a combination of take out boxes or quickie meals cobbled together. Cereal can fill many roles and sadly, I’ve let it. Crap that; the chicken quietly thawing on the sink was unceremoniously bunged back into the fridge, much to the disgust of the hound, living in hope that it would have been forgotten upon hearing the jingle of house keys knocking against the car key. Sadly for him, mummy remembered and returned to safely tuck it away, maybe tomorrow.

The heat in the car almost derailed the process, even with the air con cranked up, the steering wheel was not pleasant and the sun beating mercilessly down through the windscreen caused a vampire like hissing and thoughts of shriveling up and blowing away as dust. This is when you know you’ve become an old geezer; the temperature gauge read 34.5 degrees outside. I know it wasn’t that hot on a regular basis when I was a kid, 34 degrees was usually a high, of late, it’s the standard. Of course this, the last weekend before school re-opens would either have been spent outside running around or on the beach, burning to a crispy brown one last time. Now, my thoughts turned to swiftly acquiring the goods and returning home and maybe eating in the shower, the only cool room in the house!

The roads were strangely empty for a long weekend, the only place with lots of cars, the supermarket car park, stocking up for school? Maybe everyone was still in Tobago, Great Race weekend they’d all be trying to get back today. Lot’s of people in Creole Cuisine, seems none of wanted to cook in the heat, at 2:00 however, the choices limited having been raided by the smart people who’d decided earlier to err on the side of no stress Sunday lunch. Goods in hand, back into the car hoping that it had not had time to heat up again. No digressions, it was straight home out of the sun again. The stewed chicken was tender, nicely browned, the beans floury, with lashings of Allana Stuart’s pimento sauce it made a lovely meal. If you’ve never had it, pimento sauce is a piquant sauce with body, made from flavour not hot peppers. It adds a little kick that enhances the flavour of the food without being overpowering like pepper sauce.

It is still hot, even as night falls and the day’s heat slowly relieved by a cooling breeze. It is amazing that the hound, covered in thick fur still hopes that we will play ball, I cannot believe that he wants to run around. He is panting in the heat, his water bucket supplemented by the occasional ice cube as a treat. All I want to do is veg, not moving with my book for company. He’ll have to settle for lying in front of the fan. Tomorrow is Independence Day, happy 47th Trinidad and Tobago!

The Dog Catcher

There is a little black, furry cur that hangs out on the pavement near to my office; I pass him on the way to work, most mornings he’s lying on his side in the shade of the tree. He is a scrofulous, scabby sort, but something about him, makes me pause for a second look. On the occasions when his eyes are not tightly shut against the intrusion of morning, the look he gives me makes me want to sweep him up and hide him from the danger that lurks. He was a member of a larger pack of abandoned dogs that congregated on the front of the library building but now, he is all alone, the others are gone.

It happened a couple of weeks ago. Late one evening, after the streets had grown quiet, after the hectic rush of traffic had gone and all that was left were the few stragglers, making their way in the twilight. That evening I was without my parking lot comrade, the pair of us usually left behind after most of the rest of the office has gone for the day would make the trek to the silent, forbidding car park together. He had stayed behind to finish something and I was too hungry to wait for him. In the half light, the streets were eerie, like something in a movie or reminiscent of something you read.

A clanking, grinding noise heralded the arrival of the pickup dragging behind it, a cart, covered in BRC wire. There coming slowly up the street, the City Dog Catcher on the prowl; it was a Dickensian moment, the poor benighted souls trapped within the confines of the cage being carted off to the workhouse. Except, in this case, it was the furry denizens abandoned by their humans who were encaged. Strangely, they suffered their fate in silence, nary a bark nor even whimper from any of them as though all resigned to their sinister fate. We know there is no animal rehabilitation in Trinidad. It froze my soul, as many pairs of eyes stared at me, not accusingly but with a wary look that said, could you have been my master. The pack that for weeks had greeted my passing them by with varying degrees of tail wagging or hopeful looks that said, “do you have any food”. Who banded together and would be seen grooming each other, sleeping in a heap, or just hanging out, like men in a rum shop.

Their grubby countenances, these orphans, several with matted fur, maybe never knowing the reassuring touch or affection of a human, and their eyes, sadness, resignation, incomprehension. In those moments as the vessel of doom drove past, I thought of my pampered pooch, who at that moment was probably lying happily on the bed, waiting patiently for me to come home, to go walkies, maybe toss around his ball. His body, a transport of joy at the sound of the key in the lock; for these poor characters it was the end of the road. In my guilt that I could not offer any consolation, I scurried across the road, but there was no escape, there it came clanking past again. Sitting calmly on the floor, a little fluffy character, his fur stained grey from lack of care, the kind of dog you see in the homes of the wealthy and yet, he had become a street dog, A victim of circumstance. I confess, things were different, they would have been a different result, but I've learnt the hard way, I cannot save everybody.

In the long traffic ridden drive home, there was much time for introspection. The image of those dogs stayed with me a long time, yet another example of the randomness of life. How easily we could slip from one position to another.