A Sip of Home

The light brown sand, already hot from the sun's rays, squish between my toes as I step off the pitch paved road and onto the beach. Ten feet from the shore-line is my brother, Jeremy, and my best friend, Brian, hunched over in a stooping position, waxing their boards. Hundreds of black birds, similar to vultures, fly through the air, going from one end of the beach to the other, and back again.

The rush of the waves bring my eyes towards the ocean; Maracas Bay. The number one beach on the island, known for having the best surfing waves and unbeatable street food. It was also the number one tourist spot on the island. The enticing waves make soft swoosh sounds before they break upon the shore with a light crash. I jump as three young boys, wearing nothing but pairs of shorts, run around me, trying to get the football from each other while screaming vulgar words as they each lost the ball to the other.

The scent of freshly caught King Fish, Shark, and Swordfish engulf me as I turn my head to the Fishermen Shack behind me. An old lady, usually it’s Mrs. Jones, is yelling to the fisherman about the overpriced shark he’s selling while the fisherman is complaining about the risks he took to get the shark in the first place.

“What de jail wrong wit you?” Mrs. Jones yells. “You cah seriously be sellin that piece-a shark for wah? $20 a pound? You high or wah?”

“Woman, doh geh me vex this hour in de morning.” The fisherman replies. “You know wah is like to go out dey, in dee ocean every mornin’ and catch shark?”

“Doh try to gimme excuses, eh! Every mornin’s ya say? Well ya should be used to it by now den! I’ll give you $15 for a pound.”

I shake my head at them and bring my juicy red Julie Mango, or what I call breakfast, to my lips and take a small bite. The sweet taste drips down my throat towards my rumbling stomach. I lick the escaped juices from my already red lips and walk past Jeremy and Brian towards the water. I close my eyes as the lukewarm water surrounds my feet and the salty wind covers me like a cool blanket on a humid day. I open my eyes slowly, stare out at the blue ocean.

I glance back at Brian and Jeremy, who were now frowning and staring at the water. My eyes roam further back to the road where my dad was now crossing to get to us. I take another bite of the mango and sprint up the beach towards him.

He gives me a small smile before frowning at the dead waves too. There was no chance of surfing at Maracas today since there are no waves to surf on.

“Let’s go Mayaro.” He murmurs as he turns around and heads towards his car.

Mayaro was another beach known for surfing, but it was on the other side of the island and hard to really find. We hardly ever got to go there because of how far away it was, but surfing was our sport.

We tie four boards to the roof of my dad’s precious 1980 Mitsubishi Lancer and head down the Maracas mountain towards the city. I fold my arms on the backseat window and lean out just far enough so that the cold breeze could sting my face like iced water. I stare out at the blue-green ocean, slowly disappearing as we descend towards the city.

As soon as we hear the reggae and calypso music, we knew we had entered the city. We drive through the first town; Maraval; a small town with only a single post office and a police station. There are numerous white churches with huge wooden crosses on their roofs. The scent of fried chicken sweeps into the car as we drive past the different fast food chains; Burger King, KFC, Church’s Chicken, Grillers, and the local favorite, Royal Castle.  

We exit the town and drive onto the road that surrounds the large Savannah. Screams and applauses direct our attention to the Secondary School cricket matches that are being played in the Savannah.

“Make a 6! Make a 6!” the crowd cheers on to the child who was up to bat.

We drive away and enter the overcrowded main city; Port–of–Spain.

The heat from the city attacks us instantly, causing dad to turn up the windows and blast the A/C. Yet, the closed windows couldn’t keep out the new scents of food; Chinese styled chicken, a variety of curried meats, beef and chicken roti, salty mango chow, the new Korean bbq spices, and our own home made cuisine of macaroni pie, baked chicken, black-eyed peas, and boiled corn.

We keep driving through the long streets of the city, slowly though as we creep along with the morning traffic. I glance out at the tall glass building, housing banks, credit unions, insurance companies, malls and even radio and news stations. Hundreds of people walk around outside, going in and out of stores and buildings. There are individual people selling fruits and clothes from the back of their parked pick-up trucks, trying to make some money to support their families. We come up to the Red House, which was built in 1907 and used for the sole purpose of the government’s parliament. All government publicized meetings were held there, as well as the many protests that tended to grace their gates throughout the year.

We finally drive out of the city and enter the slums. Parking garages, illegally taken over by the vagrants, are now littered with cardboard boxes, torn clothes, one sided shoes, and dirty towels. The sight of broken-down shacks litter the sides of the road but quickly disappear behind us as we hit the highway.

We all hold out breaths as we enter the first part of the highway, where the garbage dump site was located. Dad steps on the gas as we drive away from the sewage stench and enter the brief farmlands. We turn our windows back down and stared out at the mazes of corn and cocoa fields that are littered along the sides of the highway.

We come up to the next city; Chaguanas; the city known as ‘East Indian Village’. The sound of chutney music and Hindu prays engulf us as we drive away and enter more farmlands. As we approach closer to the east of the island, we begin to see women standing in small open shacks at the side of the roads, selling tied up, freshly caught and still alive, crabs.

“Crabs for five dollar! Five dollar!” they yell to the passing cars.

We drive away from the crab sellers and turn down a deserted side road.

The road is long, straight and smooth. On either side of the road are tall coconut trees, blocking the view of anything beyond. We drive for ten minutes before turning the car to the left and entering the coconut tree maze. Dad turns right, then left, then right again; maneuvering the car through the trees until he sees the ocean beyond. He’s always been an expert when it came to finding the easiest path through the coconut trees.

He parks, gets out, grabs his board and runs towards the water with Jeremy and Brian. I grab my board and step away from the coconut trees, onto the coarse sand. The salty air encloses around me as I step into the slightly cold water. The rough and slightly foamed waves battle around my feet as multiple parrots flew about above me, blinding me momentarily as the colors of red, orange, blue, green and purple from their feathers clash with the rays of the sun.

An ominous feeling came over me then, making me drop my board and choosing instead to just walk along the beach. I smile as I see another family further down the beach path, playing cricket with each other. I nod to them in a friendly acknowledgement before I feel a wet hand on my shoulder, soaking my green t shirt with ocean water.

“You okay there baby?” my dad asks, concern dripping from his tone.

“I can’t see myself being anywhere happier than here. I don’t think I’m going to like going to university in America.” I finally admit after months of keeping it in.

“Your brain isn’t meant for this small island, you know dat.” He sighs and pulls me into chest. “You think it’s easy for me to let my favorite child go overseas? By herself?”

“There are no beaches in Washington, D.C. Not like here at least. Where am I supposed to get my sausage rolls for breakfast? Or my Sunday lunches? I don’t know anyone there. So who’s going to help me if I get lost?” I rattle off.

“I raised you to be the most independent and strong woman I know. You will succeed and exceed everyone’s expectations of you. I wouldn’t be sending you there if I didn’t think that 100%. You will make friends, just like you made them here. You will eat new foods and probably figure out how to make your own Trinidad food there. You get lost? You? Really? You memorize roads as if it was the alphabet song baby! Your street senses will kick in and help you every step of the way until you are fully confident and comfortable.” He says proudly.

“What if I miss…you?” I pull away slightly and look up at him.

“So…Skype disappeared from your phone or something?” he chuckles. “I’m a phone call away and you’ll be home here for every single holiday. I promise that.”

I listened to him…to his words…but I couldn’t see the truth in them yet. All I saw was things I was going to miss the moment I got on the American Airlines plane to America tomorrow. I nod my head in fake agreement and follow him back to my board. He picks it up and hands it to me.

“One more surf for the road, because you won’t get to surf again for about 4 months!” he laughs and takes his board, diving back into the water.

I grip my board and look back at the coconut trees, the large leaves swaying in the wind. I close my eyes and bury down the fear. I need to fly like a parrot now. It is time to leave the only home I have ever known. It is time to make something of myself and make my dad proud. It’s time…