"Dey does give de pig soap to eat. When dey eat dat dey cyar bawl." "Whaaat!" I am chatting with livestock farmer Vijay Supersad and he is bemoaning the runaway praedial larceny in Carlsen Field, central Trinidad. "Pig does eat anything you know. If you lie dong dey dey go eat you and all." Livestock bandits have somehow struck upon the novel strategy of feeding the pigs soap to keep them kwart while hoisting them out of the pen. I chuckle a bit as I imagine a pig in the arms of a thief with only silent bubbles emitting from its mouth. As I get set to launch my third season of The Road Less Travelled and Bush Diary with Robert Clarke, I often "chin stroke" at the capacity of this country to inspire intrigue.
Here I am in the home of a simple farmer in central Trini-dad, determined to prevail against bandits who come to his farm armed with soap. I fill my pockets with these anecdotes because I know there is no way that they will all make it into the television programmes. Like the time Robert Clarke and I were sitting in a boat bobbing up and down the turquoise waters of Buccoo Reef in Tobago. On that boat with us was the only man in the country who talks more than Jack Warner. The inimitable Dion, a dive instructor, was telling us about a famous jewfish that was a regular at one of the more popular dive sites in Tobago. The jewfish is a member of the grouper family and there are photographs of this particular grouper in dive magazines and tourist brochures.
What was unique about this fish is that he seemed to inhabit a very specific range and could be generally found at the site whenever divers descended. He was also very curious so scuba enthusiasts would often have an opportunity to have a close and fairly long encounter with the fish. Can you imagine that? In the wild deep blue encountering a creature as inquisitive about you as you are about it? "He was too fren-lay." Dion punctuates his remark with shrill peals of laughter that frighten off all sea birds within a one-mile radius. "Some fellas swim up to him, he swim up to dem and he end up in de makkit!"
Well the dive operators probably had to strike that off their list of attractions at Tobago's dive sites. Selling the big picture isn't always easy; to have people understand that the tourist-friendly jewfish was worth more alive to Tobago than dead is tough when cash in hand is the only consideration for many people. Producing local television programmes is easily the toughest thing I have ever done in my life and I have sat through an entire Dimanche Gras show. There are rewards though: people I know always seem genuinely interested in my experiences out on the road. They ask, "What it have in Kernaham Village dat have you dong dere whenever I call you?"
Videsh is a son of Kernaham Village (it is Kernahan allyuh. Trust meh) on the southeast coast of Trinidad. Whenever I have need of venturing the Nariva Swamp, or for this season exploring his home, Kernaham Village, he is my first point of contact. It was during one trip into the darkened forest on Bush Bush Island that Videsh told me of a once common tradition in his community.
The story goes, if an ardent suitor is to win the approval of his paramour's father he must do one thing. He must take a dull axe and split the knot of a mango tree with just one swing. The knot I can only assume is the stump on a tree where it has perhaps been pruned. If even with the blunt edge of an axe you are able to impose your might upon the tree, you have demonstrated that "you is man" and worthy of your quarry's hand in marriage. Videsh does not quite know where the tradition originated and in this day and age you scarcely have to split more than a box of KFC to win the ardour of the opposite sex. Anyone in the village possessed of that knowledge has long since given up the ghost.
I love giving a good story but I will certainly defer to a better storyteller than myself. Across this country it seems that we each have a little storyteller in all of us. Each place I visit there are people engaged in the process of storytelling. Sometimes this is done with the hands; it is a practice, a long standing tradition that in the modern-day context is completely unnecessary, but at the same time pivotal to tipping the hat to one's forbears. Sometimes my curiosity plunges me headlong into something which, when I see the facial expressions of the people I am interviewing, I realise that it is too late to back out. That was certainly the case with a trip to the Exchange Village mud mandir.
The devout in the community come out to "lepay" the walls of this ancient temple to preserve it for future generations. Indra is a retired school teacher who is often roped in on the volunteer maintenance gang. "So you come to lepay a little with us today?" I would have said "helllllls no!" but I politely but quickly declined. My producer twisted my arm though, insisting that this was the only way to engender authenticity in the episode.
OK I'll tell you why I was not exactly enthusiastic about joining the lepay chain gang. The "mud" is not actually mud and I don't care how many times Indra used the word "dirt" it was half and half of mud and cow dung. Notice I said dung not manure. This was fresh from the cow and it was not milk. I had to smoothe the noxious mixture onto the walls of the sacred mandir, with my hands man. Folks, that was not an easy one.
Indra also warned me that the smell would stay on my hands for quite some time after the faecal finishing job. She was not lying. I could have washed my hands with lye but it would not have made a difference. Every time I passed my hand by my face for at least a day afterwards, all I could picture is that indifferent look that a cow gets when it is depositing a mea-dow muffin and chewing its cud at the same time. The truth is though, all of my other experiences producing these television programmes have left a big impression on me. All of these people allowed me into their homes and hearts; so many of us expend so much energy on trying to divine the meaning of life, but these ordinary folks were happy to show me the meaning in theirs.
It has almost a year in the making, bringing these series back to air, but it is a year that I have spent on the road living what T&T is really all about.
THOUGHTS
• On that boat with us was the only man in the country who talks more than Jack Warner.
• Each place I visit there are people engaged in the process of storytelling.
• The 'mud' is not actually mud and I don't care how many times Indra used the word 'dirt,' it was half and half of mud and cow dung.
