Her voice is well known on the sound­tracks of Caribbean mu­sic, hav­ing pro­vid­ed back­ing vo­cals for cel­e­brat­ed ca­lyp­so and so­ca artistes such as The Mighty Spar­row, Lord Kitch­en­er, Shad­ow, David Rud­der, Machel Mon­tano and De­stra Gar­cia. She has toured ex­ten­sive­ly with the leg­endary Kas­sav’, per­form­ing in French and Cre­ole, and was a mem­ber of the Caribbean girl group Shades of Black, which was signed to Sony France. She has even col­lab­o­rat­ed with in­ter­na­tion­al Gram­my Award-win­ning acts such as Shab­ba Ranks and Tony! Toni! Toné!

Sev­en­teen women will com­pete for the Miss Trinidad and To­ba­go World 2026 ti­tle, with the can­di­dates for­mal­ly un­veiled at an event in Mar­aval last Sun­day.

Fans of the lo­cal reg­gae and so­ca singer, known for hits like An­oth­er One Gone, Zion Train and Got­ta Get You Girl, have prob­a­bly no­ticed his dras­tic weight loss over the last two years, and it’s most­ly due to chang­ing the foods he ate and cook­ing his own meals.

Perched on a windswept hill­side along a dirt track off Canaan Road, La Ro­maine, three weath­ered tombs stand qui­et­ly be­neath trees, their stone walls and fenc­ing stur­dy de­spite the forces of na­ture.

Every week­day, tens of thou­sands of mo­torists speed along the Beetham High­way, glanc­ing to­wards Beetham Gar­dens, a com­mu­ni­ty whose name has be­come one of the most recog­nis­able and of­ten mis­un­der­stood in Trinidad and To­ba­go.

Un­less it’s COVID or dengue, there’s noth­ing that pan­ics par­ents more, es­pe­cial­ly those who work out­side their home, than a buss head. It seems that per­sis­tent ex­po­sure to Amer­i­can sit­coms and CNN hor­ror sto­ries has thrown com­mon sense out the win­dow. Luck­i­ly, there are still some grand­par­ents around who re­mem­ber what they did when their chil­dren got a blow to the head and can re­as­sure their adult off­spring.

The brain al­lows us to walk, speak, recog­nise a fa­mil­iar face, feel emo­tions and store mem­o­ries. It al­so con­trols judg­ment and de­ci­sion-mak­ing, which are qual­i­ties worth pro­tect­ing in cit­i­zens and en­cour­ag­ing in politi­cians. When some­thing goes wrong, it spreads through fam­i­lies, work­places and com­mu­ni­ties.

Pet own­ers fac­ing com­plex ill­ness­es af­fect­ing their an­i­mals have had lim­it­ed op­tions in T&T over the years.

This may be a touchy sub­ject for a coun­try like Trinidad and To­ba­go, where there is a bar on just about every cor­ner, but that may be the very rea­son why this sto­ry is worth read­ing.

It is be­com­ing com­mon for busi­ness­es and the me­dia to pro­mote “Christ­mas in Ju­ly” each year. This fes­tive at­mos­phere did not ex­ist dur­ing Ju­ly 1934, when protests erupt­ed in Trinidad and To­ba­go.

Hear­ing about a tragedy and liv­ing it are two dif­fer­ent things. For the me­dia work­ers trapped in­side Trinidad and To­ba­go Tele­vi­sion (TTT) and the NBS Ra­dio sta­tion (Ra­dio 610) in Port-of-Spain, the trau­ma re­mains as re­al as ever.

The stands were packed. The ex­cite­ment was build­ing, and the Strike Squad foot­ball team was all set. But un­be­knownst to the crowd, the team and many oth­ers, a grim cri­sis had al­ready en­gulfed T&T. With­in mo­ments, key mem­bers of the foot­ball team would trade their cleats for com­bat boots, step­ping di­rect­ly in­to the un­fold­ing chaos of the 1990 at­tempt­ed coup. And they were cer­tain­ly ready for ac­tion.