La derniere chanson dans Macoya..

Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui chantent
Les reves qui les hantent
Au large d'Amsterdam
Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui dorment
Comme des oriflammes
Le long des berges mornes
Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui meurent
Pleins de biere et de drames
Aux premieres lueurs
Mais dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui naissent
Dans la chaleur epaisse
Des langueurs oceanes

Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui mangent
Sur des nappes trop blanches
Des poissons ruisselants
Ils vous montrent des dents
A croquer la fortune
A decroisser la lune
A bouffer des haubans
Et ca sent la morue
Jusque dans le coeur des frites
Que leurs grosses mains invitent
A revenir en plus
Puis se levent en riant
Dans un bruit de tempete
Referment leur braguette
Et sortent en rotant

Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui dansent
En se frottant la panse
Sur la panse des femmes
Et ils tournent et ils dansent
Comme des soleils craches
Dans le son dechire
D'un accordeon rance
Ils se tordent le cou
Pour mieux s'entendre rire
Jusqu'a ce que tout a coup
L'accordeon expire
Alors le geste grave
Alors le regard fier
Ils ramenent leur batave
Jusqu'en pleine lumiere

Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui boivent
Et qui boivent et reboivent
Et qui reboivent encore
Ils boivent a la sante
Des putains d'Amsterdam
De Hambourg ou d'ailleurs
Enfin ils boivent aux dames
Qui leur donnent leur joli corps
Qui leur donnent leur vertu
Pour une piece en or
Et quand ils ont bien bu
Se plantent le nez au ciel
Se mouchent dans les etoiles
Et ils pissent comme je pleure
Sur les femmes infideles
Dans le port d'Amsterdam
Dans le port d'Amsterdam.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POGegLVKjdQ

A discourse on "the false image of the Other"

Where to start from?
Let's go politics... political violence emerges as people here remember that they are Indians and Africans. Why should anybody see racist messages written on the wall? UNC the name of United National Congress, the name of the party for Indians, called as "Use Nigers Conveniently" and "When God sew Niggers, He polluted Earth".. why?

Today I went to Woodbrook. There I met Halcyon (a cheap 600TT girl that offered herself to me).. I will come back to Woodbrook after I lay my thoughts about the Other, I have my reasons to do so. I was brain-storming the other day about the levels of reproduction of the images we have about the Other. You can move from a level of faceless mass communication of images, as TV and the like, up to the level of one-to-one communication that pre-requires physical presence. The other day Marisho was telling me about the images he has from the media. "White-people everywhere. You watch History Channel to see what were the deeds of whitemen; where is Africa?" He continued on "then George, you came, we talk and I get to know your culture, your ways... and you explain to me everything that you do in your culturally distinct way". Same of course goes for him. I left the TV-level in Holland and I came here to socialize with the Other; the Other and me. I consequently conclude that the more faceless the communication the bigger the reproduction of false images. You have to come up to the level of real communication to comprehend the Other. And then you find yourself one step from conquering the Everest's Top, the full understanding of the Other; and I moved to the whale-level.. falling in love with the Other. There is where you can really get to know and savvy the Other. I am now coming back in Woodbrook. I met a girl called Jannelle. She is quick, smart, socializing Afro-Trini healthy-butt girl. Basically I dont like big-butted girls but she gained me in other ways. It was my first encounter (here in Trinidad) with a real woman. She had that magnet called femininity -unfortunately many women miss femininity- still not the European or American femininity I am acquainted with. Proud, independent, she was a dream when she was talking to me. She had the ability to use properly her facial expressions and body language to communicate to me the most subtle of the meanings and messages. European classical Romanticism from my part was exchanged with the Caribbean traditional Essentialism only to create an explosive cocktail that went down to dancing. Then I thought that the perfect comprehension of the Other is achieved on that level where you find your-defendless-self celebrating the otherness in love. First you easily go through mass communication only to acquire some images, false, mock and stagy. Then you come 'into society' with the Other, meaning that the Other and you form a new micro-society which has its own norms, dynamics and rules. This is the middle-level, the level of synthesis of different views, cosmo-theories and the like. You en-perfect the comprehension when all logical premises and scientific attitudes are hidden in the caves of reason and instinct becomes the leader of your behaviour. In other words; eros (love)! This is the instinctual non-logical path that leads to the creation of the most beautiful painting... the image of the Other.

(I have to report these thoughts to Olga, no?)

Tonight I will hold a lime in my place. Everybody invited, Magic, Boss, Fareeda, Stro, Lewi, Rasta-man-in-the-world, Addy... Tonight's gonna be the goodbye-party for me. Then Sunday will wake up hanged over, Monday are elections, Tuesday laid-back and Wednesday I'm leaving this place. I'm gonna miss that place. I learned so much here. Such a school, not even Panteion and UvA together could be compared with it! I learned how to treat a Caribbean girl here, only that when I learned that I had to leave..

My friends are waiting for me..

Black out!

We had a "current blow off" as they call it here, simply no electricity. Having nothing to do in the house, since no light, TV or PC would function, people came out. After 15 minutes they started talking about who brings the meat, who the rice, who the lime-spirits. The remotely triggered lime opportunity was grabbed and people continued liming when power was back. Then I rethought of the phrase 'Black Out'. It is an expression that signifies a run-out of electric power but also a way to describe the phenomenon of a Trini man having a good reason to leave the house, even if this is for the neighborhood's corner. "Black (man goes) Out (of the house)". Back-yard-grown-lime, the lime I love, the lime of the community. In the community everybody knows me now. In the community I feel safe but above all complete. I find my human nature the one driven by insticts in that community. So what was I talking about? Oh yes, that everybody was on the street liming. I walked 2-3 blocks on and I saw the same scene everywhere. Companies liming here and there and I exploited the opportunity to exercise my social capital. Besides there is nothing better than the Indian girl, the one who lives right on the corner of Yxora Drive and Gladioli Boulevard, wining her waist down on my knees... Sweet girl Evrita! She has an almost-greek-name too... Evrita.. Just like Nigrita a village near Serres, Greece..

The other day we had a snake attack. Now Schuyler tell me, why not bro? Did I just slay you again? Naaaaahhh

This guy (I'm talking about my landlord, Stro or Marisho) knows how to listen to some real music. He has downloaded 5 DVDs full of mp3s of what he calls 'European music'. That is Fresh FM (voel je goed?) and X-FM, two Dutch radio stations which play the top-40 over and over again. This music is what I used to listen when I was carrying myself on a bike over to Leidseplein or Jordaan. Ik mis deze momenten.. This music reminds me of my lovely Amsterdam.. but from now on I know it will be reminiscent of Trinidad too. Lord Jesus, what have you put me into? Two and a half months of life in Edem's Garden? Haha!, where did I go wrong?

I know that tonite Scuy, Mai, Didi, Themis and others are drinking in Criterion but I will restrain of being jealous. In few days I will be there and I will be in a terrible need of a scanner, because right now I produce photographed memories (with me seriously involved) and I will have to scan them first before I post them online. Everybody from my Mum to Didi are asking me for pics. If pics is what you want i will gratefully offer them. I will grant to my people their petition; I will meet their demands.

I'm too drunk to continue now.. (stoned too)
Kusjes and doeiiiiii

I'm so sorry to close this thread down in such a uneven way but I'm really strunken! Moo-hahaha

Tic toc and wine with she!

This is the tic-toc dance (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYjL-svYRZ8) danced here by Marila in an older video. No comments...
Passa Passa nights in Horqueta, Im gonna miss that place for sure!
Tic toc is a type of music and dance along with socca, calypso and steel pan. Enjoy!

My Trini-pot expects me,...

The ethnography of a funeral

Last Sunday Mr Thomas passed away. He was only 49. I didnt really know this man but everybody had a good word to say. After he died all friends and relatives come in the house that must provide them with beer, food and whatever serves their well-being and convenience. They dont undertake the corps of the man the day after as we do. They expect for all relatives and friends to come, some of them may be in St Lucia, in Florida or in Canada. Usually this takes 3-4 days. In the meantime those who arrived and others from the neighborhood gather every night in the house of the dead to have a good time in his memory. Some band was playing the most classic reggae and ska music with guitar and a small steel-pan player was giving the rhythm. I could smell the burnt essences and spices giving a ritualistic character to the event. "The smell of death" an old lady explained to me when she saw from the color of my skin that I was a foreigner, frankly scared about her age. "The smell of death will be in our houses one day", she stared at me significantly maximizing the size of her eyes, which were all-red from crying.. "Yes, this is for sure", she added having her eyes shut and moving her head compliantly up and down. I thought that I was smelling the fragrance of death but (please dont laugh) I started smelling something different at that moment that made the old lady look like a crazy witch rather than a wise woman. That smell was reminiscent of... actually it was some marijuana smoke in the air. I saw shadows in back yard. When I approached I realized Mr Thomas' brother, Jale, smoking weed with some friends. "Eight months of Masters studies in Holland bear fruit" I thought. "Now my nose is adequately trained to trace weed in incenses". After a while the old lady joined us shouting "One more please!". Then I understood why her eyes were red.

I have to inform about one more thing. I start getting acquainted with people here. More and more I listen people calling me with my name, instead of "hey, white guy" and 'good-morning George' starts taking over the 'good-day man'.

As for the research, I had another interview today. They say that you must start feeling your research becoming complete when you get the same or similar answers all the time. I estimated 8 to 10 interviews in my proposal but now I'm getting up to 20! Het is goed zo!

A Venezuelan Kavadias

Yesterday we went to Carenage. Carenage is a beach they told me... naaah.. it was not a beach. It was a huge system of docks where Americans would put their yachts aside for the hurricane season. Dirty! Trash and garbage and litter and rubbish everywhere. Such a place only be taken out of a serial killer movie with nice photography. Light was coming from the gated yard of a guard house right next and the moon. From time to time a car would elucidate the place with it's high beam. The water was green or grey-green and three boats were floating in front of us, namely Chung Kuo 12, 35 and 78. Chinese sailors were walking on always with a cigarette in hand. (Btw Im quiting smoking.) In the edge of the dock a bunch of cement-made rocks laid on the ground serving as a breakwater. My friends were drinking, jiving and "fishening" as they say.
There I met a Venezuelan fisherman and sailor, Gomez, who had worked in all kind of ships in all seas. He knew some greek words; money, work, boat etcetera. He had been working in a greek ship in 1978 for one year. He had been in Pireus, in Iasi, in Bandar Abbas.. He was full of experiences and my conversation with him dropped me back to my childhood years when a retired Captain had been talking to me about his trips, in my mother's village in Peloponnese. He had been everywhere. "In Greece or Italy an old lady sees a young couple and says 'Putana!' but in Latin America an old lady would say 'Amore, amore". Sailor's wisdom. He talked to me for trips far away from any land I've been. A modern Kavadias with a lot of poetry in his words and a style fluctuating between vagarious and capricious.

The others caught plenty of fish until the dirty discussion started. Where the best brothels are situated? Santiago, Shanghai or Amsterdam? I wouldn't defend my city.. although the lyrics came instantly in my mind. "Enfin ils boivent aux dames qui leur donnent leur joli corps, dans le port d'Amsterdam.."

The premise of the Prophet 2

Fact 5, Trinidadian Fugga Situation:
Here comes the best. The day we went on beach, my landlord commented on a girl on the street (I kinda dont like that but I believe in free will so I let people do whatever they like with not much complaining). They started a conversation in their hard-for-me -to-understand-language and then she took a lift with us to the beach. She was an African girl from Tobago, chef de la cuisine was her profession and she was 21yo mother of a 3yo boy. My landlord was driving but his eyes started turning and glimpsing.. After beach and stuff we all got back home. My landlord was really drunk! Pissed, drunken, stoupi or whatever! We smoked all together in my house and after a while she started dancing in the rythm of Caribbean music I found for her in my PC. Haha, that guy didnt know what to do and I moved to the kitchen. I wanted to leave them alone, providing me with an excuse ..something like "I felt like making a cocktail for me with blue-grape juice, aloe and white rum". After the cocktail (whose name is analyzed into Cock+Tail) he was on her.. I kept on looking them stoned, drunk, corrupted. I felt like the most perverted king of Asia for a moment.. They were continuously in arguments, tensive gazes but nothing more; some moment he nodded me that he doesnt like her anymore for partner. Something like "I quit on her" .. He left the house kinda vex and I looked to the girl. "What?" I had no second thought, I stood firmly for my oath to Michaela.. "No sex, we are researchers" a voice whispered my ear. Well, no matter how surrealistic the scene, the girl was my friend's partner (how else would you call an one-night-stand girlfriend?) .. I told him in a low voice that the girl had no way to get back home being already dark outside, that she wouldnt feel comfortable with me etc. "She [looks like] nice in the ice but she [is] rice" Which I interpreted as "Looks beautiful but has nothing to offer". He left with no second word. I got back in the room, I looked at the girl, passed my gaze to the ceiling and thought that this ain't no Fassbinder's movie watched 3.00am. He started knocking the door, he changed his mind. He kinda said something and she went to him. They stayed together for less than an hour. In the meantime I took a bath. At some point I listen the back-yard door knocking and I see Nadine (sorry I introduced her late) wrapped in a towel evidently panty-less begging me let her in. I opened the door feeling deep into whatever. "What are you now up to Gorgy-boy?" my consciousness's voice buzzed my ear like a drone. "Honor your Oath to Michaela George"! I let her in with no second thought. I was friendly and I was just trying to reject any of her offers in all means. (No shit, this girl was my friend's and I wouldnt do anything with her.) The funny fugga situation goes on as the car's combustion roars, Nadine runs out of my house to catch up with my landlord's car and on the way the towel falls down, steps on it and collapses on it. His car was away and she quickly dressed up back. I thought her vex until I saw her laughing... We smoked some more in the house and after 20 minutes he came back, apparently with the condoms! Today in the river-party I learned that he was starving to death and went to eat. Then they just left... What I am describing here is a literary burlesque narration of the whole situation as I lived that yesterday, although this is a cut version of the real text. The copyrighted full version can be purchased with one beer in Alto or Jordaan.

Result: I am living in a surrealistic rustique fugga situation