Bathing, dining and biding our time

After a week in Vincy, things seem to be somewhat at a standstill. I was off to a good start on Tuesday when we headed to Kingstown and I was able to get five minutes with Arthur Bobb, head of the Fairtrade unit of WINFA (Windward Islands Farmers' Association), the cooperative in which (I believe) all Vincentian banana farmers are organized. I had been trying to contact Mr. Bobb as well as Renwick Rose, head of WINFA, from Norway, without any luck and was afraid of the reception I would receive by just showing up there and stating my purpose of doing a long-term study on banana farmers. My fears were baseless. Mr. Bobb apologized that my emails had gone unanswered and explained that big things have been happening here lately, particularly with the move to include all WINFA bananas under the Fairtrade scheme and with the ongoing negotiations with the EU and WTO about the dismantling of preferential trade agreements which can carry huge repercussions for Caribbean banana farmers. Mr. Bobb took the initiative to set up a meeting where I could get to know some key persons in the organisation and where we together could stake out a course for my research. The meeting has now been scheduled for 1.30 AM tomorrow (Tuesday). I am elated and a bit nervous.


One of the things i hope will come out of this meeting is some idea of which areas of the island will be best suited for localizing my research. Realizing that it will most likely be some time before we know exactly where to build our nest we have decided to rent an apartment in the Calliaqua area as a temporary fix. Since Tuesday most of the time has been passed apartment hunting, waiting (for food, for Mr. Bobb to call, for Ella to fall asleep or wake up) and swimming in the sea. There seems to be loads of available apartments but still they are tricky to find as people rely on word of mouth rather than advertisements. The way to do it is to ask around. Quite a few people know someone who knows someone who has a place to let. We had a few options but opted for what would be the most conveient with Ella, that is an apartment close to the main road and public transport.


Living in a hotel when you're not on holiday can be quite sad, really, especially if the hotel is largely empty. Ours is, as are, I believe, most Vincentian hotels at the time being, for reasons I do not know. As for the meals, the only proper restaurants are in Kingstown, which is about half an hour away. We've tried pretty much every item on the hotel restaurant menu and while the food is alright, there is the waiting for the meals. Waiting for half an hour for breakfast, lunch and dinner can be somewhat of a trial when you are entertaining a 9 months old baby. The people here are really good with Ella, though. Yesterday she charmed two of the cleaning ladies by charging at them in the hallway and then refusing to be handed back to her mother. The same two ladies told us about the food stalls that are set up in Calliaqua on Saturdays. We weren't difficult to persuade to give them a go, and before we knew it, a Jamaican guy named Norman (one of the few fellow hotel guests) had volunteered to take us there.

Calliaqua, Norman declares, is the southernmost point of St. Vincent (although I beg to differ, having since then studied the map. It is close to the southermost point, though) and is a small town only a 10 minute ride from our hotel. Pulling up by an open-ended white tent at the end of a footbal pitch, Norman hoots out of the open window at the people sitting inside. They hoot back at him, making funny guttural sounds like sports fans. Obviously Norman knows these people, perhaps from when he was working at the island some years ago. We're welcomed like friends of friends. On metallic folding chairs inside the tent sits four ladies, a young man and a girl. The ambience is good and the talk light-hearted - no worries clouding the atmosphere. Silje and I both immediately feel at ease. I am thinking that "This is it! This is the real Caribbean. This is what things look like outside the resort areas." Even the food is relievingly good. A bit greasy perhaps, but exotic to a Norwegian palate with dishes like smoked herring, black fish, salt fish, dumplings, sweet potatoes and plantains. There are also the safer options of chicken, turkey and pork. We try a bit of everything and do not come across anything we don't like. A can of the local beer, Hairoun, makes the experience complete. We chat while we eat, forgetting about the heat. This fieldwork is going to be a breeze.

On returning to the hotel a bit later we stumble upon Ton, the Dutch general manager whom we've chatted a bit with earlier. We tell him about the trip and the food and how we enjoyed it, and he lets slip a remark: "you just wait till you've been here for a year". It is innocent enough and not to be made much of perhaps, but still, it stays with me. I think it is because it reminds me of a kind of ex-pat arrogance which I met in Sri Lanka too. Back then I made the big mistake of lodging with an American who mainly hung out with ex-pats. A man whose Lankan acquaintances did not extend much beyond a selection of the Anglicized elite and who in meeting others made little effort at understanding where they were coming from. I spent a lot of time dodging him and his exiled comrades. After a week in St. Vincent I've run into that kind of people here as well (and I'm not speaking of the hotel manager).

Of course it is completely understandable that ex-pats get together and complain about certain aspects of their host countries, whether it be food, habits, weather or whatever. This is probably the case with most immigrant communities, too. Nobody loves everything about an adopted country and when certain things bug you there is surely therapeutic value in it bugging others as well. Yet, when these things are all you see or talk about, you are in a dangerous place - whether you are exiled by choice or necessity (although it is by far more disgusting in the first case). It is easy to give into a kind of haughty bantering of that which is different or "backwards", but I am going to remind myself that I do not want to be that guy.

In a sense St. Vincent is the tropical paradise you all probably imagine it is, which I guess is why the ex-pats stick around, too. There is a warm climate, beaches, beautiful ocean vistas, coral reefs, and lush forests. And we enjoy those things but they are more of a bonus, really. They are not why we came. Knowing that we are going to live on this island for a year, our main concerns are that we get along well with people, that we are safe, that Ella is happy and that I get good material for the research. These are the things that have kept us preoccupied while living like tourists.


BTW: Those of you who can read Norwegian may be interested in reading Siljes report at Trollheimsporten.