Sign of life

Yeah, we're doing alright. We're still not online at home, but we do have an internet cafe just across the road from where we live. Anthropology is not what it used to be.

More to come at a later point!

Notice

We're moving to Mespo today and it might take a few days for us to get a wireless internet connection up and running. To those prone to worrying, therefore: don't worry if you don't hear anything for a while.

Fifth time's the charm?

Multi-sited fieldwork is a buzzword in anthropology. In layman's terms it means that one in stead of spending all one's allotted time for research in one place one divides it between two or more places. That may not sound very revolutionary but anthropologists have been debating the potential benefits and drawbacks of doing this for a couple of decades or so now. One returning argument among the "old school" anthropologists is that when doing shorter fieldworks you lose out on the cultural immersion which is so essential to what we do. Another point, although I can't recall having heard it used, is the increased potential for "cultural confusion" - a blending together of impressions from previous field sites.

Although what I am doing now is a single-sited fieldwork, I frequently find myself recalling experiences from the previous fieldwork in Sri Lanka, or worse, at some level expect things to be like in Sri Lanka. (Well, I kind of asked for it. Both countries are small, tropical island states and former British colonies.) I expect that this is a passing phenomenon - that I as time passes and I get a deeper understanding of the Vincentian way of life will stop obsessively comparing and drawing on previous fieldwork insights. I can feel it happening a little. After a month I no longer wake up thinking I'm in Sri Lanka. And I am beginning to accept that people are quite different - more laid back and not so hung up on cultural taboos perhaps, more individual minded, and more direct, which means they will say pretty much what's on their mind (if they feel like it).

I had also begun to think that another imporant difference was to be found in the bureaucracy - that the Vincentian civil servants would cause me fewer headaches than their Sri Lankan colleagues (Have a look at what I wrote on July 29, 05 or on February 6, 05). That was at least what I thought before today.

Arriving in St. Vincent you get (if you're on the A-list of countries) a one month tourist visa, which would be sufficient for most visitors. Extensions are dealt with at the Immigration office at the Kingstown police station. We wanted to get this out of the way as soon as we could when we arrived and gave it a try on Tuesday July 22. The office was a bit crowded and we had to wait for a while, but at least we were able to get a hold of the forms so that we could fill them out while we waited. So we did just that. Three forms for each of us, including Ella. Turned out we didn't even have to wait for our number to show on the display - a lady accepted the application and our passports and told us to return two days later. But alas, when we did we were told that we had applied too early. We would have to come back a couple of days before our visas expired. Only then would they accept and process the applications. But we could keep the forms so that we wouldn't have to go through that hassle again.

Time passed and I wrote the incident off as a curiosity. After all, we didn't have to wait long, we got to keep the forms, our passports were returned to us and the lady had hinted that we could apply for a resident's permit instead of having to get several extensions on the tourist visa. I had managed to obtain the forms and today we decided to give it a go.

Things start well. There is no line at the immigration office and we present the resident permit forms (one for each of us, filled out in duplicate). A nice lady in the counter tells us we have to take them to the prime ministers office across the road. Alright. OK. No problem. The PM's office is in the fourth story of a prominent building but heading for the elevator we hit another snag. A receptionist tells Silje that she cannot go up there dressed in a singlet. Her shoulders would need to be covered. Hmm.. We agree that she and Ella will wait for me.

On the fourth floor a woman in army uniform shows me into the correct room. Another counter. I present the forms to a smart looking woman in suit. She asks me where the police certificates of character, the bank statements and the medical certificates are. No one had told me I needed those things. I begin once again to feel like I'm in Sri Lanka, but at least she gives me a note listing the things that must be submitted with the application. After conferring quickly with Silje we decide to fall back on Plan B, the tourist visa extension so we head back to Immigration where I again get to talk to the nice lady. This will be sorted out quickly. I am sure.

But now she asks to see our return tickets, or at least the itinerary. I had brought the itinerary the first time we had applied and thought it had been duly noted on the forms. Apparently it hadn't. I could get a hold of a print out though, if I could find an Internet café. The lady agrees its a good idea and even tells me where to go. Half an hour later we're back for the fourth attempt of the day, itinerary in hand.

Again I get to speak to the nice lady who again begins to leaf through the forms, writing comments on the top of each. She asks if we live at a hotel. I tell her that we're moving to Mespo tomorrow. That we'll be renting a private appartment. "Ohhh..." she goes. "You will need you're landlords to act as your sponsors then", she tells me. One of the forms includes a section for a sponsor but I had left it open when I applied the first time and noone had made an issue of it. But now the nice lady was telling me there was no way around this. I ask her if we would have needed a sponsor if we had still been staying in a hotel. "Well, yes", she says, "but hotels usually have stamps for the purpose", as if that would make much of a difference to us. Again some thinking and I think of WINFA. I ask the nice lady if they could sponsor me, explaining that I am here to do research on bananas. She lights up. "That would be fine!"

I call Arhtur Bobb who's in St. Lucia. But Mrs Rose at the office would be able to help me. He tells me he'll call ahead and let them know I'll be coming so we head over to the WINFA office, a ten minute walk across town. Mrs. Rose (wife of Renwick Rose, WINFA coordinator and a highly esteemed social activist - "a man with many hats" as she says), is awaiting us. She gladly fills out the forms while Ella is getting the full attention of two other ladies in the office. Then she applies the WINFA stamp, "but would it be enough?". She offers to write a letter to go with the application but I tell her that I don't think it would be necessary.

That was it, really. On our fifth attempt of the day there were no faults found with the application and the nice lady disappeared with it and our passports, telling us to come back on Monday.

Any lessons learned? Don't ever expect an application for a visa extension to be uncomplicated, perhaps? Don't ever expect a civil servant to offer you all the information you need to do what you are there for? But although this whole affair has been somewhat frustrating it doesn't really compare to the Sri Lankan system where the information available is next to none.

Moving to Mespo

Quick update:

It's decided. We're not moving to Georgetown. In stead, we're moving to Mespo. This after we on Friday went to have a look at an apartment there that our friends at WINFA had found out about. This time there was no need to think about it. We agreed on the spot. Everything seems perfect. The place is brand new, spacious and has high wooden ceilings and it holds two bedrooms a bathroom and a kitchen. It seems safe (security locks, the police station a stone's throw away (though I'm not about to try)), and it is located in what people seem to agree is a "good area". There is even a health centre close by (throw the other way) if we need medical attention, and a supermarket just down the road. The rent is only 750 ECD (1500 NOK/ 300 USD) a month and the landlords, a middle aged couple, are friendly and well thought of people ("no one will give you any trouble knowing you are with us", the wife promised).

Though Mespo seems to be a bit remote if you look at the map, it is actually only half an hour from Kingstown and the vans leave frequently. And most importantly: this is farm country. The bread basket of the island. There are a number of Fairtrade groups within close distance. Still, I am contemplating buying a car, for convenience' sake, but primarily for Ella's safety. No vans or taxis are fitted with child seats and some of them go pretty damn fast.

But first things first. We're probably moving on Thursday or Friday this coming week.

Monday in Marriaqua ( "This all used to be banana...!")

I promised an update on yesterday's field site reconnaissance trip to Mespo and I'm going to be a man of my word.

Like I wrote in the Georgetown post: although we are eager to get going with the fieldwork we decided to at least investigate alternatives to Georgetown as field site. One obvious alternative is the Marriaqua Valley in the southern interior of the island. Often hailed as the bread basket of St. Vincent, this valley is so fertile you can drop pretty much anything in the soil and it will grow. A fair deal of what is grown is bananas, although other crops such as taro (here known as dasheen) have become increasingly common. The valley is also praised for its grand scenery and magnificent vistas and so a drive up to Mespo and on to the Montreal gardens even further up in the mountains, is held to be one of the island's prime tourist attractions.

We decided to call Brother, a somewhat solemn but highly knowledgeable taxi driver who, like he said it himself "is not in de business only for de dollah". He had told me he was a 24/7 kind of guy - "call me anytime!" What is more, Brother has worked the banana himself. Allthough this was some time ago he knows the drill. And so fifteen minutes to twelve on Monday (fifteen minutes early), Brother parked his taxi outside our flat. Our deal was that he would take us for a four-hour sight-seeing of the Mespo-area and also talk to some people to see if there were any places to rent. What we got was a whole lot more.

Long before we got anywhere close to Marriaqua Brother had stopped the vehicle a number of times to tell us about certain plants (avocado, bread fruit, butter cup, cat's tail, rose mint, nut meg) or places (the spot where the Carib chief Joseph Chatoyer died, a number of lookout points). He would stop at road side fruit stalls and get us samples. At one point we stopped and walked into a banana field where he demonstrated deflowering and pruning. He would point at the landscape and name the crops we saw, usually followed by a contemplative silence and then: "This all used to be banana! All banana...!"

Brother seemed annoyed at farmers who drop out of bananas, either to diversify into other crops or livestock or to get out of farming altogether. He also made sure to comment whenever we passed a banana row that was ill maintained - if e.g the trees weren't pruned or the undergrowth cleared. And likewise he would praise the healthy and well maintained fields.

Reaching Mespo we headed straight inland and upwards, climbing the ridge on which the village of Richland Park is located. A detour into a large farm area afforded us a first hand demonstration of banana cutting (the cutting of a bunch into hands). Again: "This was all bananas!" when we passed taro fields or grace lands. Back in Richland Park, Borther asked around about an apartment or house and got a couple of names. One guy aparently had two newly refurnished houses to let and the one, they thought, was vacant. Turned out it wasn't, but the lady renting it had moved to Canada. She wanted to hold onto the place though and paid the rent duly. Another man had two apartments which we would have loved to live in if we could have renovated them first. After having gotten our hopes up we began to understand that we had drawn blank. Mespo/Richland Park had struck us as a good place to live but what can you do?

We came to terms with this in the Montreal Gardens, a 7.5 acre (3 hectares) estate at 1500 feet (450 m), a beautful place open to the public and with views all the way to the ocean. At this point our four hours were up but Brother insisted that it didn't matter and so we got a chance to wheel Ella, who was now asleep around in her trolly for a while, on narrow walkways of slabs of rock, through formal gardens and underneath tropical canopies. Afterward we returned home along Windward highway, the same road we took to Georgetown, last week, but this time with plenty of stops to take in the view.

So what's next on the programme? Well, we don't want to give up on Mespo just yet so we have asked the people at WINFA if they can dig up any other available accommodation in the area. Wherever we end up though, we need to get there soon.

Bursdagshilsen

Gratulerer med 5-årsdagen, Eirik!

Håper du har en fin bursdag :)

Mange hilsner fra Ella, Silje og Onkel Haakon.

Emancipation Day in Georgetown

Friday was August 1st which is also known as Emancipation Day in the Caribbean*. This was the day, in 1834, that the Slavery Abolition Act ended slavery in the British Empire, although a four year "apprenticeship" was put in its place whereby the freed slaves were still bound to their "masters". In St. Vincent August 1st is a public holiday and from what I have read it is actually used to commemorate the slavery, through contemplative speeches and public events.

We spent Friday in Georgetown, supposedly the nation's second largest town, although a town that strikes us as being way past its prime. It was once prosperous as the center of the island's sugar industry. But today sugar is a thing of the past, and so it seems, is Georgetown. Driving through you are likely to remember the wore-down and abandoned houses rather than the ones with a fresh lick of paint. Yet, this "has-been" town is still home to some people who believe in a better future - through Fairtrade. And that is why this town may be where we nest for the next year.


We had come to Georgetown in high spirits. The trip had been suggested in my meeting with WINFA on Tuesday. They thought it could be a good location for the research as there is lots bananas grown in the area and much of it by Fairtrade farmers. They even knew of a lady, herself a banana farmer, who was looking to rent out a self contained apartment (with a washing machine!). What was more, there would be an "activity" in Georgetown on Friday (no mention of Emancipation Day) hosted by the Grand Sable** Fairtrade unit. I had asked if I could bring Silje and Ella and the answer was a definitive "yes". It would be that kind of family event, with sports and a BBQ. But it would also give me a chance to meet some faces in the banana industry. Mr. Arthur Bobb (head of the WINFA Fairtrade unit) offered to give us I ride up there and I accepted gratefully.

I don't know quite how I had imagined Georgetown, but I hadn't been aware of the deterioration that would meet us. Don't get me wrong, it is not a ghost town, but there is something strange about places like these which slip quietly into history - at least I suppose when you, like me, are used to seeing "progress" everyhwere. The apartment was fine - actually better than what we would have expected to find. It was a bit sparsely furnished, perhaps, but spacious enough and self-contained as promised. Our main worry is that it may get a bit stuffy, located as it is on the ground floor. Actually, the landlady rents out an apartment above as well , and this one has balconies on both sides, but unfortunately for us it is occupied by an American peace corpse volunteer until March. We'll have to make do with this one and a few fans can make a huge difference.

Not that Friday was very hot. It may actually have been the coolest day since we came to the island, much due to a rare cloud cover and the heavy weather which was brewing as we were inside looking at the apartment. Not long after stepping outside again we had to seek refuge in Bobb's car as the wind picked up and the rain started pouring. We drove through Georgetown on the empty main street (the only street), the ocean a stone's throw to our right. In between the houses we could see waves crash in on the volcanic black beach. A few nondescript shops remained open, beer advertisements decorating their doors. The odd pack of stray dogs slinked between goats and fowl.

At one point we passed the playing field which was also to be the site of "the activity". Cricket players had sought refuge under concrete stands and a BBQ kitchen tent was battling against the wind. A banner carrying the Fairtrade logo was twisted up and unreadable. There would be no point in stopping there if this weather kept up, said Bobb a bit gloomily. He was concerned about the bananas, too. "This weather could be enough to do real damage", he muttered. While we were waiting to see if the skies would clear up, Bobb gave us a tour of some fruit groves, belonging to Montaque, a processing plant and subsidiary of WINFA. Apparently there were guavas, wax apples, star fruit (locally known as five fingers), cashews and passion fruit just to name the few I remember, but the weather did not permit a close inspection of the trees. A watchman hid from the rain in a tool shed but greeted Bobb respectfully.

The wind did die down and we returned to the playing field and "the activity". Yet, Bobb was still hesitant. He figured few people would bother to show up now. And the cricket match had been called off, leaving us with no entertainment. Still we stayed for a while as a few people hung around and the ktichen was dishing up some good-looking chow. What followed was about as stark a contrast to my experience with fieldwork in Sri Lanka as could be. Silje and I were quite simply ignored by most people there. No smiles. No questions. No curious glances. We felt lost and a little worried as we ate our food alone, unsuccessfull at engaging anyone in conversation. Ella was the only one able to draw some response.*** Bobb was still there but absorbed in discussion with old friends and colleagues and I didn't want to cling to him. Occasionally he came my way and introduced me to someone, like the head of Grand Sable Fairtrade group, or Simeon Greene who has held a number of important positions within the banana industry, or Senator Saboto Caesar of the ruling ULP party. These people would say a few encouraging words and wish me good luck, but that was it really. We were left to ourselves again.

Back in our comfortable flat in Villa a few hours later we were left to digest the experience and make some sense of it. In Sri Lanka people would have been all over us with questions and friendly chatter. In a way I am glad not to get all the attention, something I was never very comfortable with in South Asia. But had we been given a cold sholder? Was it hostility or shyness that had isolated us, or perhaps people were just a bit pissed off about the weather ruining the day? I don't know, but the question, while intriguing us, also had us enough concerned to start looking for alternative field sites. Mespo (Mesopotamia) came to mind and we headed there today (Monday) to snook around and get a feel of the place. More about that tomorrow!


* Although (I believe) all the former British Caribbean colonies commemorate this day, some do it on the first Monday in August, as did SVG use to.
** Just south of Georgetown proper.
*** Vincentians are crazy for babies and even seemingly indifferent and rather frightening looking young men will smile and wave to Ella (who laughs cheerfully back at them).


BTW: While browsing for pictures of Georgetown (which there aren't many of) I came across this website with loads of great pictures from St. Vincent. I borrowed the above picture of Georgetown from it while the top picture was taken from this site, which also has some great shots.