The Black pig's resilience made them a symbol for the Haitian people.
I woke up this morning thinking about the poem attached and about the countries and islands world wide that have been struck by devastation.
I wondered how many of us remember the displaced and the disadvantaged when their plight is not being sensationalized in the media? How many of us say a prayer on a regular basis and include them. For those of us who lead spiritual lives do we actually pray and fast for those who are in distress?
Today I pray for all souls (volunteers, leaders, the wealthy, dying) especially the poor, the hungry the unemployed all victims of persecution, injustice and discrimination of any kind.
Lord Hear Our Prayer
Daily rations
Infants
Barefooted squalor
Intrusive news reporters
Bulling armies
Grown men treated like children
Given orders
When to sleep, live, shut up
And when to die
Developed countries welcoming few
Condemned to their prison
Exploitation at new levels
A chance for the complacent to seem caring
Did you care for Haiti before now?
Do you know its history?
Will you care next year when it is not popular to care?
We long forgot Ethiopia, Somalia
the Democratic Republic Congo, Darfur, Cambodia,
Slaughter in India last year this time
We long forgot China, Japan
Mexico and other earthquake disasters
We long forgot the Philippines
And Tsunami prone countries
We still forget those killed in wars
30 dead in Iraq
We do not bat an eye
5 dead Afghanistan
We sigh and turn away
Death is no more significant than an action movie
Real life bodies piled up
While the hero moves on
No tears are left from those who do not feel this pain
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Poem written by Enrique and Brenda McCartney
Photograph taken from The Montserrat Reporter
In a previous post I discussed the jumbie table. There is also a dance called jumbie dance which is tied to ancestral religion. According to the Dictionary of Caribbean English usage it defines jumbie dance as a religious dance organize to induce spirit-possession and divination; it is accompanied by a folk-band such as the WOO WOO BAND, it is impassioned and can last throughout the night.
Dr Howard A. Fergus further highlights in his book that the jumbie dance can be the purest manifestation of folk religion in Montserrat. The sound and tempo of the music produced help to bring worshipers in a trance-like state which brings devotees into communion with the world of the dead.
It was told that in the 1990s Montserrat Cricket team was on a loosing streak in the Leeward Island tournament; a jumbie dance was organize at the Sturge Park to break the spell, it was met by a public outcry and condemnation from the Christian believers stating that the practice was evil and it has brought shame and disgrace upon the nation.
So many cultural traditions in the Caribbean have been wiped out due to an over-emphasis on the European traditions. We continue today to loose our former identities and move onto a more nondescript and homogeneous global culture.
Every Christmas Eve it is part of our culture in Montserrat to set the jumbie table (jumbie are ghosts). The jumbie table reveals a tradition held by my ancestors many years ago. When Montserratians (people from Montserrat) say jumbie table we are referring to the table set at Christmas Eve with all the food (roast pig, bread, blood pudding, duckna , black cake [fruit cake], pork, chicken, turkey, potato pudding, dasheen, yam, bananas, macaroni cheese, rice and peas, goat water, tart) and drinks; wine and spirits (water, sweet drink[ soda], lemonade, Guinness, Vita malt, brandy, beer, ginger bear, ginger wine, Manischewitz wine and sorrel drink) that we would consume on Christmas Day. Just before the meal on Christmas day the spirits (liquor) is poured into the corner of house around the table for the ancestors.
As I explain the jumbie table I sit here compelled to note this. I am in a state of disbelief that my mother and my cousins both sixty plus stated they have never seen a jumbie table set by their parents. My cousin, who is my age, exclaimed “how old are you Brenda?” It seems as if anyone younger than my grandparent’s age (eighty plus years) have not shared this experience. Fortunately for me my cousins Grand Aunt is still alive, so she called her right after I spoke to her. She confirmed that I am not hallucinating or having an out of body experience by remembering the details of the jumbie table. I quickly learned that the term jumbie table is an endearing and commonly used expression but many of my generation and my mother’s generation have never seen a jumbie table set.
It is believed when the tradition was abandoned, and the jumbie table not set, the jumbie would come out making noise all night.
For me the jumbie table commands respect, in that it makes us feel pride in our heritage. It does not spell suspicion but admiration for the practices held long ago by our ancestors. I understand that it may be a part of our African heritage to carry out this practice. Our culture is rich in history and traditions and identifies us as a people. The fact that I am in my thirties and have witness the setting of the jumbie table for many Christmas by my grandparents is indeed a compliment and honor.
Well, it is the ninth day of Christmas and I have the last glass of sorrel in my hand savoring every sip. It is a part of our Caribbean culture to have sorrel at Christmas time. This plant is only harvested at Christmas and dies after one full bearing. According to the Dictionary of Caribbean English Usage:
Sorrel is a plant that grows to about six feet with numerous deeply lobed, light green leaves and many red centered, rose like flowers the calyxes developed into deep red, fleshy cubs (the fruit) which cover hairy, green seed pods.
Growing up in Montserrat, during Christmas, my grandmother expected me to stay on the porch in the night and pull the fruit off the plant; in preparation for it to be boiled with spices. There was no name given to the process it was just done. The end result of the process was that my grandmother made a tasty, flavorful, deep red, spicy, tropical drink.
Well, Christmas day has gone, the servings have diminished, if not all gone; but the contents of the beverages from the Christmas table (jumbie table) remain.
Appended below are the ingredients of the sorrel drink as you take your taste-buds on a tour of the Caribbean this Christmas.
Sorrel Drink
1 1b of sorrel
Gallon of water
1b Ginger Root
7 All Spice Balls
5 clove sticks
Cinnamon
cup Rice
Nutmeg
Sugar
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Photographed by Coretta Johnson
It is the advent of a New Year and a new Decade. Today we treasure and celebrate new beginnings, last year’s victories and draw our life’s inspiration from hope. It is a time to reflect, release and renew as this is our time to refresh our spirits and stimulate our minds.
During the collection of the offering on Sunday my daughter eagerly waited for the collection plate to drop her dollar in. It brings to life the days gone by as a child when I sat in the pew with my dollar. If the children around forgot to bring their offerings or did not have the means to do so some elderly lady would firmly and quickly put a dollar in your hand; as if to say you shouldn’t have forgotten it and don’t forget it again.
Today I reflect on my development and about how various places of worship and times of worship have molded me into who I am today. For that I give God thanks and praise. Sometimes I just sit and reflect on those special moments. Let us give thanks for those who journeyed before and who’s shoulders we now stand on.
Goat water is the national dish of Montserrat. We make it all year round but especially at Christmas time. I remember how we made it .
Does anyone remember the tin that those long sausages use to come in? We used this tin as a pot and we called it tin-in. There was always a covered shack it had no walls only posts – that had a few shelves and a table where we would cook.
I can see the tin (tin-in) perched on three rocks outside with the cusha (acacia) wood under each part of the stones. On the side is one of those big pots with its bottom black as the Ace of Spades with some fresh meat from a goat killed a few minutes ago. In the covered area was always a table with thyme (herbs/ubs) seasoning pepper, Season All, onions, cloves, bird pepper (bud pepper), flour and a long iron spoon.
Once the water boils the tin-in, Mama (my maternal grandmother) would throw in the meat with the onion, thyme and salt to boil until the meat is cook. This process would take an hour.
Close by I would smell the bread baking in the rock oven. I would smell the cusha wood burning. It was something about the smell of the burnt wood, the air flow under the tin-in. There was a distinct atmosphere outside; there would always be thin blue smoke and the aroma of the meat cooking appealed to your senses. It made for a mouth watering dish of delicious broth which we called goat water.
I know this is not Christmas and the masquerades are not performing but get me the kettle drum, the sticks, the fife, the whip, the boom pipe, a shack shack (maracas), cart whips and some dancers because I am feeling the spirit and I have the rhythm.
For days or it may be weeks I had a mild desire to consume sugar cake/coconut cake. Well yesterday this desire was upgraded from mild to intense. While I was pinning for sugar cake my mind raced back to my Primary School days. I use to make a detour to Miss Grace Shop to buy sugar cake at 5cents EC (Eastern Caribbean Currency) a piece.
Some researchers state that some food cravings are when the body is deficient in a particular nutrient, mineral or vitamin or it can be associated with pregnancy. Researchers further reveal that food cravings are common in 60% of the population. While it is believed that cravings in males are associated with being hungry, cravings in woman are related to emotional state (emotions like stress or boredom).
Well I had to go to some lengths to satisfy this craving for coconut cake. I went to a well known candy shop and paid two (United States/Bahamian) dollars for my sugar cake talk about inflation! Upon purchasing the sugar cake I realized that coconut meat had to be contaminated. I was so upset that I had to fling it in the garbage. On my way home yesterday I stopped at the food store and purchase a coconut; after breaking it I found that it was spoiled. As we say back home come hell or high water (by any means) I had to have my sugar cake.
I returned to the food store and closely examined the four remaining dry coconuts (endocarp) with no outer fibers (coir) attached I discovered that the germination pore (three circles on top of the nut) was filled with mold. However, I was urged to crack one open by the cashier when I did the coconut meat (albuminous endosperm) was brilliant white but the water was not sweet. In fact the water was light brown and it had no aerated feel but it was not yet bitter. I registered my concern but the other cashiers insisted that given the white of the coconut meat it was good. I conceded and left.
Well to curb my sugar cake desire I began to separate the parts that had been not so white and improvise and set off on the task ahead. After the grating of the coconut, the boiling of the coconut, some vanilla extract, nutmeg and a pinch of ginger out came the sugar cake. Then there were the compliments, the increase in my blood glucose, and the release of my b-endorphins. My 9,000 taste buds were delighted and I was truly satisfied.
Some say that most woman experience guilt after satisfying their cravings. Well GUILTY I am not. For the sugar cake was my love molecule. Suzane Giesemnan author of Conquer Your Cravings said when we give in to our cravings one will immediately feel better but the effect is temporary and will return again and never satisfied. We will see as greatly rewarded am I.
For a while I have been thinking about the calabash tree. There have been a series of occurrences that led me to this post and one in particular was this morning when I visited one of my fellow blogger’s website and it inspired me to express my thoughts.
Growing up as children the only thing I recalled that was spectacular about this green hard spherical fruit was that it would fall to the ground in a splash exposing its contents (guts). Its enclosure was whitish pulp with dark brown seeds. After it has been exposed for days on the ground it would turn dark brown almost black. We would feel disgust when we would accidentally step into it.
In my village, St. Johns, I recalled only one family using this calabash fruit to facilitate their daily lives. They would scrape out the inside of ones that would fall from the calabash tree (huingo, krabasi, crescentia, kalebas) wash it and sand paper the exterior until it was smooth and use it as a utensil. As children we thought of them as eccentric, weird and poor. One of the family members was a Rasta. In those days Rasta’s were usually viewed as people who have lost their minds with the aid of marijuana and not a community or religion.
Since then I have learned that the calabash fruit was traditionally used to produce eating utensils (bowls, plates, forks, knives and spoons), musical instruments and decorative items (lamps, sconces). By visiting the Gwada Family’s website from Guadeloupe I have seen some very creative pieces. From the July 17-24, 2011 my island Montserrat in the West Indies will host their 4th Annual Calabash Festival celebrating their culture and creativity. It will be held for a week as the islands offers a wide selection of festivities that highlight the hidden talents of local artisans and designers.
In retrospect my neighbours were embracing the tree and being creative, while we were being closed minded and constrained.
photographed by Monica Meade
There is something about stormy/ hurricane-like weather that makes the child in me return. I usually get excited watching the waves bash against the coastline as the sand disappears. The sound of the pitter patter of the rain drops beat gracefully against the frosted glaze of the car windows. This morning as I drove along the western coast en route to work I could not resist the urge to take it all in. I rolled down the car glass as the rain gently kisses my body and soothes my skin. For some this grey day is inhospitable as it triggers regretful sighs. For me, this rainy day instills awe and thankfulness. For me days like this indicate a beginning, a sign of a good fortune and a gift to treasure. As the seagulls gather noisily and wander just above the rush of the waves a warm feeling inside me swells, and at the same time this weather represents the quintessential British life that I miss.
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