thepancollective

Sinterklaas

Children are walking around with slightly more anxious faces and parents are sighing about their offspring leaving grass all around the house for Sinterklaas' horse.

SinterWHO?, you ask I suppose. Well, Sinterklaas is the Dutch version of Santa Claus, and we celebrate this man who visits all the children on December 5th leaving presents in their shoe in exchange for a bit of foliage and water for his stalwart steed. In the Netherlands the good bishop comes through the chimney (sound familiar?), but since most Aruban houses do not have fireplaces, we just say he comes through the roof. No need for elaboraration.

There has been a lot of talk about colonialism and the like on the island, but it is obvious that it all flies out the window when this icon of Dutch culture comes by bearing candy and presents. We're very easily bribed.

family ties

I like paintings. Although I am not a collector in any sense of the word, I like visiting art galleries to see how somebody expressed themselves. It always gives me a sense of awe, because I can't draw or paint.

Last Friday there was an unusual sort of exposition. Unusual in the sense that it showed pieces done by one family, featuring two generations. There were some genuinely good pieces, and the children's whimiscal paintings were charming.

I admire the exposition also because it is an inventive way of bringing the family together, and to share parts of oneself that aren't always obvious. And let's face it: The family structure is rapidly changing if not falling apart and to have this kind of event, where extended family and friends get together is simply very rare nowadays.

It proves to me that it is not only in the olden days that people can come together. It can happen nowadays, too.

Politics and Progress

Living between two countries, two societies means that I am always
drawing parallels, making comparisons, and struggling to be
culturally relative. However, it was still surprising to realize
that Jamaicans and Americans are currently grappling with similar
feelings of disenchantment with their political situations. Though
one has a prime minister and the other a president, impending
elections have become a spotlight for widespread public mistrust
for government leaders.

If you remember, a little while ago, I shared that Jamaica had
democratically elected its first female prime minister. Well, like
the US, the British system of government has two critical
government elections. The first is just like the congressional
election taking place in America next month… victory is determined
by which party wins the most seats. However in the British system,
when a party wins, the head of state immediately comes from their
side. I.E. if the Democrats win next month, in the Commonwealth
system, Hilary or Barack would be president next month;) However,
this temporary head of state must still run against the
opposition’s candidate within a two-year span to fill the official
leadership post. So yes it is weird, but we are up for yet another
election, and we could loose our female prime minister after a mere
year in office.

Previous to this one, Jamaica had the same prime minister since
1992. There is a lot at stake with this election. We’ve already had
our own Foley/party debilitating scandal. There are allegations that
money was pilfered from government coffers to finance private party
campaigning. And we have our own Iraq-like issues, but instead of
Sunni versus Shiite, it’s color-coded, politically fueled gang
warfare between those that wear green or orange and live in
opposing impoverished neighborhoods. Two weeks ago, my friend was
escorted out of an “orange” section of town by armed soldiers for
wearing a green tie.

It sounds scarier than it is, but it is actually that sad. What
resonates for me is the feeling of hopelessness citizens feel about
how their government can serve their needs and represent their
interests. And this resignation seems to be global. It makes you
question where you fall as an individual within this political
climate of disenchantment.

Which brings me to my birthday. I turned 28, this past October 5th.
I had a fantastic birthday, complete with four days of
celebrations, international visitors, extravagant dinners, and
rowdy parties. It was a big step over last year where I knew no one
and spent my birthday entirely alone. However, it was also a time
for me to assess the true “progression” of this past year. Growing
“older” automatically means growth as an individual, but especially
after an eventful year spent in an environment full of extreme
paradoxes. I realized that in this past year my character has been
challenged more than ever before. At times, I found myself
lacking…not as steadfastly the person I thought I was. But I am
realizing that I am not an end result, but a work in progress…and
recognizing weakness means gaining some much needed humility and
creating an opportunity for redemption. There is always room for
hope…hope for something better. So I am challenging myself to stay
hopeful that for you, me and the world, positive progress is always
the necessary option.

it is not that time of the year

If you'd ask Arubans what their favorite time of the year is, I'd bet money that most of the answers will be 'tempo di fin di anja' (end of the year}. It's not more than a logical choice, of course, what with the food, the lights, togetherness of friends and family, etc. etc. and so forth.

A great deal of preparation goes into this time of year, what with the house cleaning for visitors and the hanging up of the lights and just all around sprucing up of your home.

However, there is a bit of a disturbing trend going on, I think. The end of year is December. You could, possibly, stretch it back to November. Aruba has stretched it even further back to October, just because. But I'm drawing the line at September. It seems that others have no problem with blithely proclaiming that "the season is upon us already". Uhm, no, it isn't.

September, people. Christmas doesn't last 4 months. FOUR MONTHS!! I mean, I love this time of year just as much as the next person, but I do not see the advantages of stretching such a special time to cover a third of the year. It's ridiculous. It cheapens the entire season, which to the overwhelming majority of Arubans is a very solemn part of their religion.

I understand that the season is commercialized. But you might just have backfired when you start with the talk of holidays so early that I become sick and tired of it by the time that the season actually arrives.

sun lover

 

The weather is starting to cool down over here and I'm not pleased. We had a gorgeous few days of Indian summer last week, but it is time for me to come to grips with the idea that Fall is here, and here to stay (well atleast until winter rolls around). This is the time of year when I am very happy that I have beautiful beach and tropical photos to scrapbook. Just looking at them makes me feel warm. I think I'll be keeping this particular page hanging over my desk until May next year.

en el tiempo de las mariposas

I recently finished reading En el Tiempo de las Mariposas by Julia Alvarez.  Ms. Alvarez's parents were members of the underground resistance in the Dominican Republic during the final years of the infamous Trujillo dictatorship.  The Mirabal sisters, Patria, Minerva and Maria Teresa — known as "las Mariposas" or the Butterflies — were leading figures in that resistance, and were ambushed and murdered by Trujillo's henchmen in late 1960. Their martyrdom has made them icons of freedom in the Dominican Republic.

Alvarez's book is a fictional account of the lives of las Mariposas, told variously from their own points of view and from the perspective of their surviving sister Dedé, who was not actively involved in the resistance movement.  Dedé is still alive and oversees the operations of the Mirabal Museum in her hometown of Ojo de Agua.  (Here's a recent( September 2006) article about Dedé, if you are interested, and can read Spanish.)

I thoroughly enjoyed En el Tiempo de las Mariposas, and it aroused my interest in the troubled political history of the Dominican Republic in a way that an academic work of non-fiction probably would not have.  The story of these women's bravery, their struggle for the liberation of their country and the principles of freedom is inspiring.

But the part of the book that has stuck with me most is the epilogue, the musings attributed to Dedé, the survivor, but maybe more representative of the opinions and feelings of Julia Alvarez, the author.  Dedé reflects on the 30 or so years since Trujillo's regime fell (he was assassinated just a few months after Las Mariposas were killed).  Since then, she says (and I paraphrase), Dominicans have been free to choose their own bad leaders.  The country has become a vacation hotspot for "gringos", and free trade zones, where poor Dominicans provide cheap labour to produce consumer goods for the global market, have proliferated.  Meanwhile the gaps between rich and poor in the D.R. continue to grow, and Dedé remarks in passing on the lavish and luxurious lifestyles enjoyed by some of her friends and family.  It is from her perspective as survivor that Dedé is able to see the aftermath of the resistance, to look back (and to try to look forward) on the path that her country is on, and to ponder, "Was this really what the struggle was about? Are these the freedoms that my sisters fought for, is this the liberation that they died for?" 

These are the sorts of questions that perhaps have resonance with many Caribbean people in these early years of the new millenium, now that the labour struggles of the 1930s and the bold moves towards independence from the 1960s have entered the abstract domain of "History".  As I look around my own country, I'm not quite sure what the answers are, but I am grateful to Ms. Alvarez for provoking me to think about it, for the questions are certainly worth asking.

Edited to add: El Bohio Dominicano is a wonderful "visual archive of the Dominican Republic", which includes a feature gallery on the Mirabal Sisters.

back to school

I spoke to my Mum, a teacher, over the weekend and she reminded me that it is back to school time at home. Call me a nerd but I used to love this time of year. Buying my new uniforms, shoes, school bag, exercise and text books, hair ribbons and pens and pencils were very exciting. I think the year that going back to school stands out the most in my memory was in 1979 when I entered the First Form at The St. Joseph's Convent in St. George's. I would be starting school with all my friends, and following in my aunts’ and older cousins’ footsteps.  

I remember that I couldn’t wait to also move up from Brownies to Girl Guides. I was so happy to be “big” and wearing my navy blue pleated skirt, and distinctive silver and navy striped tie. I was deathly scared though of having a certain teacher as my needlework and handwriting teacher because I had heard so many horrible stories about her from my cousins. And as I learnt I was right to be scared! To this day my handwriting sucks, probably because I was trembling too much during class! And I still can't embroider to save my life!

I was so excited to start learning Spanish, as well to have more than just one teacher! I remember bringing all my books to school with me the first day, like I used to at Primary school, because I didn’t realise that we wouldn’t be doing all the subjects everyday.

Ahhhh, those were the days. Even though I didn't finish my secondary schooling there, in my heart I will always be "a convent girl".

you're invited to the wedding

Saturday the 5th of August 2006 was the first time She asked for a commitment.  

Saturday 2nd of September 2006 will be the second time ... and not the last. 

role model

I do not know it goes elsewhere, but a favorite passtime in Aruba  of people over 50 is shaking their heads at various times and mutter: "Ai! E hubentud di awe'n dia".

(Oh! The youth of today.).

'Youth' referring to everybody under 35. You would think that it is not such a big age difference, and yet . . . These utterings cause a faint sense of irritation in me, sort of like trying to swat a fly that you will never ever kill anyway. I mean, yeah, some people who fall in the 35-or-younger category make some spectacularly bad decisions, but hey! Guess what? Some of us are actually productive members of society. Total shock, right?

I was reminded of this Sunday night, when I went to a concert of a former classmate of mine, Jonathan Vieira. He is at a fairly young age (24-ish) a gifted musician, and so the MC was extolling his virtues, accomplishment, etc. etc. etc. Of course she mentioned that he should be a role model for the youth of today.

Well, yeah, she's right, of course. Vieira can be considered a role model, but not because he plays the piano well. Okay, he plays the piano very well, but Lord knows that not everybody can be given that gift. Watching him entertain the crowd, telling anecdotes about writing a song for Queen Beatrix or an inquisitive girl with green eyes, he exuded such confidence that I have rarely seen in anybody at such an age or even ten years older than that.

And for that he should be a role model.

Image courtesy of Jonathan Vieira.com

Caribbean Singles

This past weekend, a group of guys I know decided to host a
weekend extravaganza for the large numbers of single, Caribbean
professionals living here and abroad. It was a launch for an online
dating service catering to these single professionals. So they
hosted a website and a weekend of parties, and invited people from other islands, and typical diasporic mainstays like NY, London, Miami etc.

The website if very interesting for many reasons. For one, the
variables of descriptors that you have at your disposal to describe
yourself are generic to say the least. They include: adventurous,
flirty, and funny. What do these mean anyway? And of those that
have used the match up system, I know one girl whose 10 matches
included 8 women, one man who looked like Santa Claus, and one
replica of her psychotic ex boyfriend. Another one listed her phone
number and received calls from creepy men in the middle of the
night.

However I did check out the website and it is typical. 70% of the
postings are women. Women who posted pictures of themselves in
bathing suits, with their body contorted to show of their best
sides. And as always, the men were few and far between, and most I
know have a main girlfriend already who they'll never leave.

Dating in Jamaica is hard. Believe me. I know. I have stories that
could be episodes of Sex and the City. There are so many more women
here than men. Dating anywhere is difficult. Last week I watched a
special Dateline on AIDS in African American communities and was
shocked and saddened by what I learnt. Everywhere there are more
black women than men, and when you add professionalism to the mix,
the statistics are even worse. So as a result, eligible black men
in the US and all over the world are capitalizing on their
disparity in number by maximizing their sexual partners. It is
simple supply in demand...and a dangerous game of Russion Roulette.

Though two nights of parties (the beach fete and the pajama party…
both parties that encouraged attire that would not inspire
commitment but more promiscuity and continued singledom in my
guesstimation) were successfully completed, the major party is
rescheduled for next weekend-post Ernesto. I’ll let you know how it
goes. Though I am realistically optimistic that I will NOT meet my
soul mate there.