river lime

It's a national pasttime.  On a weekend or a public holiday, shed the constrictions of a hectic work week, forget your high heel shoes and abandon city life.  Pack your car and head for the mountains.  The Northern Range of the island is criss-crossed by clear rivers and some astonishing waterfalls.

The river lime is an important thing to Trinis, particularly in the East and particularly to the Indian population.  It's not uncommon to see a river lime in progress, a pot of curried duck bubbling on a tradition three stone wood fire and lots of rum flowing.  When the combined heat of pepper, the fire under the pot and the fire in the rum get to the limers, they head for the water.  It hits your skin with a startling coolness that refreshes and cleanses and rejuvenates.

We didn't do a typical river lime this Saturday. My sister friend and her family who know these hills as well as their Carib ancestors. 

We left Arima in the early afternoon, climbing through the mountains into a cloud of mist that transforms the ridge into some surreal landscape, full of the sounds of unseen birds and the rustling of ferns.  We got to the river and began to walk upstream in search of the water fall.

Rivers here are well-revered by practitioners of traditional religions.  It's not uncommon to turn up at a river bank and witness a spectacular and moving ceremony of Baptist, Orisa, Hindu devotees paying obeisance to river spirits, which are usually feminine.

It makes sense, I think as I traverse the Marianne River.  The nature of this river as it cuts a path through the mountains is round and sensuous. Tempestuous in parts, deep green pools in others. Curves and secret hiding places.  Soothing the city chlorine out of my skin, I am pleasantly surprised at how the water softens me.

We walk along a path cut and maintained by a shaman.  And I feel like I'm walking through history.  This place remains fairly untouched by the hands of industrialisation and the noise of too many irreverent river limers.

We hear the waterfall long before we can see it. It is an insistent roar, spitting spray when we finally get around the corner and face its majesty. We go for a closer look and I shed my clothes and head for the deep green pool that receives the full brunt of the water fall.  It's cold here, colder than downriver.  We dance about, not daring experience the fullness of the water.  The wind begins to blow, whipping up the water and making the roar even louder in my ears. I feel I need to sing a song for Osun, Lady of the Rivers, of fertility and grace and love. Just to say thanks for being so beautiful.  The sun comes out and my heart sings.  We head back at sunset.  It's still raining at the top of the mountain.  We drive through a thick bank of clouds, awed again by how much more vibrant the forest greens look in the twilight.  Night falls and fireflies come out to light our way.

Comments

[Aisha]

Attillah,
Your words made me feel as though I was there.
My husband and I will have to find our way to the falls.
Aisha

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