Another week

It has been another average week in St. Kitts.  It started with a relaxing day on the beach that proved to be perhaps too relaxing, as I proceeded to fall asleep for over an hour.  Of course 30spf sunscreen only goes so far on skin as pasty as mine and I woke up red and sore and imprinted with a perfectly shaped white bow on my back where my bikini was tied.  Consequently, the remainder of the weekend was spent dowsing myself in skin cream in attempts to calm the burn.  Then on Sunday I ran out of cream. This being a highly religious country, all shops were closed so I did what any resourceful person would do: I used vegetable oil.  Surprisingly, it seemed to work quite well; the burn is now gone, although the bow still remains.    

In between vegetable oil treatments, I fought with my roommate: Mr.Lizard.  Mr.Lizard is in general a pretty good roomie: he is quiet, clean and contributes to the housekeeping by keeping the bug population down, but lately he has shown a lack respect for my personal space.  The shower was his territory each night, we agreed on that, but Sunday evening I found him coyly crawling across the wall in the hallway.  That was it.  It was time to kick the disrespectful reptile out and block him and change the locks (i.e plug the hole he climbs through).  I tried to shoo him out the high window in the shower, but he would never scamper higher than halfway up the wall before ungracefully retreating.  After about the 15^th attempt, I clued in.  A couple days earlier I had CLR’d the tiled shower.  You know, the powerful cleaning agent that removes calcium, lime and rust stains along with half your brain cells?  I think the chemicals hurt the poor guy’s little sticky feet!  Feeling horrible and worrying that I have now caused the poor lizard irreparable damage, I retrieved an empty jar from the kitchen to catch him and release him into the (relatively) chemically-free wild.  Of course, when I brought the jar down, I accidentally chopped off the last fifth of his tail.  Are all lizards capable of growing back their tails, or is it only a certain species?  I am going to go with all. 

So that was my weekend.  The work week was even less eventful, but did culminate in a fancy office lunch in honour of our boss who sadly had been recently laid-off due to budget cuts.  Last year, St. Kitts was forced to beg millions of dollars from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) to deal with the massive debts they incurred from a series of devastating hurricanes.  St.Kitts is currently the third most indebted country in the world and is forecasted to be among the economically slowest growing countries, if not THE slowest growing country, in the world for the next five or so years. 

The thing with IMF is that they have stringent stipulations to their low-interest loans that are intended to help the country in question to get back on track financially.  For this reason, these loans are known as Structural Adjustment Loans (SALs) and although well-intended, every International Studies scholar worth their salt will seriously contest their effectiveness.  In regards to St. Kitts, the IMF “encouraged” the government to instate a new 17% tax (applicable to pretty much everything) that will come into effect this Monday, November 1^st.  This of course means that the cost of living skyrockets in a nation that already has a poverty rate of over 30%.  Moreover, small business will be forced to close and larger business forced to downsize.  The government itself had to cut its civil servant force by one fifth.  My boss, a woman who dedicated 20 years to her position, was among the individuals laid off.  Her husband’s job is also in peril.  The timing could not be worse as she is struggling to pay medical bills for 3 months’ worth of cancer treatment in an American hospital.  It was a sad day in the office and I felt oddly intrusive and out of place as I had only known this woman for a short period of time – and was the only one who did not quote scripture in her farewell speech.       

As my fourth week of employment in St. Kitts comes to a close, I thought I'd give you a snapshot of what has become my daily routine....

Like most 9-5ers, my alarm jolts me awake and I reluctantly stumble my way to the shower.  The sauna that smacks me in the face when I open the door from my air-conditioned bedroom does not help in the waking process. However the awkward process of shooing out the little brown lizard who shelters in my shower overnight usually has me cursing and hopping to a degree sufficient enough to get the neurons firing.  Good thing too, because I sincerely doubt the caffeine content of the instant coffee I choke down post-shower.  I turn on the BBC World News as I get ready ‘cause, you know, there is nothing like world tragedy and economic collapse to start your day off right.    

I leave my house around 8am and pick my way through the turds of the 34 sheep that populate the property I live on.  Did you know that sheep shit on an almost constant basis?  Little pellets, that look like coffee beans.  Unfortunately the aroma is not quite as pleasing. I am worried if I have to settle for instant coffee much longer, I may get desperate and start roasting the sheep turds.  

Outside the gate, I wait by the road for a bus to take me into town.  St.Kitts is a small, mountainous island with the vast majority of people living along the coast, which is serviced by one ring road.  Large privately-owned vans are registered to operate as the country’s buses.  There are no bus stops, per se, so you simply stand by the road and flag them down.  They are formally identified by their license plates which begin with an “H,” (taxis’ plates begin with a “T” and private vehicles with a “P”).  The bus/van’s elaborate decals are however a much faster way to identify them in the distance. 

For some unknown reason, these vans are all decorated with a brightly painted or decaled tag line, name or quote.  These decorations can tell you a lot about the type of environment you are about to enter.   As they come speeding around the corner to where I wait on the side of the road, I cross my fingers for the vans decaled in red, gold and green with names such as “Reefer Gold,” “Jah Live” or “One Love”.  If I am lucky, “ Zion Lion” will come to a stop in front of me and I will clamber in behind a dread-locked rasta and will have reggae, soca or dancehall to listen to on the fifteen minute drive to work.   If I am unlucky, “God walks among us” or “Lord is Merciful” will pull up alongside me and I will reluctantly climb in and endure Christian gospel all the way to work.  This wouldn’t be so bad except that the radio at work is set, at all times, to a local Christian station.  The soundtrack of my day includes country gospel, Caribbean gospel, tranquil gospel, old-time gospel, sermons and many exclamations of “Praise be to Jesus!”   

The first 30 minutes of my work day consists of attempting to locate the elusive mosquito that has inevitably hidden under my desk overnight (I think he and the shower lizard must be in cohots).  After his death - or escape-, I spend the next 40 minutes scratching the bites left by said elusive mosquito.  Around this time the guy selling his nuts comes in and all the ladies in the office scramble for their wallets and get in line. 
....Peanuts.  I am referring to the guy who visits offices and sells peanuts he roasts.     

In between checking my email – and eating peanuts - I work on the reports I am researching and writing.  Around 10:30 I break for coffee.  Instant of course. Blech.  With evaporated milk.  Double blech.  What I wouldn’t do for a Starbucks.  Hell, at this point I would happily even settle for Tim Hortons.     

At 1pm I usually take lunch.  At this point I have been hungry for the past hour, but have been waiting till the office’s domestic worker has finished her lunch in the kitchen.  This is of absolutely no insult to her personality: she seems like a lovely lady.  The thing is, her accent is so thick I can’t understand a word coming out of her mouth.  And there is only so many times you can say “pardon” and an even more limited amount of times you can just smile, nod and say “Mmm-hmmm”  to what you think was a question. 

Other than the two daily trips into the kitchen, I rarely leave my desk until the day is done.  I leave work around 4:30 and it seems that as often as not, I have to stop by the grocery store.  Given the isolated location of my house and work, I am forced to cook – an activity which I hate and was easily avoidable when I lived downtown Toronto. 

There is a surprisingly limited quantity and selection of vegetables and fruits for the stores of a tropical island.  It is disappointing, but by far the worst is the meat aisle.  In some stores, the smell of rotting literally induces the desire to vomit.  And the smell of my vomit would likely be more pleasant.  If the smell is manageable I will traverse the aisles only to be disgusted by the rows of bloody headed fish, pig tails, pig feet, pig knuckles and pig snouts. 

Perhaps not surprisingly, I have largely become a vegetarian here.  One store does have a deli counter, but it took me 25 minutes the other day to get some sliced turkey – and I was the only person in line.  

When I get home, I change into casual clothes and running shoes and head down to my little secluded piece of rocky coastline to enjoy the sunset.  However, my serene little piece of private coastline has become a little less appealing as of late.  On the weekend I noticed beer cans and remnants of a small campfire and yesterday, as I was climbing among the rocks, I got to a section that was a bit more precarious and put my hand out to steady myself on the rock beside me and noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that the rock was glistening and seemed to be a remarkable red marbled colour.  I looked over to discover it was not in fact a rock, it was skin.  That’s right skin, as in hides.  Someone had draped 5 animal skins over the large rocks to dry in the sun.  And by the glimmer of fat and amount of flies, they had done so recently.  Seems like my pleasant, secret beach is not so secret nor so pleasant.  

The evening is sadly dull.  I have yet to find people my own age to hang around with there is nothing to do after dark.  So, I reluctantly cook dinner (stirfry or pasta – these are the limits of my cooking capabilities) and then spend the evening reading and watching T.V.  

It’s not an exciting life, but it is what is for now.  You never know what is around the corner....     

You and your filthy minds!

A little blog administration work to be done today.   

A few of you have expressed alarm at the choice of wording used in my title, but to all you gutter-brains, titillation means pleasurable excitement and although this can refer to 'physically' excitement, it is not the sole meaning of the word!  However, the reactions from a few of my friends made me realize that one of these days my boyfriend will actually have access to internet and may also become a little concerned about what kind of blog i am keeping and what I am getting up to in St.Kitts!   So I now introduce to you my blog: “The Trials and Trip-ulations of 6 months in St.Kitts”

With the storm now gone, life is getting back to normal around St. Kitts.  There is a bit of repairs to be done due to flooding, minor landslides and some leaks, but nothing too major.  It isn’t even really a conversation piece around here.  The major news that occurred over the weekend was the 4 young men who were killed instantly in a single vehicle car crash on the main road.  Apparently there was decapitation and missing body parts.  Horrible, but I can’t say it’s surprising considering the speed at which people here drive on the narrow, twisty roads and the fact that no one wears seat belts.   

What is more shocking to me is that there were two shootings on the weekend and they barely received any news coverage.  This is a country of only 40, 000 people, where the headlining piece of last night’s news was the name change of a local high school, you would think two shootings would cause at list a little stir.  But, in doing research, I discovered that the Caribbean region has the highest rate of armed violence, murder and homicide in the world.  Of course this is largely thanks to Jamaica’s ridiculous statistics, but St. Kitts contributes with 40 murders per 100, 000 people.  In comparison, Canada has 1.7.  Last year there was something like 25 people murdered.  Imagine a Canadian town of 40, 000 people...now imagine 25 of them being murdered.  That is simply crazy.  Most of it is gang related and all of it is blamed on America’s “bling” culture and a lack of religion in young people.  They have actually reinstated death by hanging as a deterrent. 

On a positive note, I discovered a secret path down to the coastline near my house!  It’s a rocky coastline without any potential swimming area, but at least it’s a place I can go to take a walk and watch the sunset.  I did voyage out to a couple beaches this past weekend and they were beautiful.  One is lined with laid-back beach bars and is known, appropriately, as “The Strip”.  It must be insane during the high season!  I will be sure to let you know ;) 

The Unexpected Results of Showers and Supermarkets

So, moving to the Caribbean in the midst of hurricane season, probably not the best idea.   For the past 4 days it has barely stopped raining.   No, not raining – pouring!  Part of the main road was washed out and there were some minor landslides and flooding.  A pretty mild storm according to the locals, but tap water turned brown and power was down for large periods of time.  Luckily where I am living there is a large generator.  Unluckily it was positioned directly outside my bedroom window.  So sleep hasn’t come too easily these past few nights.  I did however discover a sure fire way to wake up in the morning: electric shock. 

 I was standing in the shower yesterday morning, ironically contemplating this strange British-influenced concept of electrically-heated showers,  when: ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!  Yup – zapped!  Hard.  The worst part was that my entire body spasmed from the shock and aggravated my bad back.   Other than being shook up (literally!) and the back issue, I was okay.  The current must have entered and/or exited my index finger as that did feel a little strange for the next few hours.  I kept on looking down at it expecting to see a burn mark or a glowing fingertip.  (Was kind of hoping for the glowing fingertip so I could go around saying it my best alien voice: “E.T  goooo hooome”).  An electrician came by to check it out, but everything seemed to be in order.  Guess I must just have an electric personality!  (you have my permission to groan at that one).

Given the weather, I haven’t been up to much.  I was putting off grocery shopping but when I got down to a single can of beans in the cupboard and a jar of mayo in the fridge, I braved the weather and headed out.  So far I had only been going to the grocery stores in town, which were crowded and smelled like rotting.  I was tipped off on a bigger, nicer grocery store between my work and home and so decided to try it out.  And what an important discovery it was!  First of all, it carried Canadian Club!  At $20 for 1 litre – happy days!  Second,  it was frequented by young people!  Turns out it is the closest supermarket to Ross University – the medical and veterinary school attended by masses of Canadians and Americans.  As I was picking out tomatoes, I also picked out some friendly targets. 

I approached two girls seemingly close to my age and asked where the hell all of them were hiding!  The answer was what I expected – the strip of bars out at the beach.  Unfortunate as this is not easily accessible for me, especially after sundown.   We chatted for a bit.  They were empathetic to my not having a car (they did and couldn’t imagine life here without it) and being on my own and so gave me their numbers in case I “needed anything”  Uh, yeah!! I need friends!   I now feel like a young girl with a crush: should I call them? Maybe I should just text them?  Should I wait a few days?  Will they think I am too desperate? Or clingy?  Maybe they were just being polite giving me their numbers...  I don’t want to become “that Strange Supermaket Girl”.   So, like every young girl with an unrequited crush I went home and ate a tub of ice cream.  

Observations

Difficult things to do in St.Kitts #1 – buy a brush.  Apparently they are not in too high of demand in a country that is 99% black. 

Unexplained Kittian thing #1 – Evaporated milk.  They love it.  I don’t know why.  They all have working fridges with very few power outages.  Yet, they all buy evaporated milk.  In fact, when they say “milk” they mean tinned, evaporated milk.

Unexplained Kittian thing #2 – Bibles in cars.  I understand bibles in hotel drawers – it’s by the bed, perfect time for reading!  But cars? 

Cute Kittian thing #1 – soca covers:  Heard today:  soca cover of Jay-z’s version of “Forever young” and a soca cover of "Bedrock"

Frustrating Kittian thing #1 – rows full of coffee beans in the grocery store but there is NO WHERE to buy any sort of coffee maker!  It is killing me. 

Unexplained Kittian thing #3 – there is no “evening”.  People say “good morning” in the morning and they say “good night” late at night, but every other hour is “good afternoon” .  when I am leaving work at 5pm?  “have a good afternoon!”.  Or when they sun is setting at 6:30pm, “why, it is such a pleasant afternoon”.     

First post: Why I'm spending my time on a tropical island blogging!

Upon reading the first of my mass emails regarding my 6-9 month long stint living in St.Kitts, my friend, a self-denying blogaholic, urged me to start a blog about my experiences.  I realize this is less likely a compliment of my witty and astute observations and more likely a pursuit for validation for her blog-reading addiction;  It doesn’t count if it’s a blog of a friend of yours. Then you are obliged to read it.  (Just like when I maintain: it doesn’t count when I drink copious amounts of Absolute Vodka, my friend is a salesman for the distributor, I’m obliged to drink it...!)

Now, I must admit, I don’t think I have actually ever read a blog.  I  also have never read a ‘tweet” or even visited this “Twitter” site.  While I’m at it: my cell phone still has an antennae.  That’s held on with masking tape.  And my laptop requires an external keyboard. Yup, a good ol’ desktop style keyboard, which rests clumsily on top of the laptop’s own dysfunctional keypad.  (I have been the recipient of many a strange looks in the coffee shop when i pull out my “portable” computer to make use of the free Wi-Fi.  Should have seen their faces when I then pull out my cell phone.) 

So given my apathy to blogging and modern communication devices, why, you ask, have I decided to concede and facilitate my friend’s blog addiction?  Well, to put it simply, I am a little bored.  That’s right, I have moved to a tropical island in the Caribbean for 9-months, and two weeks in, I am bored.  

I know, I know, I know.  It sounds ridiculous.  And I swear, I am not usually this type of person!  Hell, I am the girl who picked up and moved to Ireland for a year on a whim.  I have traveled Europe alone,  lived in Australia for another year, spent 7 months roughing it in Africa...and I loved it all.  I’m adventurous, I love change!  But that’s the thing, St.Kitts isn’t enough change to be thrilling, and yet it is too much change to be comfortable.  There is KFC, Dominos and Subway; Scotiabank and RBC; and President’s Choice products in the supermarket (“only at Loblaw” my ass, Galen Weston!).  And  Kittians ( pronounced Key-shins, I thought it was Kitty-ins, which I kinda prefer..), Kittians are much like Canadians.  But small town Canadians....from the 1950s.  They are ridiculously polite, moral, community-minded, stupendously hospitable, uphold their values and actually attend church.  I don’t know how to operate in this society -  I’m a Torontonian! 

I feel like Reese Witherspoon in Pleasantville.  I’m afraid to open my mouth here; I was a waitress for 8 years, I have a mouth like a trucker.  And my sarcasm, snide observations and quirky remarks don't go over so well in a place where people guffaw at knock-knock jokes. 

 

The main problem is, I don’t know how to meet people my age without joining a church group.  I haven’t seen any bars in town and there is no community centre or intramural teams to join.  I knew that creating a social network would be the biggest challenge with settling in here, but I figured I could compensate for it with evening walks along the ocean, or days at the beach.  It is a tropical island after all.  But here’s the kicker, although it is a beautiful small island, the coast where I live is all cliffs which are bordered by a narrow, windy road much too dangerous to walk along.  And the beaches?  They are not walking distance, nor are there buses to them, they are an expensive taxi-ride away.  There is not even any accessible grassy region nearby which I can take a blanket and book to.  At least in Pleasantville there was a lagoon.

So, this blog is to provide me – if not you – with some entertainment while I try to navigate in this culturally different (but not different enough!) country.