The Trident Nation

As sure as eggs we no more roam

Like strangers on the land

For with pride we have covered our nudity

Laid bare by the esoteric doings

Of the white plantocracy

That made darkies till the land

While ignoring the cries of Payne

The Trini they did not understand

So pandemonium in 1937.

Broke out on the island.

The barking yell

Of the whites is now history

So the story goes

That the red, white and blue band

That tied the union with jack

Has been broken

By Dipper

And because of that

The colonial drums and the scepter sway

Have left this beautiful land

On the thirtieth of November

Nineteen sixty-six.

The imperialist footprints

Are nowhere on our sands.

As a trident nation

Barbadians are free

And so very proud are we

Of forty-six years of history.

Independence has give us back the dignity

Of a sound mind and state

With all kinds of food on the table

To celebrate in heroic style

The bitter with the sweet

As we jam on the highway

Together.

So as a sovereign nation on its own

We are blessed with children

Of every race and tone

A kaleidoscope of colour

Human capital blooming brightly

United under the Trident Flag

Flying so high with all its might.

One love, one nation

For its sons and daughters all

Such pride for our country

Is no wanton boast.

We are a young developing nation

And so in the process we worship God

And in Him we put our trust

For it is the sure way to success.

Now on this national day

Of Independence

We must reflect on the past

Then look ahead with confidence.

So like the proven skills and dexterity

Of Sir Gary Sobers

We as a nation can

Bat and bowl on any wicket.

©Paterika Hengreaves

The View (Prose Poem)

As I sit here at the window viewing rolling hills and fallow, yesteryear memories are back on a fast forward spinning track now that the ground is very wet. Deserted fields now catch the eyes and there are no signs of edible supplies. It has been raining days on in a row. Heavenly fireworks are on show. The clattering sound, flashing neon lights and pilots are afraid of the sky so planes do not start the flight. 

The rains are but gone now, the sky is clear and animate and blooms are everywhere. The dragonflies are in the air.



Such an awful name they must bear and I will not call them that in here for they must know that I do care. Oh! How they do soar in the sun with flair. One minute their heads are up in the cloud and then down with their outstretched wings so translucently clear.  Their gaping mouths are share delight. They stalk their prey and swallow them in the bright light. Now I say predators are on the loose. Mosquitoes and gnats are in the noose. They fly so freely high above in search of those mates to love. Rest they must on that blade of grass mindful of children as they pass.  They stand on their head, what a laugh, their tails so straight like some giraffe. They conjugate in the groove and notch. Their mating wheel is there to watch. Audible impact is the lust. Dragonflies you tease and you fuss zooming close to my callaloo. Then you must be the tantaboo.

©Paterika Hengreaves

The New Curriculum

Change is here, there and everywhere. Most people don't like change and this is 'raising cain', the rebel in us all. Oh! Give me a break. So we make a pause, reflect and then make the change. In the generic vein, men pause before the change. When the pendulum on the academic clock swings from one ideology to the next, a change has occurred, the paradigm shift. Concept-based teaching in the classroom they want to see because too many nonessential facts are on the plate, causing kids to suffer from regurgitation ache with the brain foaming and not roaming as it should, inquiringly to construct and construe creatively. The molecules of chalk-dusk and spit balls flying about not good for the eyeballs for they maim with pain. A diet of Edutech cookies woud constrain those salivate balls. Yea, we would have constructed a student-friendly commune where constructivism as they call it, would flourish with equal opportunities for all. Multi-tasking teachers, they all would be, facilitating the learning process for all to see. Socializing the kids in groups of four or more, aircraft seatng in the classroom, not anymore. Exchanging, consulting and verifying of ideas are on the upward swing, which would increase the collaborative score. Censorship of intellectual thought, not again. Mind you this was never the case before. Testing, you must, but the mess in the process, we must address. Portfolio assessment and observation checklist, we implore. One-shot examining and stuffing must go through the eddo.

© Paterika Hengreaves


Notes

eddo: It is also referred to as the taro or dasheen. In Barbados this tropical plant is called the eddo. It is grown primarily as a vegetable food for its edible corm (root vegetable). Secondarily as a leaf vegetable. The leaves of this plant look like elephant ears.

'raising cain': Adam is the first man in the old Judeo-Christian Bible and he raised two sons, Cain and Abel from his wife, Eve. Cain was jealous of his brother Abel and he killed him according to Genesis Chapter 4: Verses 1 to 8. Read the entire Chapter for the full account.

These two brothers fought often (sibling rivalry) and as such, their relationship was filled with trouble. Hence, the expression: raising cain (meaning to cause trouble and disturb others.)

Sugarcane

Look, see those people in the fields standing with feet in so much trash. No doubt, they are thinking about the weekend cash as they do the sugarcane dance. They top each blade of grass with a lance. They are as busy as the bees. On the island they work for Arthur and me. Who are those people in the fields? They are the sugar-workers, and oh how they please as they swing and hurl their hands in the breeze and kiss the grasses with bended knees. Their voices are loud, but their throats are not hoarse. They sing too sweetly, but their hands might be coarse. What are the words to the tunes they sing? Do you know the lyrics to what they say? Are they singing calypso songs about Harding, and Carlisle Bay? But I say to you, that yearly they dance in every crop-over band, which brings foreign capital flowing to this our beautiful land.

© Paterika Hengreaves

The Tribal Beat of Distant Drums

The smiles
Of the sun
On the island
Is awesome
On the silvery sands
Beneath our feet on beaches
We like to roam

Westward ho

The chain of island gems
Set in the Atlantic Ocean
And in the blue Caribbean Sea

Barbados is one of them

My homeland I love

The Bussa statute reminds me
That we are free
At last, to find our destiny

But now and then we do hear
The beating of African drums
Distant drums, ancestral drums
Enticing us, the forsaken ones

To come

Home

To mother

Africa

You tell us to come home

But how can we

To a foreign land
Its language

And culture

We don’t readily
Understand

Our journeys amid
The trade winds
Centuries ago
In the prime
Of our lives
Stripped us
Of our usual behavior
Our roots
And self-respect

You sent us far,

Far, far away

Across the sea
Into bondage
And slavery

We with broken spirits
Sailed away

In ships commandeered
By pirates and buccaneers
For a life we knew not
What to expect
But loneliness
And uncertainty

This tribal beat
Of distant drums
Do tell us what it means

So we toiled day and night
In fields so sweet
The sap we turned into sugar
The economic base
For the privileged class

With our bare feet
And tortured fingers
Amid the prickly trash
And heat

This tribal beat

Of distant drums

Do tell us what it means

Those cotton-picking fields
And the steep hills
We climbed
With crocus sacks

And burlap bags
Upon our backs

The wrinkled brows
Bore not a frown
For fear of shouts
And blows

The sweat rolled down
Crystals of salt
Like threaded beads
Around the neck
Became the irritants
For opened cuts
And bruises

We endured
Such brutal acts
From men
With hearts
Almost like stone

Much work
And homage
We slavishly gave
In exchange
For a place
To rest our weary heads

Our journals full
Of pain and gore
Made us wished silently
For a miracle and a cure

We are now, proud people
With children of many colours
Like the rainbow in sky
The eternal sign
Of the promised hope
For all mankind
That is tall and free

In a new land

An independent land

Of Barbados

And the blessed West Indies

Yes, we do hear those drums
The ancestral drums

Of Africa

But please drum for us
In a language
We can understand
Like the steel pan
The calypso rhythm
And the soca beat

Come, come, and visit us

You must

Dear Africa

For our friendly hugs

We give to you.

© Paterika Hengreaves

Composed February 2006 in Ohio, USA

This poem points to the time when people from Africa were forced into slavery in America and the islands of the Caribbean (West Indies). After slavery was abolished in 1834 the black population of Barbados took advantage of the superb education available and weaned themselves away from the sugar plantations the symbol of their oppression. The much progress made in the era of emancipation caused a statue to be erected in Barbados at the round-about at Haggatts Hall in 1985 to mark the 150th Anniversary of the abolition of slavery in Barbados. The statue is that of a slave with hands outstretched symbolizing the breaking of the chains of slavery and the head of the statue is thrown back as though in proud victory. the statue is is known as the "Bussa Statue" but most Barbadians prefer to call it "The Emancipation Statue" because it goes beyond the physical act of slavery and includes the freeing of the mind from institutionalized slavery.

In recent time, there has been this call by some Barbadians to return to Africa (The Back To Africa Movement). However, the love of their new found land and by the majority of Barbadians is much too strong. They opined that the dilemma of having lost their true African identity by way of culture, language and customs any type of repatriation could prove unbearable and could easily be turned into yet another form of slavery. As a matter of fact, this dichotomous situation is artfully celebrated in the poem, "The Tribal Beat of Distant Drums".