All those don’t care public servants who find ways of letting you know they don’t care, all those Anguillians who still think that we do not have to be serious about this Caribbean integration thing, the various people who contributed to my frustration by not returning calls or meeting deadlines and basically everybody and their mother got it that day. The only thing I didn’t use was bad words because I really do not like obscenity. I even cussed a few men in advance and hoped that generally speaking they would conduct themselves a little better in the session of the House that was scheduled for the next day. Even the Mighty Springer, a young man whom I taught and love, got his share. Even though he wasn’t my king either, I admire the fact that his calypso sound is always different. I think of him as Anguilla’s David Rudder and was pleased to see that on the night of the finals he had not forgotten the contributions of Ras Bucket. Now he’s letting me down because he is failing to understand that this issue is not just between him and the Calypso sub-Committee. What about us fans who are going to be deprived of his music? Sorry Springer but in this life sometimes you just have to swallow spittle and say you’re sorry for the greater good and sometimes after you say it, you even feel it too. Don’t feel no way Springer. I even cussed myself that day for working too hard throughout the famous vacation that has now ended and then I realised that it wasn’t even anger so much as exhaustion that had me so vex. At least I preferred to think of it as tiredness because if anyone that day had even dared to suggest that my irritability had anything to do with age and abstinence, the dust of my ancestors would have shifted in their graves at the way I would have carried on.
Anyway, I was getting ready to travel on Wednesday so as soon as I got home I switched on the TV to see if I could find the weather channel, even cussing whoever it was that switched it from Channel 30, the one channel I used to know. Guess what? I was just in time to see Kim Collins at the starting block of the World Championships 100 metre final. What I saw was one flurry of energy in motion and then the adrenaline rush that all Kittitians (and Nevisians too I hope) must have felt when he won yet another gold/goal for his country. Actually my rush was delayed because even though my eyes were on my man, the whole thing happened so fast that I had to wait for the replay before being swept up in the tide. I forgot that I was tired, sleepy, hungry and perimenopausal. I could have hugged and kissed all the people I had just finished cussing. I know this is going to upset Dr. Banks and a few other good, intelligent people but in that moment I forgot that I was a born Anguillian because right then, the proud Kittitian had taken over. I called my friend Anita in the euphoria of the moment and babbled some nonsense at her before hanging up to watch some more and to hear what King Kim would say during the customary interview.
I’m not sure what Kim was doing but the Trinidadian reporter with her mike could not find him immediately so there she was, interviewing the young man from Trinidad who came second and had the annoying thought that if anyone had missed the race and had just tuned in, they would have thought that he had won the race. What I also noticed was that that his coming second in the race, made her no less proud and the emphasis was on the fact that he had done his best for his country. He was also quite young and that made me think with pride of the achievements of our young scholars here in Anguilla. Just then, one of the announcers – I believe it was Reds Pereira, formerly of the OECS Sports Desk, who commented on how the whole of St. Kitts must have been celebrating at that time – and they were. He then went on to say how significant Kim’s performance was and more so because St. Kitts had not yet got a player on the West Indies Cricket Team. Right away the proud Kittitian had to take a side step to let the born Anguillian forget all her misery and say YES! with her fist in the air. I hate it when I catch myself being caught up in this my island is better than your island thing. It is thinking that may come naturally but is just not compatible with the theme, goal, and quest, for Caribbean integration.
There is one other Caribbean man who made me think about how absolutely wonderful they can be even in spite of major failings and this is a bus driver in Jamaica whose name I may never know. The story is (boy oh boy, it was another one of those brain draining days) that on Friday 25th July after a long, yet not long enough Rastafari gathering, I decided to go take in a night of Reggae Sumfest. I know you all know reggae music but a reggae show of that calibre in Jamaica provides an experience that can be had nowhere else and the show certainly did not disappoint. However, I got off the bus in Montego Bay and forgot to take my overnight bag from the luggage compartment at the back. So there I was in my grungy clothes of the day, wondering if I would ever see my bag or the contents again, but soaking in the rich cultural vibes of the show. I tried not to think of my new little radio, the dress I had worn only once before and my favourite nightie that were among the contents. My head told me I probably would not get it back but my gut was saying something different. You all know about women’s guts? It’s called intuition and it is never wrong so when I received a call last week to tell me that my bag had been returned to my hosts almost five weeks later, with everything intact, I just had to give thanks and praises to the Most High for that honest Jamaican man and by extension for de Caribbean Man.

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