I am not a city person and I hope that Anguilla’s town planners find a way to preserve the agricultural lands in the Valley that contribute so richly to the unique blurring of the urban and the rural that makes Anguilla special. However, right now I am in the Big Apple, well not in the heart of it, but being reminded of a few things that I enjoy during such visits. I have a childhood fascination for the trains and still marvel at the engineering feat of the subway.

Yesterday I bought a poem for a dollar from a young woman who entered our car to give an impromptu performance of her poetry and a motivational talk to those who would listen. Only in New York, I thought as I disembarked to spend another dollar with the street musicians. Nevertheless, as I watch those motionless beings engrossed in their readings, cut off from the world with ear phones or maybe sharing cell phone conversations I did not particularly want to hear, I am reminded of why I love my Caribbean islands and why I think that when I repatriate to the Motherland, I will be living in a rural environment.

What I am thoroughly enjoying, is getting to know my new granddaughter Kaia and matching wits with (well, really being outmatched by) my grandson Kidane whose mission seems to be to teach his “Grandy” everything he knows. Family is a big part of the NY agenda so I relished a visit last Saturday with some of the elders on my mother’s side of the family and in the company of my daughter and one of my favourite cousins on my father’s side of the family, got hopelessly lost in the Bronx before finding the three relatives in question. One of them is my mother’s godmother and my mother will be 82 in August so you can imagine the sense of privilege I feel when in the presence of those who have made it way past their allotted threescore and ten to be in the realms of “ninety-plenty”. Thanks Cousin Verna for that wonderful contribution to my Anguillian vocabulary.

I am not a television person either, preferring the dynamism and far reach of radio any day so you can well imagine that I am now more caught up with the US Presidential campaign than ever. I am still amazed at the media establishment in their ability to spin upon spin to create and not just report news and I no longer know the meaning of objective journalism. They don’t either. I am also amazed that only once since the Reverend Wright furore did anyone of the radio and television pundits mention the Jena six and the nooses hung, not in 1967 but in 2007. So while I am still not unequivocal in my support for Barak Obama, given the media renditions over the past few weeks, I really wish I could go out and campaign for him. I was therefore quite disappointed to learn that my best sisterfriend in the US had voted for Hilary Clinton. The conversation went something like this.

“Why?” I asked in distress.
“I know her,” was her reply.
Knowing that my friend does not like politics the way I do, I countered.
“You only know her because you know Bill Clinton.”
“But who is Barak Obama?” She asked. “Where he come from and what took him so long to get here?”
You did, I wanted to tell her but I wanted to listen more.
“No matter who becomes President, the white man will always rule America,” she continued, making me wonder how Obama could ever have thought that race would not become a primary issue of his campaign. Somehow I thought of Maggie Thatcher and our very own, the late Dame Eugenia Charles – women of both races, women of the same ilk, whose rule during the age of structural adjustment brought policies that were most injurious to women and the poor. I too recognized that prevailing economic forces transcended race but I could not yet let her go.

“So what about those generations of Africans whose blood, sweat and tears built this country?”
“Not Obama own,” she replied, completely unmoved by the unintended distress I could hear in my own voice.

Since the word ‘typical’ has become topical in the media campaign, I wondered if hers was the typical stance of the Black immigrant population in NY and realized that my friend does indeed fit the media-proffered profile of Clinton voters. At that point it hit me that I hadn’t even asked her about her family and especially about the daughter who had paid her dues in Iraq and is now serving in Korea. I held my tongue remembering that it was unwise to argue about religion and politics and felt like a better person.

Another person who made my day was the young man from Guyana who once worked at JW Proctors and who was an avid reader of this column. He always let me know how much he enjoyed Heartically Yours and I know he was not just being polite as he always had a comment on what I had written and sometimes engaged me in debate. He is now some part of the security system at JFK and I did not recognize him as he let me through his gate. He reminded me of who he was and not for the first time I recognized Anguilla as a land of opportunity.
Apparently I still look like a terrorist though as my newest airport security experience is that I was asked to pat down my own head, then had my hands swabbed with the little piece of wet fabric that is used to test for explosives. How interesting.

Thankfully, I’m just passing through.

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