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One of the best things about traveling or living abroad is the first hand look at seeing how people really live. Walking through Le Ville Du Gosier in Guadeloupe French West Indies on a heated evening, I make my way home under the canvas of a sky painted orange and blue. My senses absorb a culture and it's people as they emerge for their evening rituals. The sensuality of various foods and mystical spices flow through the air while Creole voices speak of the who's who and what's what of the day. When I peek through the double barn like doors had by many of the homes, I capture the details and see a people at it's most relaxed; watching TV, having supper, or sipping rhum. The denizens look at me curiously as my swagger stands apart from theirs. One who I met by a fisherman post recognized me by the old Panamanian cut hat I often wear and spoke calling "Amerique." "Ti Mal (my man in Creole)," I replied regonizing his face and therefore placing my hand on my heart as a sign of respect and regonition. Anyway, as I walk through this town I embrace its milieu, living on the outside in unfamiliar territory trying to make it familiar. Saying bonsoir and ca va to the locals in an effort to make me and my counterparts feel comfortable despite my armor. As I get closer to home and in the thick of things I get to see the roots of Kaz Creole (creole style housing) and island architecture. One thing that is standard here is the absence of screens in the windows. I was initially perplexed by this practice as it could help with the myriad of critters that seek to cohabitate your home, but I came to understand that in the islands you live outside in, where homes open up to maximize air circulation and when necessary, close easily to reduce direct sunlight. The facade of more traditional homes often have a sequence of doors that serve to open up the house; where more contemporary homes are just about completey open in the rear secured with garage like doors and louvers in the windows. Tin roof tops cap the houses decorating the peaks and valleys with an array of colors usually in red, green, blue or what used to be one of these colors. Rain showers that fall upon these rooftops are melodious, but are acoustically violent during torrential storms. Then there's the beautiful ensemble of trees I pass spread across the landscape such as banana, lime, mango, and avacado; some of which you get to see give birth when observed at the right time. I smile at these natural masterpieces as it is auspicious to be amid these living things not encountered in big city life.
Making my way closer to home I walk through a more contemporary apartment complex. As I pass through the this community, the bite of a mother's sharp Creole accent shouting at her children makes me feel like I'm being scolded. The children playing look at me, the stranger, passing by. I say, "Bonsoir les enfant." They reply, "Bonsoir Monsieur." Seldom do you pass a person without a greeting as this for the most part is customary. Getting closer to home with the sun slowly leaving the stage to stand behind the curtain of night, I gaze upon the hills while walking past a few homes that look like they were straight thrown together, and for the most part after closer examinatioin they were. Then there are the homes with unfinished additions; a second floor in most cases, where the walls/frame go up for months if not years and stay that way whenever the owner is able to finish. Further inquiry about this display shed light that it was a matter of simple economics; meaning no money to finish the job combined with some bureaucracy. Despite set-backs and in other cases inefficiency, a common mantra for many laborious task is, "it gets done." This is seeminly contradictory to the undertaking of the sixty day home; houses that are supposed to be completed in sixty days. They are Creole inspired in design and come in various sizes all made of wood that appear cherry stained. The actual structure is up in sixty days if not less as no time is wasted clearing the land and getting down to business, however the interior to my knowledge is left up to you. One that was started in January built behind my dwelling was pretty much finished in March by all appearances, but just a few days ago they were just wiring the electricity which strangely runs through a tube on the ground, up the side of my building, across the rooftop and connected to the our circuit box. There's a certain humor to this and despite the math you have to remember, "it gets done." There are also splendid homes of mid-century design with to-die-for views resting upon hillsides and bluffs that stop you in your tracks so you can take time to nourish your imagination. One scar to this scenary however, are some homes destroyed by Hurricane Hugo 22 years ago and left as skelotons symbolizing natures force.
As a foreigner I can see there is so much potential here, so much room for creativity. Not that creativity is dearth, because lets face it to be in a enviroment where you can get some wood and tin and open a bar is pretty cool, but with the right investment and vision, there's a greater oppurtunity to develope what already exist; taking things to another level beyond limitation where it's realized beauty is worth the effort.
When I get to my front door, I stop to take in the lush green thicket. The goats gather under a tree to settle in for the night and Zouk music is heard blarring from a neighbors house while small frogs (grenouille) gear up for the nights concerto. I open the up the doors of the facade to let in the nights air. The back windows and wooden panels that conceal them remain closed at dusk to prevent bats from flying in along with other unwanted pest. There is a consensus about burgularies also, so once you lay to rest you essentially lock yourself in which is ironic after spending so much time outdoors; but for all intents and purposes this is the preference for security, comfort, (as only the bedrooms in most homes are air-conditioned), and protection from strong winds caused by ominous storms.
The evening begins to take form and I can not only hear, but see a shower approaching like a herd of horses stampeding from the dark clouds as if to eclipse the remaining light. Caribbean weather is not always representative of the post card as rain showers are plentiful and for some reason this year even the dry season was wet. The passing storms bring short gust of wind that provide relief to the thickness of humidity that can feel like an extra layer to the atomosphere causing one to perspire to a degree of detoxification; where the intoxicants consumed earlier that day are illiminated. The coq's cock-a-doodle in a display of dominance to let challenging coq's who linger on the perimeter know who's the biggest/baddess coq and therefore corts all of the hens. Observing this reminds me that man and animal aren't that distant.
As I prepare for the onslought of omnipresent mosquitos, and after some rain showers, some sort of flying ant like creature that emerges by the hundreds if not thousands, I sip a T-Punch, (an apperitif made of white rhum, sugar and lime) and mount an offensive to engage in insect warfare, assisted by nocturnal lizards and grenouille that emerge for prey. Swatting at this air-force of insects becomes increasingly hazardous and frustrating where I eventually relent, slipping into a malaise to weigh the difference between island life and city life. I sit aimelessly among these creatures in retreat, for to fight all of them is to be one step away from a straight-jacket or poisoned by your own hand from a can of pesticide. I conclude that despite my flying enemies, I really dig isalnd life and all of its bounty, but I find solace and a semblance of sanity having created urban walls of Brooklyn adornment.
The sun takes her final bow and natures philharmonic begins with a few notes unfamiliar, composed by unearthed creatures that make them. I sip my T-Punch not just to unwind, but to rewind the experience of living; to be present in the glory of this environment and all of her embellishments; to know that love has a course of its own and when followed the result is the same; beautiful. I live another day to explore the consciousness of a people and myself and to discover what we possess and what we lack. I feel the presence of creation flow through me as with all things we are a manifestation of thoughts and ideas. I sit with me and watch not just the cinema in my head, but the epic story of a day winding down in a moment of bliss and purity. Content with my percection and therefore reality, I realize the critique of others is meaningless without construction, leaving me in the moment to share a common vision when it comes to living fully. Although island life be a fantasy for some, paridise excist in the mind for no physical thing can fully satisfy us, it's only in the spirit, no matter where we rest, that we find peace.
I've learned so much from the island experience because what it is, is just that, an experience. From it, I'll take what I need to stay creative and open; from the intangible gifts bestowed upon me by some of the most brillant artist and people to have crossed my path, to the memory of simple things like an afternoon stroll with my son in the shadow of the mountains. The theatre of life lets us know we are connected to the art and decor around us; the beauty shaped by the wind and our care, but without our conception. I thank Guadeloupe for what she's given me to use en masse, to embrace as a professional and more importantly, a simple man connecting with the most beautifully decorated space ever; our planet. Cheers to thee, for she leaves an indelible impression etched into my heart and soul where I can reflect what we've shared and who I am by looking within; where I'm inpired to look up and kiss the stars saying, "bon nuit dou dou."
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| 60 Day House |
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