I Don't Get It

This post has nothing to do with anything internship related, but is a confusing observation I made while I was watching the movie Bad News Bears on TBS. One of the chubbier kids was yelling about how he was sick about everyone calling him ugly and planet fat-ass. It got me thinking.

Movie producers are often very detailed in the roles they want for movies, and when they advertise for auditions they put out ads looking for specific heights, ethnicities, body types, etc. I can only assume that for the above mentioned role (and the many other similar roles throughout Hollywood), the audition description mentioned something about an overweight and/or funny looking kid. What I can’t figure out, is what parent (who I assume act as some sort of manager for their child actors) would see a an audition call looking for an obese crater-face, and immediately think that their child would fit the role perfectly? Maybe I am just naive, but I would think that parents see their child as beautiful no matter what they look like, especially at that age. Not to mention, but wouldn’t the role destroy an already fragile confidence of a child when they have to read and memorize lines which confirm all of their insecurities?

Big Momma's House

So I haven’t updated my blog in what seems like years. I wrote a piece last week, and then figured I shouldn’t post it on a public internet site for the world to see (maybe I’ll put it on Facebook instead).


This past week I have been entertaining my Mom, who decided she couldn’t stand not seeing her baby boy until Christmas. The first highlight of the trip was our climb of the volcano which is responsible for the formation of the island. The hike was a classic example of rainforest climbing, and I couldn’t help but pretend that I was Bear Grylls from Man vs. Wild (telling the other hikers the amount of shit that I could make or eat from the trees and vegetation surrounding us). During much of the hike, I was situated at the front of the line, and as such had the best opportunity to spot any wildlife. And that I did.

The forest is apparently covered in monkeys, but much of the time they are able to completely conceal themselves. Just like Bear Grylls, I was able to spot the furry mischief makers throughout the trees, and managed to find 3 of them. However, unlike Bear Grylls, upon seeing them I could in no way control my excitement and let out a, “HOLY FUCK THERE’S A MONKEY” every time. This scared away the monkeys, and conveniently upheld my reputation as the only one talented enough to spot them. I guess I may take some of the blame for preventing the others from seeing the little creatures, but on the other hand, maybe the monkeys just need to man up and not get so offended by a little swearing. We manage to make the summit and safely return the bottom without any major incident.

The second highlight of the trip was our adventure on a catamaran sailboat. The boat carried us to local snorkling and swimming spots, all the while operating an open bar. Normally I would jump at the chance to fully take advantage of free alcohol, but something about partying with my mother kept me in check. Apparently this sentiment does not run in the family, and mom decided to put her son to shame.

Everything was going well until the boat began sailing for town, and the day of drinking began catching up to the passengers (which included a number of other families). Perhaps there was something about being on a sailboat in the Caribbean, but the parents began going wild. It’s as if they felt they were in a protective bubble (curiously located on the open seas), that allowed for traditional standards of parenting to be thrown overboard. Mothers were dancing provocatively with one another, fathers were making fun of their son’s for not drinking enough, and toddlers were left to pass-out at the front of the boat while their parents went to the back for more rum punch.

It was at this point I decided to check on my mom. As I stumbled to the back of the ship, to my horror, I saw her dancing to the soca rhythms with the captain of the ship. I put my hands on my hips and starred them both down. Surprisingly this did nothing. As I went to sit in close proximity to them, I saw one of the deckhands make his way towards the pair, in what I can only describe as an attempt to complete a red-headed Oreo. At this point I yelled , “MOM SIT DOWN”, and told the other intern, Lishai, to go and “rescue” her. At no point in my life have I ever wanted to fight the captain of a Caribbean sailboat more. We finally reached port, and exited the boat (all the while I gave a very stern and un-approving stare in the direction of the ship’s captain and deckhands). We finally make it back to the apartment, and I take mom to a crappy and over priced restaurant to cap off her stay.

Learning lessons

I recently incurred some interesting phone bills, probably as a result of not realizing that in this day and age it is still incredibly expensive to make long (long) distance phone calls. In my hurry to pay the bill online, I saw large amounts of imaginary money leave my account. When I finished I didn’t quite feel that I fully understood the actual cost of the calls, so I decided to make some calculations which would compare it to things that I can buy here in St. Kitts. Here we go.

Instead of spending time on the phone, I could have instead purchased:

-150 fried chicken lunches (with fries)
-300 bottles of beer at the bar
-180 pounds of ground beef
-750 litres of clean drinking water
-3 round trip tickets to the next closest island
-180 fresh pineapples
-112 tofu burgers
-45,000 grams of cheddar cheese

And last but not least, 3,800 long distance minutes on Skype

Lessons learned come hot and heavy in St. Kitts.

Kids

My neighbourhood always has tons of kids running around, and as the strange foreigner, I am often visited by every one of them. There are two main crews who come visit every night, one of girls and one of boys. The girls started coming first, and are younger than the fellas. They would often stand outside yelling until they are let in.

The crew of boys just started showing up recently and operate a little differently than the girls. The girls usually show up in two’s and three’s, however the boys roll as a pack. When I hear a knock on the door, I am often tricked into thinking there are only a few of them. However, upon opening the door, I’m usually confronted with 5-10 little smiling faces. At this point, regardless if I am working on dinner or in nothing but a towel, they barge their way in at surprising speed.

Once inside, my room becomes a zoo. Since I never know how many actually show up at any particular time, I am constantly monitoring the room. There are the ones who are going through the fridge, the couple who are playing on the computer, and the others who are rummaging through my delicates. Even when I try to force them to leave for the night, I often find a number of stowaways hidden in the closet, under the bed, or in the tub. Every time I find these little border jumpers, they always giggle with the satisfaction of having evaded my searches for so long.

I had taken the boys to play basketball at their school on Saturday. Like all 10 year old boys, what starts out as a friendly game of basketball quickly degenerates into drawing large penises on the walls of their school. I had never missed being 10 more in my life. Then, out of nowhere the smallest of the boys, LaMonte, gets his pants pulled down by another, Dave. LaMonte is left standing in the middle of the court, pants at his feet, cussing out the other kids. I yell at Dave to stop, and tell LaMonte to pull his pants up. He looks at me with a scowl on his face and says, “He pull em’ down, he can pull em’ up”. LaMonte walks away in nothing but his underwear and continues beautifying his school's walls. I have never seen someone with pants around their ankles look more badass.

Earlier that day they decide to make a music video to Money by Mavado. Gang signs are so adorable (around the 1:00 minute mark).

One of dem

This past year I went to my first ever concert, a Lil’ Wayne show at the ACC. I had never been to a concert before because I have just never believed in actually paying for music. But I decided that while here, it is one of the best ways to engage the local culture. Music is a big part of my life, and I have been lucky enough to have been exposed to a wide variety of it through my equally enthused friends. It’s almost like a common currency which can be taken throughout the world in exchange for cultural acceptance and conversation. This has been a major way I’ve tried to meet new people here, and so far it seems to have worked.

I am able to fit in quite easily that way here because I know a decent amount of Caribbean music. I can willie bounce, I know to wear neck protection while dutty wining, and I run the other way when girls ask me if I want to visit their rompin shop. I even recognized a few of the names that were going to be performing in this largely soca driven music festival.

Word usually spreads fast among my co-workers, all of whom usually gather in an area outside of office to gossip and relax. The day before the music festival(last Thursday), a bunch of the little old ladies who work around the office had heard about my impending attendance at the concert, and were apparently very curious if I knew of this kind of music or if I could dance. As I walk out my door for lunch, one of them asks if I can “flex it?”, I quickly crossed my arms and looked directly into her eyes and told her “I always wine up”, and then proceeded to do a little dutty wine. This brought on a hail of giggles from the two, either completely surprised that I knew what they were talking about or by the fact that I thought I could dance. It had thoroughly prepared me for the night ahead.

I am picked up by my boss’ two daughters, and we drive over to the stadium. When we arrive it is completely packed with people, and the outside is lined with beer and food tents. On stage are local bands performing and people going wild. It is an amazing atmosphere to be apart of, and I quickly move into the crowd. Many people who have met me, know of the few patented dance moves that I have developed and made famous. One which I have made quite popular is the lean wit it rock wit it dance, and the other is the willie bounce. I felt confident in busting these out amidst the crowd, but was soon faced with strange looks and people quickly moving away from me. I seem to forget that any dance moves which make their into a white boy from Canada’s repertoire, are probably already outdated here. I take my cues and stop immediately. The night ends at about 4 am, and I am at work the next day by 9 am. I felt like an old man, and took the rest of the weekend to recover from the lack of sleep.

UPDATE:
I uploaded the video of my interview with the local television station. If anyone needs to laugh at somebody, it's located in the post below.

I'm going to be on TV!

A major project we are doing here is called Community Mapping, and is a little bit like a census. In order to publicize it, a local television station came into the BNTF to interview a few of the coordinators. Apparently my boss thought it would be good to get one of the interns face out in the public eye.

Just a few words of caution. I had no idea that I was going to be interviewed and had just walked into the office from a rainstorm, so my hair (and poof) may not be the best. Second, I did the interview while being watched by boss, so if I come across as a little robotic or too serious it's only because I was nervous of screwing up and wanted want to make sure I represented the organization well. It's probably for the best though, if he wasn't there I probably would have tried to sneak in a few fart and boner jokes.

You can watch online. I think it will be airing on Friday, but I will update the blog when I find the exact times.

UPDATE: It will air on Friday, June 26th at 7:00 pm.

Day in the life of

I have been given a homework assignment from York. Even after a 9 month school year, it’s the University which keeps on giving (I probably just just booked myself an early trip home for that little jab). I have been given the task to write a blog which gives a little insight into the world in which I am currently living. I feel that through my past couple of anecdotes that you readers have gotten a little glimpse into the goings on of life here in St. Kitts, but I guess I’ll give you a closer look.

The best way to see a slice of my daily life is to chronicle a typical walk home from work.

The walk starts at about 4:15, as I leave the office. I walk out the door, and I see the same sight everyday. Chilling on the porch of one of the buildings is a crew of about 7 goats, and apparently they ride together, and they die together. Every time I see them they are either posting up on the wall napping, or walking really slow together hollering at the honeys while giving dirty looks to anyone else. Whenever I try to say what-up to them, they just stand there and stare at me. It’s kind of awkward.

As I continue the journey, I pass a couple of schools and walk through the main intersection in town. St. Kitts is a really friendly place and as I walk home I get a real sense of this. There are always people who greet me on my walk to and from work, and I kindly greet them back. There are a two of ways this interaction usually happens. Some people greet me like they would any other person they see on the street. The second, and most interesting group, are the ones which are probably seeing their first ever ginger kid in their neighborhood, and are amazed that this white boy is actually saying hello. You see, the vast majority of white people in St. Kitts are either FOBs (Fresh Off the cruise Boat) or live in the wealthy rural gated communities. I fit into neither of these categories, and as I will soon get into, live in an area devoid of said tourists and a neighborhood which has been stigmatized as a place rife with gang-violence.

I had been hoping to keep to this from my mom and grandma, but while I live in a very nice apartment, whenever I mention to locals the area in which I live, their jaws always drop. I liken the area to the Jane-Finch community in Toronto, both in its stigma, but also in its neglect by social services and infrastructure. But like the Jane-Finch neighborhood, there is a strong sense of community and plenty of young people.

I turn the corner and say what-up to the homeboys on the block, the ones who spend all day washing tricked out cars. I say hello to Ms. Small, the old lady always on her porch. I get a hug from Johanna, the little toddler who lives across the street. Just like any community which outsiders see as dangerous, once you begin living there and actually interacting with the neighbors in a respectful manner, the place becomes very welcoming. No need to worry though, I am keeping it real. I conduct all of this (to the best of my abilities) through a lens which recognizes that I am still an outsider, both racially and economically, understanding that all of these interactions are directly affected by these factors.

I end the day by heading to the corner bar. St. Kittitians have a particular brand of bar which is vastly different then what we are used to in Canada. First, it’s a hang-out for everyone in the community, kids of all ages are welcome. Second, they specialize in fried chicken. Third, they sell a wide variety of beer, all day long. Fourth, they have video games hooked up. And finally, they have big club speakers with a DJ spinning hip hop until sundown. They have managed to integrate the five most important pinnacles of my personality into a place the size of my old bedroom.

However, it is now dinner time and I am sorry, but I am going to have to make like a tree and go.