Photo art by Anika Tizliarishvili
When we moved into Harry’s place and paid a year’s rent ($1,200) we were basically broke. (For simplicity’s sake and accuracy I’ll call it ‘Harry’s place’ rather than its official name: ‘Maya Cove Cottages and Yacht Club’ since calling our shelter a ‘cottage’ is being generous if not outright fraudulent, and in addition, as we have seen, Harry had no yacht club, although he did have a rowboat which I enjoyed rowing around the cove so I could study the mangroves which intrigued me. How could such a plant survive with its roots in salt water?)
To make ends meet, the construction job was a godsend. Since the other workers were from the Caribbean islands, they all spoke English with a charming lilt, which I had heard referred to as Virgin Islands Creole. It was usually easy to understand unless they were talking about me. Then by amping up the accent a bit and playing with grammar, throwing in some slang, and scrambling word order, they could keep me totally in the dark.
One day during my first week working with them as we were using picks and shovels to dig the house’s foundation, they were calling out to each other in a manner I could not understand, but at the time I didn’t recognize they were using code, and the man shoveling with me in a trench turned to me and said, “Mr. Robert, it is time you take a break. You do your best, but this Caribbean sun is not good for you. Rest is not a bad thing, you’ll get better.” So, I sat in the shade for a while, and when I was cooled down I went back to work.
One of my favorite examples of the entertainment value of listening to them started on a Friday afternoon. Two guys from the island of Nevis who were working in the customary island work uniform, cut off shorts, buttoned up collared shirts with cut off sleeves which exposed their bulging muscles. They were calling back and forth to each other and one said he was hitching a ride home for the weekend on a friend’s boat.
On the following Monday morning all the workers were standing around in small groups chatting, waiting for the boss to show up, and then the traveler returned. The Nevis man who had not traveled called out.
“Hey mon, how does be Nevis?”
All conversation stopped, all eyes moved to the traveler.
“Oh mon, you know how Nevis does be.”
There was a pause, then all the workers shrugged, nodded knowingly, and went back to their individual conversations.
Cane Garden Bay.
One of our favorite spots on Tortola was Cane Garden Bay which Jimmy Buffett mentions in many of his songs such as Mañana.
But women and water are in short supply
There’s not enough dope for us all to get high
I hear it gets better, that’s what they say
As soon as we sail on to Cane Garden Bay.
Source: Musixmatch, songwriter: Jimmy Buffett
Cane Garden Bay
One of my favorite photographs was of me and one of the guests at Cane Garden Bay around sundown. Later I took the picture below.
When we got back to the states I did a needlepoint from that photo.
Out for Justice 