Thoughts and Observations

June 22, 2006

Interesting observations of the day.
Being yelled at as driving by in car “Hey Baby”, not so unsusual, the unusual part, guy yelling it is a 50 some year old police officer. I cannot imagine this happeniing in Canada. How do you respect the law when they are disrespecting you.
Man directing traffic....waving through traffic using his stop signs. seems a little confusing.
Irritation: open man holes on the highway. Just unsafe.



Coconut Plantation
Finally we have made it to our destination. To do interviews at Cocnut Plantation (remember the place with no coconuts or any sort of plantation) Today was our second day of interviewing, Tuesday we did 3 interviews which took maybe 2 hours. Today we did four
which from 9:30 to noon. By the end I was exhausted. It doesn’t seem like much, and it probably doesn’t help that I was sick yesterday. We go to the Group of 77 first, on Newport St. and pick up Henry, one of the counsellors, then we drive down the road to the Coconut Plantation. Coming down the road, we see a man being pushed in wheel chair down the road off to hustle for the day (beg) He is a man we are to be interviewing. Henry gets out and stops him, asks him if he remembers that we were coming to talk to him today. I guess he figured we took to long in coming and so was going to take off. We drive up and park the car next to some “houses” put together shacks with whatever there is available, there is garbage everywhere, broken glass. Children start to come and see who the white lady’s are in the car. They wave and I say hello. The man parks his wheel charir.We want to go to his house to do the interview. The chair won’t fit, so he gets down from the chair, and using his flip flops on his hands he crawls, leading us to his house. Through the garbage and glass...this is where he lives. Kathleen and Henry both ask if he wants help, His friend says, “he is a strong man”. We walk down a narrow passage, different smells assail my nostrils..food cooking, body odour, the smell of salt from the beach and a plethura of other aromas which I can’t necissarily distinguish, nor do I really want to dwell on. We go to the end, the ocean is just down the bank from the house. We go inside, it is very tight, and once insde very dark as there are no widows, and of course no lights. There is a mattress on the ground, one foamy propped up against a wall, we sit on small wooden bench. The floor is dirt, or perhaps it was cement. The whole room is about 10 feet square. There are four or five of them who sleep there. The mans legs are withered. From what I understood, he believes he was witched as a child, and got sick from some food he ate causing what appears to be polio, but he says is not.
This picture is not an isolated one. It is very common. I try to imagine what it would be like to live in a shack right on the beach with no prospects in my future but to beg from passing strangers. It is not a pleasant contemplation.