To the ordinary person, this might just look like a plate with some dry coconut. However, it symbolizes no ordinary feat…..
Growing up, I had seen my father crack open the coconut and husk out the edible portion, but I had never done it. Some years ago when I was living on my own and wanted dry coconut, I got someone at work to break open the shell for me, since I did not have a cutlass. I then attempted to husk out the coconut and in the process, broke the tip of the knife. See Exhibit A.
Fear has ruled certain parts of my life. As I’ve gotten older though, I think I have got better at not feeling this emotion so much or let it take control of me. But I am sure I missed out on quite a lot, because of my apprehension over what [invariably bad thing] could happen.
On the spur of the moment, I decided to go to Carriacou last weekend in celebration of my birthday. I was definitely not going to fly on dat dere 7-seater which would have taken a short 20 minutes. So the 2.5 hour ferry ride was the lesser of the two evils. I had only ever been on it once, about 13 years ago and remember the sea-sick feeling I had had on one leg of the journey.
Setting off on Saturday, the weather was great and it made the trip a rather pleasant one. Had I thought about all the things which would have happened on this trip, I might have backed out, yes, because of fear……real or imagined. This is one encounter.
Although most of the trip was unplanned, I knew I needed to go over to Petite Martinique (PM), which is one of the islands in the tri-island state of Grenada. The ferry company has a tender boat which is a reasonable size. Unfortunately, it does not run between PM and Carriacou on Sundays. I had got the number of a boatman and called him before leaving the mainland. But I didn’t confirm the trip with him as I needed to see the boat when I got to Carriacou.
Well, kinda sorta.
Just set up a new blog on WordPress. Let’s see if I can figure this out.
I’m not a teacher in the traditional sense of the word. I don’t go to a school every day, write on the chalkboard or point my laser at the whiteboard. But I spend quite a bit of time showing people how to do things they didn’t know how to do before.
They say you must choose a job which is an extension of your true self. That’s teaching for me, and it sort of chose me. It was a circuitous route which started with Summer School and Ziggy Marley.
I can’t remember the year, but it was either 1978 or 1979. Patch can confirm. Mummy had this brilliant idea to send Sis and me to Patch’s prep school to help his Grade 6 teacher, Mrs Webb. We’d write lessons on the board, mark papers and so on. It was fun to write in red ink and put “wrong bangs” when they got things wrong!
Ziggy was in Patch’s class. He behaved like all the kids. No different. No “I’m Bob Marley’s son and really don’t need to be in school” behaviour.
One day, I’d given back the exercise books after a Math quiz. Ziggy said he didn’t understand something which he had got wrong. It was soon break time so I told him if he stayed behind, I would explain it to him. His seat was in the back of the class. After all the other kids had run off to eat and play, I went and sat with Ziggy. I can’t remember what the concept it was, but I took my time and explained it as best as I could.
You know they talk about the light bulb going off? It’s real. Once he understood it, and I made sure that he did, he burst into a smile with his slightly buck teeth and I saw the light bulb as he said “thanks”.
When it came to career choices, I never considered going to Mico or any other teacher’s colleges because teaching was just not something you did, unless you couldn’t get into university. Once I got into the hotel industry, my career path took a natural progression to training.
I’d worked closely with Linda on developing the training for a restaurant at the hotel which I had been assigned to manage after a refurb. All those classroom and practical sessions made me feel that that was where I belonged, so after 2 years managing the restaurant, I requested a transfer to be Linda’s assistant. I was happy doing that for a year, when the then GM insisted on moving me to boring HR. Although it was a promotion, I found it mundane and not a good use of my time. So I left, much to his surprise.
After working in operations on the other side of the Caribbean for four years, I decided that I didn’t want to reach age 60 and regret not having specialized in training and development. School in England came next and I’ve been able to concentrate mostly on training since 2003.
My most ideal job though would be teaching Primary School level in the 8 – 11 year old bracket. Imagine then my joy in 2010 when the Minister of Education asked for volunteers from the industry to go into schools and teach Tourism! I didn’t ask my boss IF I could do it. I told him 🙂
This is my third Grade 4 and it is the highlight of my week. I spend 40 minutes once per week doing anything I choose to, around the subject of Tourism. I had a class today and they are so inquisitive and expressive (and huggy too!). It’s not the same as teaching Math or English, but it’s teaching, and I love it!
As I have blogged before, I get that rock star feeling when the ones who I taught in the previous years mob me and demand hugs. And I have to thank a reggae star….and Mummy….for enabling me to have that feeling.
Just came back from watching the movie. Very funny. Hilarious. Drop down funny.
Now I didn’t have the urge to see it before, because somewhere, somehow, I had (incorrectly) heard that all four ladies had been killed off in the movie. How wrong was I!!!
I hope they make a sequel, and show us what they’ve been up to over say a five year period.
Seriously funny. You should see it. And to think, I was not a Sex & the City fan AT ALL!
….until yamfoot.com gets sorted out.
Spammers taking up space on the server…dats wot di administrator says. So until that is figured out, I have moved to his home.
I so busy to rahtid so probably won’t have to post anything new soon!
And I bloody tired. Dying for a good night’s sleep. I need to get a new mattress I think. I sleep wonderfully at the hotel, but at my flat, it’s a different story. Wonder what it is?
Come on everybody…..ride on over to the original Yamfoot
Jamaica is just so depressing. Everything about it. I am miserable everytime I come back here. It is also not helped by the fact that I don’t have my own space. Probably it wouldn’t be so bad if I did.
Early November is when I leave again, and I am hoping that I don’t come back here for a long, long time. I’m going to take my Caricom Certificate of Recognition and roam, roam, roam. I don’t intend to be in Jamaica at Christmas for more reasons than one.
This island is doomed. I don’t know why anyone would choose to move back here.
Went to the post office yesterday. The missy told me it was $380 to mail the letter I had. She gave me 3 x $60 and the rest in $40 stamps. So I asked her if she had run out of $60 stamps. She asked me why. I told her she could have given me more $60 stamps so I would have less number of stamps. She said she didn’t have any $100 stamps, so the 3 x $60 was to make up $180 blah blah blah.
Why didn’t she give me 6 x $60 and 1 x $20? That was the point I was trying to get across but she just didn’t get it.
