"Lick an Lock-up Done Wid, Hurray fuh Jin-Jin (Queen Victoria).
De Queen come from England to set we free
Now Lick an Lock-up Done Wid, Hurray fuh Jin-Jin"
De Queen come from England to set we free
Now Lick an Lock-up Done Wid, Hurray fuh Jin-Jin"
- Barbadian folk song
sung on the day in 1838 that full emancipation for the island’s former-slave
majority was achieved.[i]
In repetition and without assumption the Caribbean
waves fold and sea-whisper, as they slide across the white Barbadian
sands. Like a life for but a short while
they linger, before retreat. And what do
they say?
The tides bring the waves higher and send them lower at
lunar interval, through azure sky day and pink sunset, through the calamity of
each hurricane and Atlantic brewed storm,
through the time of slavery and into the enlightenment of independence. It’s the Bar-bajan story, it is. Thirty-four by twenty-three, the island
nation of three lacs people is a creature of the waves.
They flock in to soak up a few sun rays, they do, as their
work leave permits and you wonder at the Europeans and North Americans, what
they make of the carefree palm fronds swaying in the breeze. With careful hands the resort-tourists spread
out their beach towels across the sand.
They reach for the sunscreen. The
sea is their recreation for but a short while.
Barbados
only lasts a week.
It wasn’t always leisure, it once was
wealth that brought them in, the British incidentally, who followed the waves
to shore with the desire to add sugar to their Indian tea. They created their own seas in sugar cane
green and at first compelled fellow Britons to work them, indentured labourers
bound by their debts; and there were Amerindian slaves to tend the household. It was later the African slaves were brought
and bought, at least the ones that survived the horrific Middle Passage across
the Atlantic.
About 360,000 Africans were forced to Barbados to tend the plantations in
the course of two hundred years. They
became the majority; their descendants are today’s Afro-Bajan community.
But before even the British the Portuguese had spied her,
and they had called the island ‘Os Barbudos’, the bearded ones, in reference to
the shaggy hanging roots of the coastal Bajan fig trees. (ii)
You wonder at the Scottish-inspired Bajan accent and the old
man, that Euro-Bajan who sits about on the veranda at the guest house. He’s neither guest nor employee, just an
islander who won’t stop talking. Barbados
is the world’s most developed developing country he says with pride, and
there’s no wishing it developed as being developing has advantages, although
he’s not sure what they are.
In petite Bridgetown the cruise ships dock and the
cruise-tourists find their way along Broad
Street, they do, swinging into the various shops
and locating an upstairs terrace for lunch.
They mingle with some of the locals who also stroll about in summery
fashion. After lunching, out on the
street the cruise-tourists fiddle, with money belts and camera lenses, pausing,
stepping to find an angle, focusing and snapping.
There’ll be a picture of the petite thirty-seat Parliament Buildings that were built in the 1870s,
but how many could say that Barbadian independence arrived in 1966 or that its
first assembly met in 1639? There’ll be
a picture of the Chamberlain Bridge that crosses the Careenage where the yachts
shelter, but how many could say that the first bridge was probably made by the
Taíno people who called the island Ichirouganaim, the ‘Red Land
with White Teeth?’ There’ll need to be a
souvenir too, to impress the friends back home; it should be something that screams
‘Island in the Sun’ and it’s all a bit rushed since Barbados only lasts a few hours.
The old man at the guest house, you wonder
if his ancestors rode chestnut geldings and wore broad-brimmed white hats, if
they lived in one of the manor houses surrounded by the sugar-seas that can
still be seen in the island’s interior.
Or perhaps they were like the majority of Britons in Barbados, indentured
labourers, his forebears. Whatever his
precise heritage he won’t stop talking and is it the history in the waves he
fears, what he might hear when the silence comes?
One of the newer arrivals is Brenda, the guest house guest,
who has hopes of finding a job serving tourists in a restaurant or a
hotel. She packed up her life in Jamaica to come, bringing her own sunbaked
accent, the one from among the archipelago of accents that happened to settle
upon Jamaican shores but sounds altogether foreign in Barbados. Barbados can mean a wage and a
future; and she’s worried for her children’s futures. She frets for them.
You wonder at the abolitionists and the end of slavery across the British Empire in 1834, at the foresight and statesmanship and at the liberating not only of the slaves but of their masters, who might once again comprehend the idea of human dignity and expunge the stain of slave-owning from their souls.
You wonder at the abolitionists and the end of slavery across the British Empire in 1834, at the foresight and statesmanship and at the liberating not only of the slaves but of their masters, who might once again comprehend the idea of human dignity and expunge the stain of slave-owning from their souls.
You wonder how it was, that greatest Bar-bajan day in 1838
when full emancipation of the then 70,000 Afro-Bajans was realised, after four
additional years of harsh, indentured service.
They took to the streets and sang they did.
And when you’re from
a country of human rights poverty like Australia, which practices mandatory detention
for asylum seekers including children and unlimited detention based on
clandestine bureaucratic decisions for some refugees, mainly Sri Lankans, you
wonder at how almost two centuries ago the Bar-bajans implemented the benefits
of minimum standards in how we treat our fellow human beings. How so long ago they achieved emancipation
for one and all. It’s impressive, it
is. Perhaps one day Australia could
learn the Bar-bajan story, it could.
It’s already evening and at the beach the
resort-tourists are packing their things.
They’ll be heading off to the laid back restaurants for pasta or pizza
while the waves of the Caribbean carry
on. And in the silence, what is it they
sea-whisper, the waves? Is it
ssslavery? No, wait. I think they say: liberttty…
With only sugar there's not much to do. You need a cup of tea or coffee or forget about the beverages altogether and go wandering in the mountains of the Philippines.
This article is also published in Star Magazine, here: Sugar
This article is also published in Star Magazine, here: Sugar
[i] From www.barbados.org/history1.htm
(ii) some say it was the Spanish who found 'Los Barbudos'. I'm not sure which is correct.
(ii) some say it was the Spanish who found 'Los Barbudos'. I'm not sure which is correct.
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