Chatoyer – Trapped in a history book

He rose with the grace of innate regality and faced the innocence of the new morning. Air, purified by sea salt spray, shrouded his strong body, permeated his dark, tanned skin, flowed through his flared nostrils and moved like electricity through his being, powering his naked feet as they raced up the young, volcanic mountainside. Finally, this warrior, Chief Chatoyer, reached the peak and gazed with pride at the spread of golden green land before him, garnished around its edges with the deep blue ocean.{{more}}

He thought about the many battles he had already won against its European invaders and he was filled with confidence. Suddenly, the valley before him became a wide screen alive with the images of a vision. He saw past his time to the conquests and defeats of the Caribs and the new hope brought by the integration of people from almost all corners of the earth. He saw the people become one and stand, precariously at first and then, with confidence, as an independent nation.

He saw the source of our wealth bursting from the depth of our rich, fertile land: sugarcane, arrowroot, nutmegs, banana…. He saw our people young, vibrant, persistent in the face of adversity, fearless, standing tall on the stage of our world with their heads held high: farmers, teachers, nurses, doctors, lawyers, musicians, artists, ambassadors, proud to be called Vincentians.

As he listened to Becket’s calypso voice echoing ‘I love you St.Vincent’ from shore to shore, the wind of time began to blow: erasing untouched scenes with paved pathways, erecting buildings, building bridges, reconstructing the meaning of education, sometimes becoming a whirlwind of change, sometimes a gentle nudge into the future until Chatoyer finds himself trapped between the pages of a history book, crying out voicelessly, through his legacy… begging us to remember the vision.

On the mountain where he once stood… now stands a farmer…. in khaki caked with the same fertile soil; feet clad in a pair of decaying water boots that squeak and grin knowingly. He leans on the strength of his faithful hoe and rake and takes a deep breath of the older, but still fresh mountain air – filling his lungs to expel the fear and worry that made his chest tight. His dimming eyes gaze across the fields of produce before him, then up at the clear blue sky and he thinks of all the things they have taught him.

This is his school room, his university… this place where he had learned almost everything he knew – most important of all, the magic of turning banana suckers into a house for his family and school books for his children. But now… today, he is being re-educated and redefined with new acronyms and terms like ACP, WIBDECO and Fairtrade: new rules, new restrictions, new demands, trade agreements and organisations that spell and determine his future. This farmer rummages through his head and searches the land before him for the vision; but his dim eyes cannot reach beyond the golden green of his banana field.

My name is Ava Browne, and I am on a quest to rediscover my roots, my heritage. To define my identity as a Vincentian, to remember what we have achieved, with the hope that we would be inspired and our eyes would open to new visions. I dare you to join me weekly on this quest of HERITAGE and VISION.