A Perfect Day With Perfect Strangers
Why am I dragging myself out of bed at the crack of 5:15 a.m.? Because on top of becoming addicted to my gym classes, today I’m expected at some stranger’s birthday party and I wouldn’t miss it for the world… And I won’t be sorry I went…
It looks like business as usual on Miami Beach (at the southern tip of the island). I decide to go for full workout training, and soon realize that I’m no match for Bajan women, not even the older and heavier ones. My pride aches as badly as my muscles.
A smaller class seems to be starting next. I’m expecting tai-chi or stretching. Wrong – here comes Karl, a European-based Bajan* kickboxing instructor who is keen to share his passion, as are a lot of his compatriots. Thanks to his enthusiasm and cheerful coaching, all of us women become fearless kicking and punching machines! Watch out, Jackie Chan!
A total change of scene has taken place in the mean time. Tables that were used as props for the gym class have been wiped down, sanitized, covered with tablecloths and laden with home-made food and drinks. Everything is in place for the party. Fish cakes (saltfish fritters), conkies (a sweet blend of cornmeal, sweet potato and raisins baked in a banana leaf), cassava pones (cassava and coconut cakes), you name it! Nothing but local specialties. My tastebuds are in heaven.
And there’s the birthday boy! A swarm of friends – or strangers – is surrounding him. So are uninvited guests who are just as welcome, be they beach cleaners, a homeless man or tourists passing by. Finally, “Happy Birthday To You” is sung by all (with no mention of any name as most don’t know it), the family portrait is shot, tables are wiped clean, leftovers are shared and the crowd disperses. I’ll never get to see the birthday boy again, by the way.
The locals stay on the beach as today is a bank holiday. Tourists settle down on the white sand of the larger beach, while Bajans favor the small cove nearby and its shallow waters. A row of trees acts as a natural barrier separating tourists from locals on either side of the beach. The cove side is abuzz with people whose purpose has little to do with athletic excellence, it’s all about having a grand old time! The older folks wade in the water with a ‘noodle’ around their waist and catch up on local gossip, chatting with the young crowd and fondly laughing with the children who happily splash about.
A small fishing boat suddenly appears. Its crew starts selling the catch of the day: “Mahimahi? Marlin? Tuna?” Swimming towards them, I order a mahi-mahi. Moments later, they hand it to me, neatly scaled and cleaned. Suddenly worried about keeping it fresh, I carry it out of the water and ask the food truck guy if he’d mind storing it in his fridge for me. « No problem! »
I’m all the more thankful as the day is far from over. The daily beach tennis tournament is starting, and the hour-long performance the regulars put on is on par with a Nadal-Federer showdown. And yet they don’t mind taking a break from their game to play against tourists who ask.
A small boy walks up to me, he looks about 12 and very bored. He asks if I’d mind playing beach tennis with him. I’m too embarrassed to let on that I’m hopeless at the game and object that I didn’t bring a racket. “No problem, my dad will lend you one! ». After struggling to keep up with him for about 10 minutes, I suddenly hit him in the eye with my ball! “That’s OK”, he lies, stoically keeping on before reluctantly throwing in the towel. I’m racked with guilt. But minutes later, all seems forgotten and he’s back with two pieces of grilled breadfruit (a potato-like staple in the Caribbean).
- Would you like some?
- Sure! Where d’you get them?
- My dad and his buddies are having a small barbecue, why don’t you come along?
Following him, I meet the father and his friends, and right away, they offer me some fish to complement the breadfruit. It’s like a dream come true: here I am eating fresh grilled fish on the beach, and needless to say, my offer to pay for the fish is turned down.
That’s what Barbados means to me. Conviviality, sharing, concern for others. No need for some national “Neighbors’ Day”, or for official policies fostering ties between generations, or for some five-year plan designed to “Put People First”.
I’m ready to call it a day and make my way home on a local bus. And boy, am I in for a rough ride… More to come soon!
*Note: Bajan (pr. bey-djun): noun or adjective, derived from ‘Barbadian’
Translated by Edna Setton
May 31, 2020