My very first visit to Trinidad in 1967, to try and launch Tradewinds in the Caribbean, was a whirlwind affair – a lot of hustle and hurry. Although I had known many Trinis casually in Toronto, I didn’t know the culture well, and there was little time for that on the first trip. In 1968, with Honeymooning Couple a hit, it was different. I was interacting with a host of Trinis, in all sorts of circumstances, and I began to get more of an insight into Trinidadian attitudes, mores, social behaviours, styles, etc. I remember an occasion on the beach at Chaguaramas where I met a middle-aged man – we were practically the only two persons on the beach – who turned out to be a genuine communicator, and we ended up in a long interesting gaff, with me mostly listening, about the island and its people. At one point, in the middle of relaying a convoluted episode to me, he said, “Look, padna: Trinidadian people not easy, you know.”
At the time, while I was amused by the comment, it didn’t carry any great weight for me. Now, some forty-six years later, and with copious interactions with Trinis behind me, I understand how accurate the appraisal was. While all of us in the Caribbean are carrying the “not easy” genes to some degree, it is in the Trinis that the thing is in full flower.
Going in, we must concede that a truly powerful culture resides in Trinidad. They are a vivacious people, with an inventiveness boldly evident in the instrument of steelband, in such musics as kaiso, parang and soca, and in the creative explosion that underpins the many aspects of carnival. They have produced many eminent writers and athletes and thinkers.
But along with that, or perhaps because of it, the Trinis come with an edge that is more cutting than any other in the Caribbean (Antigua is perhaps the exception).
The condition is not new. I first saw it many decades ago, when Tradewinds were passing through Trinidad on a Caribbean tour. Coming into Piarco en route to Guyana, our luggage contained a dozen 45rpm recordings (remember those? It tells you how far back I’m taking you) which the Customs official promptly told us were dutiable.
The band’s original bass player, Joe Brown, himself a Trini, pointed out to the officer that the records were for radio station promotion, not sale. Customs Trini, without even glancing at Joe, said, “You still have to pay duty on it.” Brother Brown, a stickler for principle, said, “But we didn’t buy this; West Indies Records gave us.” Customs’ head swivelled. He hitched up his trousers a notch, planted one foot on the wooden platform, and pronounced at full volume: “Oh, West Indies Records give you? Well, this is Trinidad. Yuh grandmother give yuh; the Pope in Rome give yuh; Jesus Christ give yuh; yuh still have to pay duty on it.” On the word “still”, his right hand came down on the box carrying the records like a gunshot. We were in Piarco, but I suspect you could have heard the outburst in Arima. The incident doesn’t end there: it is half an hour later; we have paid something like TT$7 duty for the twelve records. As we are leaving the Customs area, the same officer, standing at his desk, calls across, “So wha’ happen? You ain’t leaving one wid me, padna?” My mind went back to the man on the beach at Chaguaramas.
The thing is inbred. What Guyanese travellers are seeing today in the attitude as we transit Piarco is not a new stance, and it is also not directed only at Guyanese. We may feel so, but it isn’t. The Trinis do it to everyone, including their own people. I saw a Trinidadian woman, on a sudden trip back for a funeral, who burst into tears at Piarco over some items in her luggage. The Customs officer was standing over her, bouncing a bottle of Nescafe in his hand and intoning, “Yuh cyan bring dis. Doctor Williams ban dis.” The woman’s response, “Okay, take it. Just let me go to my mother’s funeral.” produced, “So yuh tink I want yuh coffee? I don’t drink dis.” On another occasion at Piarco, I saw an episode involving an American hippie, who, I later learned, had a copy of Chairman Mao’s book in his knapsack. The Customs officer slapped a Trinidad Scarlet Ibis sticker on the book – “We ban dis in Trinidad.” – and escorted him to an examination room. We were waiting for our equipment outside an hour later when the Yank came out from the Customs grilling, wide-eyed and literally shaking. When I asked him what had happened, he said, “I, ah, I don’t know…I don’t know.”
Coming back from the USA a month ago, I passed through security at Orlando carrying a small container of wood filler in my carry-on – no problem. Changing planes in Trinidad, en route here, the security folks took it from me. Several of them examined the item and then one lady, the senior one, said “He cyan take dat.” When I protested that I had been cleared with it in Orlando, she pronounced to the others “He just don’t get it.” (That’s a Trini thing: the message is delivered to others, but it’s meant for you.) I told her, “I have just come through one of the most stringent security systems in the world, straight to your aeroplane, and straight to your security. What are you objecting to? It’s you that doesn’t get it. “I got the traditional arrogant Trini explanation, “What they do is their business; this is Trinidad.”
Ultimately, it’s a pity that the folks at Piarco don’t take a more measured approach to travellers. A simple explanation of the rules, two persons speaking cordially to one another, can achieve the same result and leave both parties (particularly someone dealing with the stress of modern travel) in a more civilized frame of mind. Shouting and maligning and mocking people (this goes on) is not only unnecessary; it leaves the recipients of it with a very negative opinion of the people and their country. I have made several sterling friends among Trinidadians over the years, both in music and outside it. They can be an exuberant and joyous people – you invite them to your house and they come in the door chipping to some private music – and they have generated a unique culture with a range of attractions; indeed, I came very close to marrying one of their beautiful women. But far too many of them seem predisposed to erupt or accost or mock. It’s a demeaning trait in such an accomplished people. As with any cultural position, you and I are not going to change it by complaining. It might help, though, to simply accept the Chaguaramas declaration: Trinidadians not easy.
