Changing Culture

There is a knock at my door. I peek through the curtain and see Neil. He has a bag in his hand. It’s Saturday and he is bringing bananas from his farm for me. Neil is an interesting man. He and Bea were the hosts who allowed me to live in their home during my two months of training.

I welcome him into my house and we speak a few pleasantries when the conversation begins to turn to the changing culture of Saint Lucia. He talks of his boyhood in such detail that the past comes alive. I love hearing his stories.

He explains how children used to play games. They were resourceful. They made their skateboards out of wood – the wheels were pieces of round cedar wood. Some boys would make skateboard scooters by adding a seat and handlebars; others made scooters built for three passengers. A simple idea of a skateboard turned into vehicles used to race down hills.

They made their own tops out of wood boring holes for a nail enabling the top to spin. They attached string to it. Some boys were so adept at spinning their tops that they would catch them in midair and spin them on the palms of their hands.

Kite flying was especially fun. They found sturdy material used during Carnival; they used bamboo to build the structure. Torn cloth was attached for the tail and string was held to fly the kites high into the air at Follet Point.

The children sectioned off the village and created cricket teams and held matches. If there was no ball each of the teams would take up a collection and buy a ball to share. People don’t share anymore. According to Neil, people are too consumed with taking care of themselves.

Neil’s father was a farmer and would get up at six in the morning to work in the fields. Early each morning buses would come for the men and bring them to the villages. They didn’t have the nice fourteen seat vans that they enjoy now – the buses were large and old; the type you might imagine in the scrape yards in the United States.

Meanwhile, Neil and his brothers would collect water from the river and bring it back to their house. Sometimes they would go to the farm with their father and help him as well as bathing in the river. They were one of the few families who had a gramophone; a wind up radio/record player. Championship football (soccer) games were broadcast on the radio. Neil’s mother, Mrs. Jn Baptist, would listen to the game and write down play-by-play actions. When his father came back from the field, he would read the account of the game. Neil smiles broadly as he tells me these stories. My thoughts turn to illiteracy and how he must have had an advantage because his parents could read and write. At that time, people only had access to a sixth grade education.

Life was like this until sometime in the late 70s. Neil reminisced about getting to Soufriere, a town on the opposite side of the island. The bus only ran once on Wednesday and once on Friday. If you missed the bus, there was no way to either get their or back home, other than foot.

He talked about a time when he missed the bus and hiked through the rain forest alone. He said he was scared and would run fast until he was too tired to run another step, and so would slow down. Occasionally, he would see someone along the way. They would confirm he was going in the right direction. “Just keep going”, they would say. Today the path is worn and well traveled, not because there is a lack of buses. On the contrary, there is regular and reliable transportation around the island. No, the lack of transportation is not the motivator – it’s exercise and seeing the beauty of the rainforest.

As I reflect on my own childhood, some of this sounds familiar. Although I witness the occasional creative Saint Lucian youngster making a toy from bottle cap or the head of a matchstick, it’s different now. Both of us conclude those days are likely giving way to video games, television and chatrooms. What about the many children who don’t have access to computers or television? When there is no school, they come here declaring their life “boring”. This whole subject makes me wonder how losing this type of creative play will affect the world.