Cabaway

Cabaway is the name, but likely I’ve misspelled the word. I’ve asked some people how it’s spelled and they stare at me with a puzzled look and then shrug. No one seems to know how it’s spelled.


I’m not sure if Cabaway is capitalized, but for the purpose of this post, capitalization is the rule.


I’ve looked up various was to spell it: cobeweit, kobeyweit, kob’weit, kobwuey. But each search turns up the same message, “Your search - kobwuey - did not match any documents.”


I ask people in my village more questions. When was the first Cabaway built? The most common answer is sometime after emancipation or maybe during slavery. If I knew how to spell it perhaps I could figure that out. But I don’t. Where did Cabaway’s originate? Was it Saint Lucia or perhaps a neighboring island? So many questions.



There is a Folk Research Center in Castries. They may be able to help. Maybe when I get extra time I will call and inquire. But does it really matter?


These are frustrating little questions in life. They are like little drippy faucets, hanging around just waiting for the moment when their lingering frustration creates a breaking point. But, let’s not dwell on it. I don’t need these pesky questions to occupy the only tiny spaces left in my brain that are still able to absorb some small piece of trivial information.


The Cabaway Boys don’t care. They are having fun pushing their homemade Cabaways down the street. They come in various sizes and styles. I’ve seen some large enough to carry a load of coconuts, although this is not its purpose. Or is it? Maybe it was originally a work tool, but then later morphed into a toy. It is a toy – right? Oh, these pesky unanswered questions!