The Signifyin' Woman (Charmaine Valere)

Guyanese prosperity rice (cook up)

Rice may not have been a desired ingredient in Christmas cake by some Guyanese, but come New Year all dem who turned up deh noses at the grain were proudly showing off their full pots of it.  Yep, every man jack wanted mister rice in deh pot for the new year.

We always had two kinds of cook up rice for the new year: split peas (my favourite) and black-eyed peas.  I liked mine with bits of chicken and ham and beef in every forkful.  And though they were all in the pot too, I didn't really care for things like tripe, pigtail, shrimp (the tiny preserved ones) and chicken foot.  For me those were garnishes, not edibles.  I still don't understand tripe.

The two-pot cook up rice tradition ended when we left Guyana, but this year I'm bringing it back.  I'm rounding up the ingredients and hopefully I can persuade my mother and sister to do the cooking.  It'll be chicken, beef, shrimp (okay I'll give in to the little preserved critters), ham, peas, seasonings, and plenty of MR. RICE.

Here's more on cook up rice (tasteslikehome) if you've never heard of it and would like to try it.

Thoughts on tongues and bounds (obviously the result of too much cake and rum for Christmas)

Two tongues lock in sweet exchange...thrusting, sparring, daring sweet exchange.  But words meant for detached, untraceable infinite space lose their levity over time.  The inevitable weight of connection sours the sweet.

****

Tongue is connected to face is connected to body is connected by bones and blood and ruled by heart and head.

A child with a box of crayons knows the weightlessness of color, and--his imagination unchecked--he finds wondrous space until he is schooled into boundaries, and his colors become lined, weighted down by rules about separation and mixing.  Sometimes even the most stubborn child will be jeered and teased into the company of his miserable, resigned, weighted peers.

So too are adult tongues (foolishly daring in adulthood) soon reminded of the grounding connections of blood bones heart head.  And words with no apparent meaning--or not meant to mean--begin to shape into a story.

First, a dark circular Mittelholzan story of frightening innuendo and shadowy faces, each capable of changing shape, merging and blending, confusing, taunting, jeering like those who surround the defiant child with his box of crayons.

Then, a story of intersecting triangles.

And the faces and connections become less shadowy, demystified, like a McWatt lesson on crafting fiction from folktale: there's always a reason, a very basic explanation, which involves blood bones heart head.

And so the tale ends, shaped by the boundaries of this space, and by the discretion of the teller.  But if you'd rather have a more fairytaleish ending, I'll let John Agard do it for you:

If I be the rain

you the earth

let love be the seed

and together

make we give birth 

to a new longing

for harmony....

(Taken from John Agard's "Go Spread Wings" in Lovelines for a Goat-born Lady)

Peace at Christmas? Really?

Can any occasion which calls for a gathering of family members be realistically described as peaceful?  Such gatherings (particularly those which involve hours upon hours of togetherness) can best be described as symbolically, hopefully, best-foot-forwardly so, but certainly not actually peaceful.   

Picture all the alcohol flowing freely, the overfull plates, the loose lips flapping, the whiny children complaining loudly, all that couldn't possibly make for a peaceful setting.  And even if you throw in a well meaning visit to church with hearty singing of well known carols, I bet you that warm fuzzy feeling will soon vanish once you discover your man (or woman) bypassed all the obvious hints you gave about what you really wanted, and got you trampy underwear instead (hand trembling with happy anticipation as he or she presents it to you..."for later when the kids are in bed, honey"), prompting you to have all sorts of "un-peaceful" thoughts like does this man (woman) even @#$%ing read signifyinguyana? 

All of this is pointedly hypothetical of course...

So you see, knowing how elusive (and frankly, quite boring) peace tends to be on these occasions, I won't wish it on you for Christmas.  Instead, I wish you and yours lots of fun, plenty of good eats and drinks, plenty noises from whiny, squabbling children, hearty caroling and churching (if you're a sucker for the warm fuzzy feeling), and books by and about the many talented, hard-working preservers of our Caribbean culture--poets, novelists, artists, biographers et al-- in lieu of trampy underwear.  Trust me, the books are more likely to get you that extended peace you're looking for (big fat conspiring wink).

Music Monday: King Crazy! (A hohoho hahaha!)

(Picture taken from calypsocrazy.com)

Listen (Toronto-Lime[dot]com)

Found on YouTube: Guyanese Christmas music and A CoolieBai Christmas Special

Dear Guyanese parents, do you really know what your kids are doing on You tube?  Do you?  Really?  You think these lil boys' parents know about this gem here?  You think Uncle Hal was happy when he sobered up and discovered his drunk behind was Youtubed singing a tradewind song seriously off key? (Not linking to that one.  Don't want Uncle Hal to sue me.)  And what about the young girl demonstrating a tassa dance in her bedroom? (DEFINITELY not linking to her).  Uh uh uh...

So I was digging around You tube looking for Guyanese Christmas music, and in addition to the hilarious and jaw-dropping performances aforementioned, I found this goodie (Happy Holiday).  Boy did that take me back!  What memories (if any) does it stir up for you?  I also found this ode to garlic pork, which doubles as a tribute to Portuguese culture in the Caribbean.  Listen and enjoy.  (And if you happen to run into Uncle Hal, please don't tell him I told you.)

BONUS: Hear Guyana sing, hear Guyana sing, hear Guyana sing!  

Christmas is for kids

Whoever coined that phrase must have known closely a parent's emotional tug of war, and the pureness and hilarity of kids' antics at this time of year.

Went to pick up my twins from school the other day and I wasn't even in the classroom properly when one flew by me yelling, "Gotta go mommy. Gotta go fast!"  It took me a few seconds to realize he wasn't headed for the bathroom, but for the outer doors and into the street instead.  His brothers and I raced after him trying to catch up, pleading with him to slow down, but because of his headstart, he was able to maintain some distance from us.  We could see him though, waving a sheet of paper in the air, coat flying behind him like a comic strip hero.  By the time we caught up to him--me, his brothers, and the security guard (last line of defense my ass)--he was at the mailbox outside the school building getting ready to drop the piece of paper into the slot.  "No wait!" his twin yelled, "you need an envelope!"

Too late.  With a satisfied grin on his face, my last-born turned towards us: "Made it mommy.  Now Santa's gonna get my list on time right mommy?"  Before I could open my mouth, his twin snickered, "Noooo.  The mailman is gonna go, what f-o-o-l (yep he spelt it...just like I do when I don't want them to know exactly what I think about them) put this here without an envelope?  Then he'll squash it up and throw it away."

Pandemonium on the sidewalk.

And somewhere between my roles of referee, comforter, and scolder, I was still able to mentally add to the things I needed to get done that day: complain about the guard, check out the sale at Gymboree (these clothes they're scraping around in will have to be replaced), find another word to replace fool in my vocabulary, add boxing gloves and scrabble to Christmas lists...

Music Monday: Love me some Angie Stone!

 
  
  Listen. Get it here.

Dumping the cheap stuff for Christmas and beyond

Kaieteur News columnist Peeping Tom dug around in poor people's homes and discovered they are not only "accumulators of clutter," they are also doing quite well in terms of material goods.  He assesses, "Today, most poor homes have television sets, DVD players, laptops and all the latest gadgetry.  So being poor is now just a class symbol; it is no longer about not having."  How's that?  Well, he says, "Hire purchases and remittances have conspired to ensure that the poor have everything in their homes that the rich can have, except that the rich have, in accounting terms, more fixed and movable assets." [More here]

Peeping Tom's assessment of the poor in Guyana isn't new or any less cutting than others I've heard.  But, I don't read him often enough to decide here what his particular bent may be about the condition of the poor or about the condition of Guyana period.  What I do know is that (maybe besides Freddie Kissoon, who appears to be plain-spoken and direct) you can't take what you read in the Guyana newspapers at face value.

I also know a thing or two about accumulating clutter.  It's what happens when you buy cheap goods.  Cheap goods tend to have a short life span and so you find yourself replacing them often.  And if you're like me and you don't like throwing out things you like just because they don't quite work right, before you know it, you have tons and tons of crap all around you . . . cheap clothes, cheap shoes, cheap furniture, cheap utensils . . . cheap shots, cheap friends...

So for the Christmas coming and beyond--for as long as I plan on staying around this blog-- I'll throw out the cheap stuff and only stock goods of robust quality.  They include (in no particular order)...

--The blogs and periodicals I really read and consider worthy of sharing with folks who read me

--The book share feature, which I'll bring back next year

--Responses from writers

--Music

--The writing competition

What good stuff are you stocking?  What are you stuffing in your stocking?  What's in your stocking?  (Last try), What stuff is you stocking?

Peepal Tree Press makes good on the promise to revive Caribbean classics

Since I started this foray into books by Guyanese writers, I've been complaining about the unavailability of some of the books I'd love to own.  Many of them are out of print and in some cases used copies are available, but for a hefty price.  Here, for example, is what you'd pay for a good--excellent used copy of Edgar Mittelholzer's My Bones and My Flute.  Now unless the booksellers are offering autographed copies, or copies of the actual manuscript, those prices are just criminal!

Last year, Peepal Tree Press announced their intention to bring back some of the Caribbean classics so (among other things) we can afford them, and they've made good on that promise.  It's particularly great to see that one of the Mittelholzer books--Shadows Move Among Them--which I had a hard time finding last year, is soon to be released by Peepal Tree Press. I listed it as one of the books worthy of any Christmas gift list.  You can now preorder your copy here.

(And from my little blog to Peepal Tree Press' big ears and keen sight)... Folks, how about adding My Bones and My Flute to your list of books to be revived?

Music Monday: Rup pom pom pom....ah de little yout song!

 

Listen.  Give as a gift.