Chookooloonks

Life giving Alex lemons

Alex eating lemons at Onion Creek Cafe, Houston

Despite her obvious displeasure, she wouldn't stop!

_________________________

I interrupt Chookooloonks for the following Hurricane Katrina mug update:

As you may recall, I promised that for every Balisier Mug purchased from Chookooloonks: The Shop during the month of September, I would donate US$ 5 to Habitat for Humanity. Well, unfortunately, only one mug was purchased in September (thanks, Christiana!). As promised, I'll donate the $5, but I'll go ahead and round it up to $100. Seems only fair.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled Chookooloonks.

Peace

Our Buddha of Blanchisseuse -- a gate decoration at a private beach house in Blanchisseuse, Trinidad

I have a confession to make.

For the past 6 months, since we moved to Trinidad & Tobago, I’ve been posting photographs of the islands’ stunning beauty: white sandy beaches, lush tropical rainforests, blue Caribbean skies. I’m afraid, however, I may have been somewhat misleading you.

Don’t get me wrong: Trinidad is an astonishingly beautiful place. A day hasn’t passed where I haven’t spent at least 5 minutes looking in wonder at our surroundings. I remember soon after we arrived, Marcus and I were watching the hills from our veranda/gallery/loggi’al fresco at sunset, and Marcus turned to me and said,

“Are we dead?”

Yes, it’s that beautiful.

But here’s the thing: the truth is that a disturbing trend is marring our enjoyment of this breathtakingly scenic country. The truth is that as often as I find myself stopping to take in the views, I also find myself considering how long it would be prudent for our family to remain here.

The truth is that the crime in Trinidad is getting out of hand.

We had been told that the crime was bad when we got here. “You’ll see when you get there,” my father told me. “The crime is bad.” But I think that both Marcus and I brushed off these warnings as the overly-protective ramblings of a parent. Besides, we’d lived in London and Houston – hardly crime-free cities. Surely we wouldn’t feel any less secure living here than we did living there.

Now, six months later, I understand what my father was saying. And honestly, I don’t know if the crime is worse here than in either of those cities, but because the island is so much smaller than Houston or London, it certainly feels worse. Moreover, we’ve already been personally affected by the crime. A few weeks ago, Marcus’ mountain-bike, the one he spent thousands of dollars building by hand, was stolen from our garage. Any of you who know Marcus know that stealing that bike was tantamount to reaching into his chest, pulling out his beating heart and showing it to him. Marcus was crushed, to say the very least. (An aside: thief was so bold about it, that he decided that he preferred the saddle on my bike to Marcus’, and actually took the time to switch the saddles, fitting Marcus’ seat to my bike perfectly, before making off with my saddle, and Marcus' bike, throwing in Marcus' complete toolset for good measure. The nerve.)

Then last weekend, a man posing as a workman pushed past Marcus into our house, ostensibly “to check our major appliances” for damages possibly resulting from the previous evening’s power outage. We insisted that there were no damages, but he equally insisted that perhaps he should take a look anyway. When he asked to check the bedroom, he pretty much revealed himself to be the home-casing scoundrel we suspected he was, and we rapidly got him out of the house. Turns out, according to Celeste who works with us, this guy tried to do the same thing at the home of her previous employer about 10 months ago. She knew it was the same guy, because I described him as being blind in one eye, said eye being completely devoid of colour and instead a most unsettling Michael-Jackson's-Thriller-video-white. Her former boss apparently wasn't as nice as we were: when White Eye tried to surreptitiously steal the guy's wallet and his Rolex watch from the top of the bedroom dresser, Celeste's boss whipped out a truncheon from under his bed and beat White Eye soundly about the back and legs until he fled.

"Buh wha' de hell is wrong wit' him?!" Celeste continued with disgust. "Ah mean, if yuh have a LAN'MAHK on yuh face like dat, whey yuh eye white-white, an' yuh want to t'ief people houses, yuh wouldn' go an' get dat eye FIX, so people cyah identify yuh? He CHUPID, eh?"

Indeed.

But the worst was when I recently received a call from my closest friend, telling me that one of her good friends was the latest victim of the spate of kidnappings currently rampant in the land – and that evening, the news reported that his body was found in a field. I can’t imagine what my friend is going through, and I refuse to imagine how the wife and very young children of this murdered man are coping. It’s just too painful.

Needless to say, peace of mind is sometimes very hard to come by. And what makes it all so distressing, so truly heartbreaking, is what I have yet to photograph: Trinidad’s true beauty, its people. Trinidad is full of some of the warmest, friendliest souls on the planet. I have yet to have ever visited or lived in a country where its citizens so fully embrace life, so fully value friendship and family, so fully “live well, laugh often, and love much.” For these reasons, I still pride myself in being a Trinidadian – but I do worry. I worry about my country. I worry about my people. I worry about my family.

And I pray for peace.

A light

Bougainvillea on our veranda/gallery/loggi'al fresco

Our bougainvillea are finally in bloom again, after several months off. Bougainvillea prefer drier weather to wet, and for the most part the blooms have been absent this rainy season. But suddenly: colour everywhere.

I'm taking this as an indication that the rainy season is coming to an end, and the dry season is just around the corner. And since the rainy season here coincides with hurricane season in the Gulf Coast, I post this photograph for those of you in the southern United States, as an encouraging sign of hope that things can only improve from here.

Adoption: An American Revolution

Family self-portrait, September 19, 2005

I interrupt Chookooloonks for the following:

While checking out some of my favourite blogs, I ran across Adoption: An American Revolution. In their words:

Adoption: An American Revolution is a major multimedia project that will explore how transformations taking place in adoption today are having far-reaching effects on all our public and private lives.

The centerpiece of the project will be a two-hour documentary special for national public broadcasting. The documentary will feature a rich tapestry of original stories, illuminating the joys, the challenges and the impact of adoption.

The television broadcast will be linked to an ambitious adoption education effort, with innovative adoption-related materials for public libraries and schools, a new Web site with adoption resources, and more.

It looks pretty interesting, and it seems it's being produced by some impressive folks, including an Emmy-award-winning filmmaker. As this is being done for PBS, they're currently soliciting public funding. For those of you who have adopted, there's even a forum for uploading your own adoption stories and photographs of your family.

Since I'm always intrigued by anything that portrays adoption positively (as this appears to do, although I'd be interested in knowing if anyone has heard anything to the contrary), I thought I'd let you know about it.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled Chookooloonks.

Rita

Chess

Marcus, Alex and I were supposed to be flying into Houston to visit family and friends tomorrow. Needless to say, we’ve been monitoring the Houston Chronicle online, surfing the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration website, and generally watching the weather like hawks over the last few days. If you were a fly on our wall, I think you’d have noticed a marked change in the tone of the conversations we’ve been having with our family and friends during the week:

Sunday:
Family & Friends: We can’t wait to see you guys on the weekend!
Us: We can’t wait to see you, too!

Monday:
F&F: We can’t wait to see … hey, did you see that? Is that … yes, it looks like … is that a tropical storm?
Us: Umm, yeah, whatever. We can’t wait to see you, too!

Tuesday:
F&F: Dudes, do you know there’s a HURRICANE in the Gulf, and it’s HEADED THIS WAY???
Us: Hmmm….yeeeeeaaaaaah. We noticed that. But the plane will probably still be able to land, and it’s probably not going to be a very strong hurricane. Besides, we can’t wait to see you!

Wednesday morning:
F&F: Screw y’all, man. We’re outta here.
Us: But… but… wait! Can’t you wait to see us?

Wednesday evening:
F&F (as they hurriedly pack): Dudes, we are SERIOUS. It’s a Category 5. DO NOT GET ON THAT PLANE!
Us: What are you people, nuts? We get the news here, too, you know! I mean, no offense, but we can totally wait to see you!

Needless to say, we’ve cancelled our trip. Most of the people we’ve talked to in Houston are seriously thinking of leaving town, and I have to say, I'm praying they all do. Looking at this morning's weather report, the forecast is horrifyingly grim; as anyone from New Orleans will tell you, hurricanes are not to be trifled with.

If you’re in the Gulf Coast, here’s hoping that you, your family and your friends are safe and sound, and that the impact of this storm on your lives in minimal. And if there’s even a question about your wellbeing -- and I think there is -- seriously, err on the side of safety, and move out of harm’s way.

Culture Club

Our Culture Shop, Grand Riviere, Trinidad

When Marcus and I decided to move to Trinidad, a move requiring me to quit my job, many people thought I was crazy. “You’re crazy,” they said. “Why would you leave your career to go be an expat wife on some Third World island?”

“Are you kidding?” I’d respond. “This is an opportunity for me to return to my culture. It’s a chance to introduce Marcus properly to my culture. I’m getting to expose Alex to my culture.”

Well, kind of.

The truth is, Trinidadian culture is only part of the “culture” that defines me. Oh sure, in a lot of ways I feel Trinidadian. I mean, I was born here, and my parents are Trinidadian, for God’s sake. I grew up on Trini food. It was a rare party or holiday or celebration in our family home that didn’t include copious amounts of calypso music and Trini rum (not necessarily in that order). I understand Trini slang and patois. I have extremely Trini sensibilities when it comes to issues of race and religion. And as American friends will tell you, when I’m around my family and West Indian friends, I lapse right into my Trini accent.

Still, I’d be lying if I said that I remained unaffected by American culture – in many ways, I’m more American than Trini. I spent more than half of my life in America. I received both of my degrees in the United States (one of them, my engineering degree, I earned at Texas A&M University – and trust me, you CANNOT get more Texan-American than Texas A&M University). As an American-trained lawyer, I comprehend the structure of the U.S. federal government far better than I’ll ever understand the Trinidadian system. George Bush and the current U.S. administration can get me riled beyond reason, yet I couldn’t tell you if the current Trinidadian party-in-power is considered conservative or liberal. And as my Trini friends and family will tell you, when I’m around my American friends, I speak with a perfectly nondescript American accent.

As if this wasn’t enough, I find myself more and more affected by English culture. Sure, living in London for a couple of years helped; however, living with Marcus has had a much stronger English impact on my life. When we returned to England a few months ago, I actually found myself rather inexplicably homesick. And an astonishing number of new people I meet in Trinidad tell me they hear a tinge of an English accent in my voice. Blimey.

So, culturally-speaking, I guess this makes me an Englameridadian. And personally, I really dig that. I like that I’m a true “citizen of the world” – that I’m the product of several diverse societies. The interesting consequence, however, is that I don’t fully belong to any of these cultures. Trinis consider me a Yank. Americans consider me West Indian. And I’m not sure Brits know what to make of me, although I suspect I’m considered more ‘American’ than “Afro-Caribbean.” Maybe.

As I mentioned before, I pride the fact that I can’t be placed in any particular culture-box. I do, however, spend an inordinate amount of time wondering to which culture Alex will ascribe. Of course, a lot of this will depend on where we finally settle down (most likely the US or the UK), but still, no matter where we are, there are aspects of Marcus and me which will become part of the fabric of her being. She already says “cuppa tea?” with regularity, and begs for sips from our mugs, prepared the English way, with milk and sugar. She says some words, like “water,” with a distinctively Trini accent, and devours homemade Trini cuisine like pelau and curry chicken and dumplings with alarming gusto. And since many of our closest friends and family live in the United States, no matter what happens, we’ll be visiting the U.S. often, so I have no doubt she’ll be intimately familiar with American culture.

I like to think this melding of cultures in her life will prepare her for adulthood in an increasingly global economy. I definitely believe it will make her a more well-rounded person.

Culturally-speaking, of course.

Out on a limb

Lizard at sunset, Tobago

So, I’ve been thinking:

When I started writing Chookooloonks in early 2004, I was a whole different person. I was an attorney, working full-time as the Chief of Staff to the CEO of a Very Large Corporation. I was living in Houston, waiting for a very pregnant birthmother to give birth to a child who would become our daughter. I was worrying that members of our family, who live all over the world, were feeling left out of all these huge changes that were about to happen to Marcus and me. And so, I created Chookooloonks, primarily as a way to keep them involved.

As those of you who keep an online journal know, the reasons for writing can change, often depending on what’s going on in your life. The same has been true for me: after Alex came home, the site became my “e-baby-book” – a living document of all the changes that inevitably occurred in our lives as new parents, recorded so that Alex could read it when she’s older. Then people who were considering adoption started contacting me, and Chookooloonks became a way for me to communicate my thoughts on the issue of adoption, and hopefully help those who were involved in its sometimes-overwhelming process. Then we moved to Trinidad, and I felt a sort of patriotic obligation to show the beauty of my island home to the rest of the world.

At every turn, however, one thing was the same: I was always writing for other people. I wrote for my friends and family, for the adoption community, for people who were unfamiliar with Trinidad and wanted to learn more. Often, I didn’t write because I wanted to write, I wrote because I felt guilty that I hadn’t posted in a while. I found I censored myself on issues that couldn’t appropriately be accompanied by a charming picture of Alex. And if I inadvertently hurt someone's feelings with something I wrote -- even if it was someone I didn't know -- I took it very, very hard. As a result, Chookooloonks became solely an obligation to readers, not a vehicle for personal expression. And if that obligation is my only motivation for writing, I think the result is, at worst, somewhat dishonest; at best, disingenuous.

Therefore, after looking inward for a bit of soul-searching, I emerge with a decision to go out on a limb: I’ve decided to start writing Chookooloonks for me, rather than as an obligation to others. I’ve also decided to write Chookooloonks not as the person I was when I started – an attorney who kept a weblog as a hobby – but as the person I am today: a photographer and a writer with something to say. I hope, through my pictures and words, I more fully convey my thoughts not only on adoption and parenthood, but on other issues about which I feel passionate, as well. I plan to continue to share the happiness in our lives (because, let’s face it, Marcus and Alex and I live a pretty incredibly happy life), but I also hope that I can share some of the struggles we experience living on an island that, while indescribably beautiful, is increasingly plagued by crime and inefficiency. In short, I’d like to be a bit more balanced, a bit more frank, and ultimately, portray a more accurate reflection of who I am. I think writing this way is more truthful, don’t you?

Ironically, given my new, rather selfish position, I sincerely hope you enjoy the new redesigned Chookooloonks. Going forward, I promise to keep this site as honest as possible. In return, I hope you’ll also feel moved to constructively (as explained on the "About Me" page) share your thoughts with me – Lord knows I’ve learned a lot from each and every one of you who’ve commented in the past, and for that I’m more grateful than you know. And for those of you who come here just for the family photos: never fear, those aren’t completely going away. Marcus and Alex are too much a part of me for them not to turn up from time to time!

With that, I'm off to hang out with Al. See you very soon.

Please Stand By

Answers, and a Break

Okay, so I lied: I said that I was going to wait until next week to answer your questions, and instead I'm answering them now, for reasons I'll get into later in this post. So without further ado:

First, the lovely Mir asked if I was planning on keeping Alex's hair in a sort of "Mommy-and-me" short crop, such that when we walked down the street, people would gasp in admiration in our duality; or if I intended to let her hair grow. The truth is, the only reason my hair is this short is because it is a bona fide nightmare as it grows -- it breaks, it becomes dull, and it drives me up a tree. Luckily, Alex has been blessed with a wonderfully healthy head of hair, and I plan on letting it grow to its full Rapunzel-esque potential, until she cries out in an exasperated "Mo-o-o-m!!" with the angst only a teenager can endure, and rebels by shaving her head and tattooing her left cheekbone. But perhaps I'm a bit paranoid on that count.

Next, the delightful MamaChristy asked if we were planning any futher tropical vacations -- it's funny, but Marcus and I were just today thinking that maybe we should consider a long weekend on Margarita Island, just off the coast of Venezuela. We hear it's as easy to get to and almost as cheap for us to go there as it is to go to Tobago...which sounds great; however, we need to do more research to confirm this. At this point, we're just talkin'. In any event, to date, we don't have any more tropical vacations planned.

Julie had an adoption question: she asked about my opinion related to an American-adoption-agency focus on trying to place African-American babies with same-race parents, and whether she was missing anything when considering a transracial adoption:

To echo Red's comment in the previous post, while I think that historically American private adoption agencies tried to place children with same-race parents, my experience indicates that the focus is less so. Most agencies are intent on matching children and birthmothers with loving adoptive parents under the best circumstances possible, and more often than not, in defining "best circumstances," race is not necessarily at the top of the list. This was definitely true with our agency. As far as what you might be missing: in my humble opinion, not a damned thing. Take my advice on this with a grain of salt, however; while technically, I suppose we are a transracial adoption, the truth is we're each of different racial backgrounds (Marcus is Irish/English, I'm African/Chinese/Indian, and Alex is Colombian/Mexican). Your situation (since both you and your husband share the same racial background) may be different. You might want to check out the Adoption Forums; in particular, the bulletin board related to transracial adoptions. I suspect that there are people on that site who would have a much more insightful response to your question. Also, I know some of the Chookooloonks readers have adopted transracially, and I invite them to post their views on transracial adoption here in the comments section. In any event, Julie, I wish you the best of luck, whatever you decide to do -- you're going to love being a parent!

Next, Toni commented that I rarely talk about religion on Chookooloonks, and asked about our religious faith (she also advised me not to pull any punches). I was raised Catholic, but seeing as I was divorced when I married Marcus, the Catholic church probably isn't in a big hurry to use me as an example of The Ultimate Catholic. Marcus was raised Church of England (or Anglican or Episcopalian, depending on your viewpoint), but at this point has more of a "May the Force be with you" sort of approach to his faith, since he has an innate distrust of organized religion. When Alex was born, we decided to baptize her in the Episcopal church, for very personal reasons.

We're horrible churchgoers, and actually have not gone to church since we moved to Trinidad. I do, however, make Alex say her prayers every evening ("AAAAAAAAAAAAA-MEN!!!!"), and hope to raise her to believe in God.

As far as why I haven't talked about our faith here on Chookooloonks, it's because to me, faith is an extremely private issue, similar to discussing how much someone makes, or what their last visit to the doctor was about -- and I say this, Toni, with lots of respect to you -- if I didn't want to answer the question, I wouldn't have answered it; I'm glad you asked the question. However, I just wanted to explain why you probably won't see much more of our faith on this site, even if we do become regular churchgoers.

Finally, the vivacious Lisa C. asked me to share memorable stories of my childhood. She also asked if stiltwalking (as seen on Sesame Street) was still commonly practiced here in Trinidad, and if Alex has "triple-citizenship," based on our citizenship.

As far as favourite childhood memories, it's hard to pick just one. I will say that they probably all have to do with the beach, as I grew up in a small fishing village on the southeast corner of Trinidad (a place called Mayaro), and we were constantly on the beach -- the beach was even our most direct route to walk to school! As for "stiltwalking," yes, it's still very common around Carnivaltime, but mostly practiced by adults, and rarely by children, even though the Sesame Street segment makes it sound like we all grew up walking on stilts (I assure you, I've never walked on stilts in my life). The stiltwalkers are called Moko Jumbies, and every Carnival you can see them dancing through the streets. They're a wonderful sight.

As for Alex's citizenship, she's currently a U.S. citizen, but is eligible for citizenship both in England and in Trinidad. We just haven't gotten around to applying for it yet. She's a pretty lucky kid!

___________________________

So, I think that answers all of the questions thus far. As for why I'm answering them now: I think it's time for me to take a break from Chookooloonks. I've been regularly updating here for about 19 months now, and to be honest, after events during the last 36 hours, I'm feeling a bit beat up. So I'm going to take a bit of a hiatus. In the meantime, here's a picture of Marcus and Girlie, taken today while chilling at an oceanfront bar/restaurant, and my favourite photo of our recent Rainy-Day Self-Portraits.

You guys take good care.

So, how 'bout those Astros?

In a truly clumsy attempt to change the subject, anything you guys want to talk about? Anything you want to ask? Talk to me, peeps -- I'll spend the weekend mulling over your questions, and will answer them next week.