St. Lucian Woman Writes of her Experience
Malaise Norah, 1997, St. Lucia
I am walking down a wide dirt road toward the marina in Rodney Bay, St. Lucia, a charming island known for some of the sweetest bananas in all the Caribbean. Figs, they call them here. Falcon and Fabian walk beside me, smoking weed that’s rolled in a dried banana leaf. My husband is pushing our 2-year-old daughter in the stroller and the both of them have fallen behind. The sun has already set, and the evening sky is a deep inky blue. We are meeting travelers from England at a restaurant on the water, a printer, his wife and two teenage girls, both of whom are natural blondes, which Falcon and Fabian confess to adore. Falcon is a Rastafarian who lives on the beach in Rodney Bay, makes his living off tourists as a pirate of sorts, recording dub and dancehall onto cheap cassettes, $10 a tape. Yes, he’s a Rastafarian with a boombox. Some of them even have got cars. You might know they are Rasta by the Lion of Judah bumper stickers.
Falcon hangs out around the Candyo Inn, a small, St. Lucian-owned hotel in the style of a traditional island home, just a short walk from the beach. It is white, the hotel, with emerald awnings and lots of lattice, fits in well with the local neighborhood. “The tourists here are friendly,” he tells me, “like you,” and so are the hotel employees. Fabian is Falcon’s oldest friend,…… click on the link
http://www.alternet.org/story/153696/some_feet_not_meant_for_shoes_-_novel_excerpt?page=entire
Leguanite
