Ride that Bus

Virginie has a swimming lesson every Thursday at 10:30 am to which Didier usually takes us.  I know he loves the time spent with us, but it must also be difficult to escape the perils of his workplace for a 1/2 hour lesson and return to who knows what.  So today I decided to exert some of that confidence that has been so lacking since moving here and took my baby to the bus stop to catch a bus to our lesson. 

Now this is no M86.  It's not even the M103.  I am talking about a bus through the narrow streets of a developing island where one enters on the left side of the bus as it is slowly moving on the next stop, meaning it is not really idling.   It is picking riders up Flintstone style, with a running start and keeping it moving!

We had to walk on the West Coast road a little bit to get to the bus station.  This is fairly treacherous as there are no sidewalks at this section and the fallen almonds and remaining mangoes in the road make it difficult to navigate.  The street is narrow and cars are passing in both directions and truthfully, while I realize that cars drive on the opposite side from which I am used to, I still look left and right as it they were driving the same way they do in the States.  I don't know.  I wait for the all clear pretty much.  This whole experience is taxing and I haven't even made it to the bus stop yet!

The national bus service of Barbados has blue buses that run a series of routes covering the island and a private company sporting yellow buses covers the same routes for the same price.  The yellow bus drivers are paid according to the number of passengers they pick up, so they are known to be a bit reckless.  I figured, although we were just going a few stops down the West Coast road, best to stick with the blue buses.  But no blue buses passed!  As the fourth yellow bus passed me and was waved on, I told myself, "Whatever comes next, I am taking it!  We are going to be late for swimming lessons!"  Wouldn't you know that a yellow bus with Rasta driver pulls up blaring, "Burning hot!  Blazin' hot!"and I picked up my baby and with the help of the driver's assistant got on that bus!

I paid my $1.50 fare to the assistant who cleared a front seat for us.  He carried my stroller up the steps for me and got us situated.  Never looking at me, but still taking care.  His eyes had the faded yellow of someone with a history of the blaze up, but I don't judge.  He helped me get on the bus and helped again when we arrived at our stop.  We drove through Holetown, passing construction sites and Super Centre, the bank, and the Chattel Village shops.  Virginie flirted with any passenger who made eye contact with her and loved the breeze on her face.  There was no A/C but it was surprisingly comfortable.  I imagine a longer journey might not have been.

Once off the bus, I righted the stroller and walked toward Sandy Lane to our lesson.  I arrived early and with a little bit of pride.  Feeling self-sufficient for the first time in months, maybe longer, gave me something to smile about.  Virginie swam like a little fish and passed out soon after the lesson as I walked her back down the hill to the main road.  Rather than take the bus home, I walked, crossing the street when the sidewalk ran out or construction work prevented me from safely crossing.  It was hot, unbearable really, but I felt so good to be on my own, moving, walking with Virginie as I had done with Lily every day in New York when she was small.  I want the girls to feel the joy of moving one's self, getting from one place to another, encountering new experiences.  And when I say the girls, I guess I mean myself too.  I am trying, Barbados.  I am really trying.

(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle

Protection

Didier spent part of the afternoon fortifying the fence around the pool.  The girls have become so confident with their swimming skills that we fear their getting bold and walking right out into the garden to the pool and trying to take a swim, unsupervised.  Generally, I am all over them and do not allow them into the garden or on the patio if I am not just a few feet away, but with adventurous and creative small people about, you never know what mischief might develop. 


I have been, since arriving in Barbados nearly a year ago, incredibly concerned about safety.  A feeling of insecurity has descended upon me, and terrors both real and imaginary, rational and irrational have overtaken me.  At first, it was the monkeys, the lizards, the toads, and the mosquitoes.  A threat in my physical world.  My "fight or flight" mechanism was working over time, only I knew there was nowhere I could go.  I was flooded with adrenaline and getting drunk and crazy on it, then crashing.


The greatest threat is really to my psyche and to my sense of being.  I don't feel my footing and therefore want to control every aspect of my life and the girls' lives.  It is not only exhausting, but it prevents me from being in the moment, from being really present because my hypervigilance has me monitoring my surroundings like the Secret Service.  I feel naked.  Unprotected here.  Because Didier is often away.  But also because I have never felt looked after or taken care of, that feeling has been with me all my life.  I have certainly never believed that I was someone's priority and that they would do anything for me.  My safety has always seemed my own concern and now, left in the middle of the jungle, without my friends or family, I must keep us all safe.


We put up the fence around the pool.  We live behind a stone wall.  There are burglar bars on all the windows and doors of the house.  My protection is a gilded cage.  Nothing can get in but I also can't get out.

(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle

Student Visa

After finally becoming a legal visitor of the great island of Barbados, poor Lily will have her passport stamp expire at the end of the month.  It seems that as a four year old, she is required to obtain a student visa so that she may be educated here.  Of course this costs a bit more money, $200 Barbados dollars per year, and requires three passport photos and an extensive application.


After her swimming lesson yesterday, we went to have her passport photos taken.  As we pulled up to the photo shop I remembered one of my favorite rules regarding passport photos here in Barbados.  Lily would not be able to be photographed in anything sleeveless.  Her tiny little shoulders must not be bare.  Now as it was more than likely well over 90 degrees and with a level of humidity that could only conjure images of the rainforest, Lily was wearing a strappy, yellow sundress.  Rather than driving all the way home to find something more appropriate, Mommy found a more creative solution.  I took off my tshirt and gave it Lily to wear as a dress.  I sat in the car playing with Virginie, wearing a towel and my shorts, while Didier took Lily in for her photo.


In the shop, Lily was told to scowl to the camera, as a smile is not allowed in these photos.  My four year old, did the best she could and bit her lip.  How else to keep an almost four year old from smiling while wearing Mommy's t-shirt as a dress? 

I am working on the paperwork today and we will have it taken to the Immigration Department before the week ends.  We are taking bets as to how long it will take for Lily to officially become a student in Barbados.  Perhaps a year after attending school?  Will keep you posted.


(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle

Home

I don't think it is a secret that I would love to return to New York and that in a heartbeat I would leave Barbados.  In an effort to be positive about my life and my future, I want to say that I do not hate Barbados, but I do not want to live there and probably would not have a problem if I were never able to visit again, unless of course, one of my friends living there invited me for a fabulous week at her home.  I am also, not delusional about what life is really like in New York and I know that my adult stint as Eloise in the Plaza is soon to come to an end and should we return, that fantasy would not come with me. 


New York is busy and exhausting and cramped.  It can be difficult with two children and not just in navigating, but in the expense of educating and entertaining them.  Only the strong survive in New York and we remind ourselves of that every day.  There just isn't enough room for all the people here to express themselves and stretch out, so we fight for space or just fight.  I know it.  This year in Barbados has given all of us the chance to breathe and stretch out in a marvelous home with a beautiful garden.  But I would take the Big A any day.


I can work here.  In Barbados, with no work visa, there is really no legal way for me to earn a legitimate wage.  Visiting with my agency this afternoon, I missed my work and the process and energy it generates.  I miss the people involved in creating.  They are interesting and talented and irreverent and funny and intelligent and I don't apologize for myself when I am with them.  I just am. 


I know New York is different even than the rest of the United States, it being one of a few cities in America where an interracial, bicultural, artistic, intellectual couple with two lovely children can flourish.  But I must confess that I am exhausted by the stares and comments we experience every day in Barbados.  I once went to a party in New York, years ago, where Halle Berry was the hostess.  All guests were asked not to make direct eye contact with her unless she spoke first.  I thought this was outrageous!  Outrageously funny and then outrageously sad.  I thought, "Who IS this woman?  Who does she think she is?  We cannot even look at her?"  But when I saw her that evening, my mouth dropped to the floor.  She was stunning.  It was all I could do, all anyone could do really, to avoid staring at her!  I imagined how it must feel for her to have people just watching her breathe every day of her life. 


I'm no Halle Berry, but I understand the sensation of feeling all eyes on you all the time.  There is no freedom.  Every brush on the shoulder, every whispered or shouted word, every smile, wink, sigh considered and judged.  It can be exhausting and put unnecessary strain on a couple.  And a couple that is struggling as we are, with the distance long work hours, depression, and exhaustion has wrought, really cannot support itself under that weight. 

I have not idealized New York in my heart or mind, nor do I think it is the only place on earth where we belong.  But that is exactly what I am searching for.  Belonging.  Home.  Maybe I have been doing that all my life.  Searching for a place of comfort, a place where I can be me in all my incarnations and not be judged.  Where I can be at peace with myself when the lonely, crazy thoughts and dreams and machinations begin.  Home.  Where I am the mommy and an artist, an actress, a writer, a creator and I am loved and can love.


(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle