Caribbean Beat — September/October 2018 (#153)

need to know
The Read
What he learned
An excerpt from “Unaccounted for”, an essay by indigenous
Trinidadian writer Tracy Assing, published in the recent
anthology So Many Islands: Stories from the Caribbean,
Mediterranean, Indian and Pacific Oceans (Peekash Press)
Illustration by James hackett
My father’s memory is good. So I ask him to talk to me for a
while about what he learned growing up. He rattles off the
names of animals and plants I have never heard before. Or, I
think I have never heard before. It all sounds somehow familiar.
“We were taught about snakes,” he says. “The dangerous
ones, we can smell them, hear them, and avoid them. We
were taught about the mapipire – balsain and zanana – coral,
cascabel, mapamare, creebo, macajuel, tigre. The pretty,
attractive ones were poisonous. Our teaching from age one
to seven years was about seeing as a form of knowing, smelling
as a form of knowing, and hearing as a form of knowing.
“We were taught about scorpions — if stung by one, we
can eat them. If we don’t like the [raw] taste, we can roast
them in fire and then eat them. We were taught about Jack
Spaniard wasps, which we call jep: jep cohong, jep tattoo, jep
cesar. If stung by one, we must take three different types of
bush, grass, or herb and crush the leaves in our hands and
rub the juices on the jep sting to avoid swelling. Of course,
all stings are more potent during the full moon, and although
we know all these remedies we must avoid getting stung by
bees, snakes, scorpions, jep. So, always be alert whenever in
the forest, on the estate, or by the rivers.
“We were taught about zagweeh, cheenee, santapee,
congoree, tac-tac, marabuntas, fire ants, red ants, garapet,
battimamzelles, butterflies. We were taught about insects
with wings and without wings.
“We were taught about the birds: kweleebee, kai, ramea,
chat, viennal, taoday, cravat, picoplat, toucan, chikichong,
semp, zotola, greeve, pawi, guacharo, gabila, tuvatuva. We know
these birds by their marking and colour,
by their mating calls and their distress
calls. In order to catch them, we were
able to feed them by calling them for
food and using their distress call to get
them closer to us. This ability comes
from listening to the birds and mimicking
their calls. The forest is like a school.
“As children, we had lots of fun in the
river. We would play ‘hide the stone’ in
a pool. Which involved hiding a stone
underwater and then the other people
have to find it. We had swim races under
water. This helped strengthen our lungs.
Sometimes we would venture far up river or down river. We were
taught about all the fish in the river. What was edible and what
was not. The tayta, guabin, zangi, cuscorob, watamal, crayfish,
maki, and buc. We would catch these fish with our hands or
sometimes we use the old native plant, balbac. Our ancestors
loved and respected the river and we did the same.
“We were shown the trees and told the names and fruits.
Kapok, guatacare, tapana, crapo, oilver, mahoe, ceret, galba,
calabash, cazuka, anare, moriche, touca, balata, coffee, cocoa,
roucou, cayoneg, caimit, cashima, cashew, mamisepote,
aguma, guanabana, gree-gree, groo-groo, peewah, kereckel.
“On our treks through the forest for dry wood for the
fireside, we were taught about the animals, the trees, and
the herbs. We were taught about the iguana, the agouti,
quenk, tattoo, manicou, matapal, pillowee, porqupine. We
were taught the hunt and the trails. There are ancient trails
connecting each mountain region to the other.
“We didn’t have money or a deed for land, but we were
never hungry.”
In Guyana, home to one of the Caribbean region’s largest First Peoples
populations, September is officially celebrated as Indigenous Heritage
Month, a chance to learn about the diversity, legacy, and cultures of Guyana’s
indigenous peoples: the Akawaio, Arawak, Arecuna, Carib, Makushi, Patamona,
Wai-Wai, Wapishana, and Warrau. Communities across the country stage
exhibitions of art, dance, craft, food, native games, and sports.
In nearby Trinidad and Tobago, a one-off holiday in October 2017 brought
the country’s indigenous history to public attention. But the Carib community
centred on Santa Rosa, near Arima, has commemorated its own Amerindian
Heritage Week in mid-October for almost two decades, asserting the
presence of a people and a culture in defiance of historical amnesia.
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