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Beneath the shade of a flowering poui tree, her grandfather shares a story about pride, poverty, grace and the quiet ways life has of turning fortunes around.
During the August vacation, my siblings and I left the city of old Big Ben and headed to Trinidad. The loving arms of our grandparents awaited us at their sprawling five-acre estate in the south. This was our lives when we were there: waking up to the purple and pink tinged sky of squawking parrots at sunrise; exploring the cocoa and coffee fields; climbing the trees; eating Chinese tamarind, gru gru bef, sticky banga and pois doux—fruits that we didn’t have in London; diving into the refreshing river that ran through the estate; trapping an iguana and roasting it in our outdoor fireside. The legacy of our grandparents’ lives with me.
Grandpa, with a dimpled rainbow smile on his face, always had a tale to tell, an adventure to go on, a secret or two to share with us. These included a drink of rum punch or a bag of candy after midnight.
There’s more to this story – and you’re invited.
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