Sunday, April 20, 2014

Log Book: March 11th-20th

Conditions: 75 & sunny
Location: Man-O-War part 2

Jack and Stephanie flew back to Connecticut this morning while Dad and I sailed back to Man-O-War to get the boat hauled naked the bearing fixed. Since losing our friends Dad and I already feel isolated. The Bahamas are great but as Dad says "you have to bring your own party," because there is no one else here. I can't say I was pleased to return to Man-O-War. The island is very nice but very quiet and right now I've had enough of the quiet life. When we arrived Dad was distraught to see that two boats occupied the only dry docks in the marina. Apparently when we didn't arrive at the marina yesterday (when Dad told them that we would show up) they gave our spot to someone else. It's pretty disappointing because the sailboat that scooted into the dry dock ahead of us is being painted top to bottom. The entire process will take at least a week. I know Dad doesn't want to push or even test the engine until we get it fixed aka we are stuck on a dry island for a week. Luckily Jack and Stephanie gave us their leftover rum.
It has been really hard to find stuff to do on the island but Dad and I have finally made some friends. It's a very tight knit society, everyone seems to know each other and when outsiders visit for an extended period of time, like Dad and I, they notice. Our best friend is Waskin, who works at the boat yard. He is originally from Haiti and speaks a mix of Creole and English. He likes Dad's jokes and Dad likes his unique perspective on Bahamian and Haitian culture. Many of the people living on the Bahamas are actually Haitians and the human trafficking of Haitians to the U.S. has become big problem here. Some natives say that fisherman or charter boats will quite often traffic illegal immigrants and drop them off on a beach in Florida for around 3,000 dollars. It seems that they are the more fortunate immigrants. Other Haitians get smuggled in by a family who then takes advantage of their illegal status in a sort of indentured servitude situation. While the Haitians on Man-O-War seem to be a respected and accepted part of the community on other islands they are highly discriminated against. They are often described as causing some of the lawlessness throughout the islands. Unfortunately these sentiments are widely promulgated by the Americans who make the Bahamas their winter home. As you can imagine the job market in the Bahamas limited, and Haitians also get blamed for encroaching on the low paying jobs as cheap labor. We were unable to discover the minimum wage and if it was enforced but to give you a general idea the boat that was being painted head-to-toe in the yard was being hand sanded before every coat of paint was applied. That takes a long time and presumably it was hand sanded and painted because the price of appliances and electrical cost of operation was more expensive than the manual labor.
Dad and I have made it our personal secret mission to prove that the assumptions and accusations about the Haitian population are false. It is easy to do in a place like Man-O-War because, like I said, from and outsiders perspective there seems to be little discrimination here. Waskin loves to plant in his spare time, he learned from his Dad who grows sweet potatoes and more back in Haiti. Waskin took us to his nursery where he was growing peppers, grapes, avocado, watermelon, corn, limes, peas, Palm trees, and of course bananas. Many of these plants he was growing for friends or harvesting with the intent to trade for other fruit. He gave me a lime tree and showed me how to plant and fertilize it with seaweed. Waskin dug his hands into the ground as if the dirt was merely water, clearing stones away from the earthy patches like he knew exactly where they would be. He is so familiar with the land that he knows when to move a plant, harvest a fruit, prune the foliage, or plant new seeds. I've never met someone so tuned in to nature but Waskin is frequently on one of his two cell phones, his computer, or his tablet - he's not your stereotyped treehugger.
For the natives of Man-O-War this is what the island life is all about. An old couple zooms around on their golf cart on Saturdays selling fresh loaves of bread and cinnamon rolls, something they have been doing for more than twenty years. The streets are empty and silent on Sunday except for the occasional hymn heard from the packed churches. No cat, dog, or other pet has a collar but they all belong to someone and they are known by name throughout the island. It seems like the good life, the simple life. But while growing up here, in the Bahamas, is something many might envy you only have to watch the neighborhood children playing baseball to wonder how disadvantaged they are living in such an isolated place. While breeding athletes may not be a priority I'm sure that other disadvantages translate as well. The children here run wild without shoes, supervision, or a care in the world. They have the freedom to live in a place relatively untainted by the outside world, but what opportunities are withheld from them living in such a paradise? How can they strive to be doctors, lawyers, archeologists, biologists, CEOs, even police officers when they have no representations of those actors? Which begs the question is the world, is their world a better place without these actors? Is ignorance really bliss?
For Dad and I, it's been torture. I really don't want to exaggerate but it is so so quiet here, too quiet. We did all we could to keep busy. We spent one great day snorkeling off the beach. It was awesome. The water was full of huge purple sea fans swaying in the waves. I saw a giant Caribbean lobster hiding under the rocks but also an array of fish and tons of sea urchins. Brain coral and fire coral littered the floor and most notably we saw NO sharks. The second best thing Dad and I did was go to the symphony. Waskin loves music so he came with us. The Bahamian national symphony was playing in Hopetown at the Abaco Inn. The three of us took the ferry over and met a ton of people who already knew us, like I said before the locals know the outsiders. They were all really nice but most of them were not natives but Americans who moved to the Bahamas upon retirement. Together they made a cute little clique of grandparents, calling to each other from opposite ends of the ferry, whispering, and giggling. The Abaco Inn was right on the beach and the symphony played outside. It was great to be doing something social again, but it did underscore the notion that we needed to get off Man-O-War to have a really good time.



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