Monday, July 27, 2009

EMANCIPATION TRINIDAD STYLE


Today in Trinidad and Tobago it is politically correct for nationals of African descent, (myself included) to don African wear and display our African-ness in celebration of the August 1st Proclamation of the Emancipation of African Slaves in the British colonies.

I’ve never been politically correct and I certainly have never been able to "celebrate" this auspicious proclamation. As far as I am concerned it is a load of bull spoken to the ignorant masses to bind them into the controllable pen of anger and revenge.

Trinidad was never a slave society and in my humble opinion, residents of this twin island country are more enslaved now, than at any point in the history of our nation.

I thank God everyday, I was born a free person and I am able without concern to voice my opinions and to traverse paths my foreparents dared not thread. I also understand the context in which commemoration of the Proclamation of Emancipation, can be observed. But certainly donning 'African styled" couture and dancing in Masai inspired costumes to the rhythmn of drums is not the way to go.

Dr Kwame Nantambu's book "Egypt and Afrocentric Geopolitics" is a starting point for any student desiring true emancipation. Its message can help the reader change focus from the insulting perception of what it means to be African to understanding the quality, quantity of the contributions and the accomplishments of the African diaspora to the world through the ages.

Today certainly isn't a day for celebration. There is nothing to celebrate while the African continent is torn apart by civil war and political turmoil. Nothing!


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LE NOIREAU- Prologue

There was chaos in Scotland Bay Village. Everywhere, everyone was busy; packing, unpacking, leaving burnt bare lands for the Americans.

Away from the noises and confusion the aquamarine Caribbean waves played a soft calypso rhythm, strumming, rippling, kissing bare toes, feet and ankles dug deep into the cold, clammy sand.

The air was laden, ready, thick with the rancid scent of seaweed, salt and smoke carried in the spray; pushed by angry, crashing, foaming waves against a stony coastline up and around the Bay’s end.

She was misted; creating an eerie appearance as she sat back hunched on a fallen tree trunk embedded in the sand; knees tucked under the wide folds of her skirt. Damp grainy sand and the sea waters rushed up; bubbling in between her fingers and feet. Gently she rested her chin on her knees and looked out at the fading horizon, watching the day in its brilliance and splendor of death at sunset. The fiery gold of the sun’s rays; fingering, shimmering on the aquamarine canopy of the sea, dazzling blinding and ever so slowly, churning to taunting, tangerine orange and saffron reds; cascading into purple, violets and royal blue of evening time with ballet like precision. And later as stars peeping first play hide and seek with the naked eye, streaks of charcoal gray strut into midnight black, shadowing the earth into illusions of peace-fullness, as twinkling jewels finally sparkle in the phosphorescent gleam of a splendid Caribbean moonlight.

The gulf steamer disregarding war time surveillance orders; tugged by, alerting Astral Le Noireau to the lateness of the hour. She sighed lifted tiny hands from the sand and stared as the grains quietly trickled back into their places on the seemingly un-rumpled shore. The signal light of the streamer as it passed by and answering flashed from the lighthouse, momentarily blinded her as she turned huge tear filled almond shaped golden eyes up and then out, taking in the silver-ness of the long familiar Scotland Bay coastline, now bathed in the beauty of a full Caribbean moonlight. The gentle breeze blew her blue black hair into her eyes and face, as one hand rose gracefully to whip the unruly strands back into place. Silently a figure standing in the shadows of a coconut palm tree observed her.

Astral stood crying silently, watching the village she so love fade into the night shadows as the steamer padded laboriously out into the first Boca. Every inch further way from Scotland Bay felt like a fist clenching around her lung, stifling her, killing her. She stood rooted until Chateau le Noireau was no longer visible as they rounded the bend at Delgada Point. Until tears of frustration overwhelmed her and she crumbled to the seat on the almost empty steamer. Astral Le Noireau and her precious possession were some of the last things to evacuate from her village.

The Marines had put her on the ferry.

(c) 2006 Cecly Ann Mitchell


Goodreads

Cecly Ann's books

Going Down Hard
really liked it
I always enjoy Rhonda Russell's novels. This one was no exception. Easy to read, wonderful charcters, interesting plot and her first line hooks are always attention grabbers.
The Doctor's Secret Bride
it was amazing
So much angst, so much love, so many twists and turns..Erik and Michelle, the charcters and plot are just perfect for a compelling reader experience.

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Review

Lighthouse Reef (Pelican Pointe, #4)Lighthouse Reef by Vickie McKeehan
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I would give this novel 100 stars. Lighthouse Reef reminded me of my late father. Two months before he passed a friend from his youth visited. Up until that time, I have never imagined my parents as young people; teenagers, twenty-somethings- out having fun.. We met them as adults so we never think about them as young people.
That Logan carried the angst of his sister's disappearance for 20 odd years and had the strength to return to the place of her disapperance to discover what happened to her, is a testimony to the craftsmanship of Vickie McKeehan. The plot was on point(no pun intended) from the first sentance.
That the reader keeps circling back to the beginning; Baby Scott, Baby Nate, expected Baby Meghan reminds the reader that even in death there is life.
In an age where women are disappearing off the face of the earth, Vickie McKeehan gives us hope.
Hpe that there are Logans, Ethans, Nicks and others out there championing the case of missing and exploited people.
It made me as a reader reflect on those people who we uphold as exemplars in society, realizing all too often that while society may hold them in high esteem,we really do not know anything about them when they get behind closed doors.
This is a 100****** read. A noel for our times and a recommended read for all the right reasons.

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My Bookshelf

Goodreads: To Be Read Shelf

Cecly Ann's to-read book montage

The Green Mile
Quicksand
My Soul to Keep
Battle Cry
Cane
Midnight Robber
Four Seasons in Rome: On Twins, Insomnia, and the Biggest Funeral in the History of the World
Winesburg, Ohio
Everything She Ever Wanted: A True Story of Obsessive Love, Murder, and Betrayal
The Great Gatsby
Brandy and Bullets
The Edge of Midnight
The Edge of Dawn
Beyond Good and Evil
Living Dangerously
Paradiso
Victoria Line, Central Line
Push Not the River
Small Island
Against a Crimson Sky


Cecly Ann's favorite books »

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What Type of Writer Am I?

Type -- J.D. Salinger

You are quite possibly one of the greatest creative minds of your generation... not that you want anyone to know, of course. Not only have you been in hiding for several decades, you refuse to publish any of your recent work. You would very likely be a perennial Pulitzer Prize candidate, but your writing sits in a de-humidified bank vault in your humble New Hampshire ranch, awaiting the day that your next-of-kin decides to make a few hundred million dollars. Why the secrecy? Afraid people will read too much into your repeated affairs with barely-of-age girls? Afraid people will begin to see you in every single one of your maladjusted, unstable characters?

See what type of Writer you are.Take the quiz @

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