Saturday, December 31, 2011

2011- The JOBS

It has been one of those very eventful years. One when you look back and can't seem to understand the whats or whys of the time. As 2011 spins to an end, I sit here with absolutely no regrets and with so much anticipation for the path I must traverse in 2012 I can hardly wait for 2011 to be gone, cast away into the history of man.

I continue to thank God for criss crossing my life with His Angels. One in particular continues to be a major influence in my life. There has never been a day, since our paths crossed, so dramatically more than a decade ago, that God has not used this angel to impact and change the course of my life in a positive way.

After building a  thriving consultancy with a number of Caribbean governments on his advice I was brought onto the team of the Minister of the Arts and Multiculturalism. I disctinctly remember the Permanent secretary telling me s had 'problems' with me working for the Honourable Minister, in the capacity in which I signed on to; but then her vision was 'limited'. I suppose her thinking was similar to persons caught up on 'shit and status'  who would have scoffed at the opportunity as being 'beneath their status'. Not me I love public sector communications and I have always embraced  an opportunity to have new and different experiences. Culture and the arts were not really my'thing' ( although I am a published author) but working with the Minister of the Arts and Multiculturalism was as easy as breathing, simply because of the people with whom I interacted each and every day.

It was at the Ministry of the Arts and Multiculturalism I rekindled my joy of working in Trinidad and Tobago public sector, which I might add was severely impacted by crappy Public Servants with a no work agenda. Although I have to say, I also know many hard working public servants; the best thing to come out of the interactions with the malicious, deceitful, envious group (inclusive or senior staff and their imps and secretaries)  is more material for characters for my novel 'Public Servants'.

But coming back to the Ministry of the Arts and Multiculturalism, Dawad, Eldon, Donald, Denis and Rolph (sniff, sniff) Minister Peter's inner cabinet, made being there and working there so comfortable that I have come to regard them all as big brothers and Minister Peters as my biggest brother. It was no small shock when less than a month after showing us his photographs in a casket, Rolph I.L Warner suddenly walked through the door to eternity and into our memories. I did not know Rolph before joining the Ministry, but I can safely say my life was so enriched by meeting and working with him that I will be forever grateful to him for making me smile everyday for the rest of my life. Thank you Rolph. Thank you Minister Peters. Thank you Dawad, Eldon, Denis, Chris and Donald. Group Hug.

I also want to say a special thank you to MP Nela Khan, PS Jones, DPS Vel Lewis, Wynell Nicholas, Lieutenant Jitta, Jemma Kerr, Emma Chulan, Wendy and Georgette Worrell, Bevan Agard, Christopher Alfred and the staff at Culture Division and the crew. Thank you for being a part of this memorable year. 

By the time I was appointed Director of Communications at the Ministry of the Attorney General, I was well primed for 'working' with an Attorney General, whom many had described as difficult. I have not found him so to be. Anand Ramlogan S.C. continues to inspire me to improve the service I give to the Government of Trinidad and Tobago. Thank you AG for being the person you are. I also want to express my appreciation to  Samraj Harripaul S.C. for his quiet but effective management of my transition into the Ministry of the Attorney General and for all those, including PS Yearwood and the present group of ladies in the Comms Unit (Gina, Kailash, Tricia, Siobhan, Maxine and Candace) for giving me the opportunity to chart a new course for Public Sector Communications within the Ministry of the Attorney General. 

The first quarter of fiscal 2012 has been one of the most rewarding for me professionally in the Trinidad and Tobago public sector.The organizational systems upon which the Communications Unit of the Ministry of the Attorney General will operate have been established and we are rearing to go.

As we usher in 2012 and begin to implement our projects and programmes using this platform it is my fervent wish that a comprehensive,co-ordinated Public Sector Communications remit be designed and implemented to ensure a more dynamic Public Sector communicator environment which will positively impact and manage the change process among the citizens of Trinidad and Tobago.  

I can't wait to get to work.

All the Best in 2012

The Uninhabited Diplomat.




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The Uninhibited Diplomat said...

The key to writing is -write whatever props up in your mind. You will find that once you practise this habit, little by little you trend of trying to find your centre will pass and you will be able to focus on the subject that you want to write about. I write historical fiction and therefore I have a plot in my head and on paper about where I want the story to go. Sometimes however the plot line goes in its own direction and new characters and new scenes develop that are not planned. However for me the best way to counter act what you are describing is to just write.
Regards
Cecly Ann

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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


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