WHEN I GOT into newspapers 23 years ago, I had the hunch, which experience has since borne out in spades, that newspapers in small societies like ours had to perform additional functions that would be covered by other, separate organs in larger places.
Our daily papers had to move beyond journalism and become journals: the West Indian daily, with its page one lead and its classifieds and its sports section, was also the weekly, the bimonthly, the almanac, the research publication and so on.
As good as the best of our literary publications are, such as the excellent Bim here in Barbados, they would do better and reach more of us by formal association with a daily newspaper, as the Trinidad & Tobago Review has benefited from its publication as an insert in the Express on the first Monday of every month.
In that context, on Thursdays I do a feature for THE NATION called As Bajan As Flying Fish, which spotlights Bajans from all walks of life. Arturo Tappin has been in it, as has a garbage man and Roberta Lady Simpson.
It is purposely built around the people in it, their story, their little pearls of wisdom (or dollops of innocence, ignorance, anger or stupidity).
A picture of the subject, usually in a working environment, is always included: Tony Cozier in the Press box; a windshield-tinter by a car; last week’s windsurf instructor on the beach.
It has worked so well here in Barbados that I’ve been able to do the same thing in Trinidad, as Trini To D Bone (or, if necessary, ’Bago to D Bone).
In the fullness of time, I envisage “As Guyanese As The Sea Wall, Grenadian Like Nutmeg and As Jamaican As Ganja (though I’d probably have to tone that down to Reggae).
The feature has allowed me to talk to a host of people I might never have met, and has made me realize the truth of something I’ve always suspected: that ordinary people are the backbone of the world; and, here in the Caribbean, even the greatest successes of us retain a touching humility and humanity you might not find in bigger places, where human beings often get lost in human enterprises.
In the last two years, I’ve spoken to and taken photographs and phone numbers of many potentially hugely interesting people, whom I hope to bring to your attention on some future Thursday.
But here’s my problem, and the reason for this column: twice in the last year, my mobile phone has frozen and has had to be wiped clean.
Twice in two years, then, I have lost dozens of phone numbers. So, if you are one of them – you might be the “black-and-white” orderly at QEH (as opposed to the “blue” or “green” ones), or the singer in the rock band, or the nature guide in the DVD club or the personal chef in the grocery or the water truck supervisor or any of many more – please email me at [email protected]. I want to talk to, and I firmly believe Barbados wants to hear from, you.
B.C. Pires is trolling for flying fish.
