My first introduction to Trinidad was through an ethnographic work done by two scholars; their names are somewhere in this text. I liked a certain part of their findings and I have come to use this prism to see the people of Trinidad. During my third visit about two years ago, I spent a total of 27 days. These were memorable days, even if I say so myself. I got to meet a highly fragmented society that has all the elements or potential of greatness. In the Black community I came to a tentative conclusion that there are at least three ‘invisible’ divisions;
(1). The revolutionary/secular component which insists on cultural nationalism
(2). The Orisha community that focuses on rejuvenation of African cultural practices and spiritual practices
(3). The religious groups made up of Christians, Muslims and Hindus
Let us set the division aside for a while and pay a close attention to the submission of the two scholars I mentioned above. “The Internet has had a dramatic uptake in Trinidad, and this uptake is integral to the ways people express ‘being Trini’ and connect with their diasporic families. This is so, to the extent that the Internet can be conceived of as ‘naturally Trinidadian’: Trinidadians try to make their online life as Trini as possible, and seem to perceive this as inherently plausible. Because of the influence of existing culture, the Internet is not a ‘virtual’, or a ‘disembodied’ world, set off from the ‘real’, but connected to the everyday lives and projects of people. If the Internet is separated from social space, as it is in some Western conceptions, this needs to be explained, not taken as inevitable.” (Daniel Miller and Don Slater. The Internet: An Ethnographic Approach. Oxford: Berg. 2000. Pp. 217).
So I have more than a lens from which to view the people of Port of Spain and other adjoining areas. I ate with them, danced and sang my heart out with them. I even experienced tears from one of my hosts. That day has been expunged from my memory. What is left is not chronological, it starts at the tail end of my visit.
Wow, as I write this today, August 8th marks the 27th day in Trinidad without seeing Tobago! On the 26th day, the good people of Trinidad and Tobago decided to honor me with a quick sendoff “CORA” like arty party. The delectable powerhouse of a woman, Akilah Jaramogi, attended and so was professor Carol Boyce Davies, the scholar from Cornell University, Upstate New York. The Chief had regaled her about this Nigerian brother who could talk a bird from the tree. She waited to meet me and like a deflated tire I did not live up to the hyperbolic description by the Chief. My meeting Chief LeRoy has everything to do with brother Avery Ammon, a man with a thousand stories. He is trained Oil explorationist, a shop owner, a promoter of Pan Music, a consummate traveler and many more. It is only a picture that can do justice to the many more people I cannot list. To tell the truth it appeared to be a surprise party, I knew was coming. There were lots to eat & drink. I will have more to write about these good people of Trinidad & Tobago as I grown older and I can say it as I experienced it.
When I became his eye!-The Big Chief of El Tucuche
As you now know, it was on my third visit to Trinidad that I chanced on the Big Chief. He is big in all ramifications, a big voice and laughter to go with his big frame. Chief is the best teller of his own story, he delights in it and can bring light into any room filled with serious looking folks. His works on the other hand are very serious or if you prefer, you can say complex. The works dare you to comment on them as simple and as soon as you slip into that error, the whole of the universe will descend on your tongue. The Chief is an Ebọra and no one is allowed to look at him with yesterday’s eye. You will soon be dancing naked with no cloth seller to bail you out.
Kole Odutola, Ataklan – Mark Jiminez, Chief LeRoy (in Green)
I returned from the trip that the gods had destined a disaster, not sure if a duster could have wiped it off my slate. Since the past is ever before me, I took the dose of the gods served with humility awaiting the next item on their menu for me. The meal of the gods changed as I was taken into this palace of many rooms set up a hill overlooking other hills. Only those well-heeled folks live in the area.
The first day had nothing to report but soon gave way to other days when I started to see that his pronoun I had become an anatomical eye. Each sentence replaced its “I” for the “eye” and words started to see without blindness. To be with the Chief, your ears must become your eyes as well because with him sounds are the elements of conversations. How will he know that Yoruba people insist that Ojú lọ̀rọ̀ wà. Never mind, his eyes dig into you and like his paintings dare you to protest. Days after you have left you still hear (more like hunted by) the baritone sounds in your head, “I want to be in the company of men and I want to speak with men..” he repeats almost like a broken record at junctions in your conversation as if telling you to live up to your manhood!
The import of his words will elude you till the gods give the words wings to fly to the universe of meaning. He did not just mean the gender social construct but those with balls and bags of wisdom. Those who can share the complexity of existence with him. Those who have the tonic to cheer him up and provide extensions to his vision. If you are none of those I will enjoin you to stay away!
November of every year must hurry up for it is the month of the Chief’s birthday. He tells all who care to listen “Eye am moving toward something that awaits me…[did I say you?], that may yet complete me” If you are nearby watch out for the glint in his eyes and the slight shift of his head. Then a smile paints his face like someone who just accomplished a difficult mission.
Who is this chief and why is he such a complex human soul to be around and at the same time never wanting to leave his presence.
He was 80 years old in November of two years ago, and twice he asked for my age maybe just to be sure the tag of young man he had chosen for me still fitted. I repeated the number 58 on both occasions. So how can I bring Chief LeRoy Clarke alive to those reading this piece from Nigeria or to those reading from different parts of the world? To really appreciate this man you have to think about papa Demas Nwoko (the self-taught builder), papa Bruce Obomeyoma Onobrakpeya, papa Grillo and all the papas of visual arts in Nigeria rolled into one. His collection of paintings will number over 3000 if I am not been hyperbolic here. If the then newly minted 70 year old uncle Koleade Oshinowo is the colorist and a painter of views before your eyes reinterpreted on canvass, then Chief LeRoy is the poetic painter whose muse is unseen and whose representation are out of this world. He is driven by a vision not fully understood by those around. Spirituality and the search for the real essence of being pilots his productivity. He has a message for his generation and an injunction for the coming one. He told me many times that he longs to have engagements such as we had nightly. He wants to reach out to the cerebral universe of like minds. If truth (that word again?) must be told, life is no more like it used to be; time is the terrorist chasing each of us around. There is really no time to sit with elders to just talk about this and about that. At this encounter, I showed Chief the digital records of the works of papa Demas Nwoko and the plastocast of papa Bruce. I wanted him to see the link between his creative windows and the brothers on the continent. He wanted me to bookmark digital stories about them. Once I was done showing him about others he wanted to see my own works….He was interested in my creativity. That night I played a video of my presentation at SOAS about the “the world in Yoruba language” Ok, let me do that in the third part. I am not done yet oooo more to come, please do not go away o
As you leave the House of El Tucuche never ever forget that ‘a bitch and their brothers take a piece of me and are gone” Yes stick to your guns and let him know you will be back to take some more of him and from his bag of wisdom. Just in case you feel like pulling one more smile from him remind him to “touch it, I say touch it again!” Here there is no gain just the injunction to please come again to Legacy House where legs of ancestors are seen in hidden spaces and their faces of agony in the middle passage well placed on canvass. Look again at the works on the wall and those near his bed. What do you see? You tell me.
August 2nd
It is almost 11am and I have just come down to the space I was offered in Chief LeRoy’s palace of paintings and thought. This morning of August 2nd, we discussed about love again and I asked him “is your Love for women a means to an end or an end in its self” he gives that signature tilt of his head and a smile starts to paint his face from his lips, “that is a tricky question” he says and something in me says we have opened yet another door for cerebral discussions. The chief wants to talk; he wants to reason with me using his works and words and I am a willing listener.
I hear his words repeatedly “I love women” but I hear my own mind too, for what purpose or no need for a reason?
Meanwhile, read about love and know that Professor Carole Boyce says Chief is such a lover! Yes! I am in agreement with this summation of what the enigmatic Chief is about. Just for the records “LeRoy Clarke was born on 7 November 1938 in Gonzales, whose narrow streets wind up the hillside behind Belmont in Port of Spain. His father was a cooper on the waterfront. The first of nine children, LeRoy is still known as “Big B” (“l ’m an authority figure from the old school”). The world expected his 80th birthday later that year. The mind of the man from “Gonz” is filled with complex ideas and twisted thoughts.
The day was gradually moving to the pit of history but we needed to get to the issue of which type of society he has in mind after a thorough analysis of the Trinidadian society. He even renamed his people as belonging to the Douens. In one of the publications, LeRoy was reported to have said, “Douens are the sad, playful characters of Trinidad and Tobago folklore, [these are] children who died before they were baptized and whose feet point backwards. LeRoy saw in them a symbol of “the plight of third world peoples under the tutelage of conquerors. I had begun to see us after all these years as giddy and lost people.” In the re-rendering of the character, LeRoy, interpreted, the swollen head, as filled with foreign ideas and the distended stomach filled with foods of corporate firms that have refined farm foods and laced each with toxins if not poisons. The legs of the Douens is turned backwards and its motion is therefore not coordinated.
As you know visits do not end, they just stop with the hope that in no distant future the groovy train will hoof and poof until I find my way back on its tracks. I have nothing for now but memories I cherish like fruits with seeds. As the Yoruba people say a three stone stove is so stable for the pot of soup. I have enjoyed the Port of Spain three different times and now like the cow, I chew my cud.
