On Saturday, I need to get supplies again, so I do it in the morning and decide to spend the day in the neighbourhood as I'll have less time to travel, and the past few days have been longer driving trips. Unfortunately, my morning shop plan was about as hectic as last Saturday's late afternoon shop because - I learned - Monday is Errol Barrow Day - Independence Day here.
Once home with supplies, I head back out again into Orange Hill, the neighbourhood nearby. There are a couple of interesting rum shops or bars that I have seen that I would like to try to sketch. I drive past the first one - which is open and has people hanging out front, and look at the second, a smaller shed-like place - a rum shop. This one was closed, so I turned back around to get to the first spot, which is called Big Leg's Bar. On the way, there is a woman walking on the road with a few bags. I drive past her, then decide to reverse and offer her a ride. She accepts and hops in once I clear the passenger seat.
"I'm not going far - I was going to stop up near Big Leg's Bar, but maybe I can get you where you're going."
"I'm near Big Leg's - some of my relatives run that."
"It's a good spot?"
"Yes, it's good - the food is good. They do a fish fry on Thursdays."
I ask her where she's coming from.
"Church" - I know it's not Sunday, but I don't think anything of it. She says she had to bring something to a cousin somewhere else, which is why she was walking. Her house is a few minutes away and around the corner from Big Leg's. I give my cards and show her a few sketches as I drop her off, explaining why I want to draw the bar. Her name is Anne - I make sure so I can mention her when I talk to people at the bar. She points me to the end of her small street where I can turn around. On my way out, she is waiting at her door, waving, making sure I got out okay.
A minute later I pull into the lot across from the bar. There's a community centre, some cars parked haphazardly, a few picnic tables under a tree about 100 feet from the bar, and a swing set nearby with no swings. I back onto the grass near the tree, where another car is parked. Two Bajans are sitting at the picnic table, watching me.
I greet them.
"We thought you were lost because we saw you parking over there," pointing to where I dropped Anne off.
"No, I'm not lost - I'm here to make a drawing of this bar. Hang on - I'll show you."
A few days earlier - when I was getting the tire repaired, I had noticed this place, stopped briefly and asked if I could draw it - I snapped some photos for memory, and the people sitting on the steps - the owners, were receptive and asked when I would come. So, they knew I might show up.
One of the people on the bench - a woman, was there on the steps when I stopped by, so she remembers. I give the man sitting with her a business card. He seems - lukewarm - maybe slightly suspicious - I'm not sure. When he talks, I can barely understand him - I don't think I've heard a Bajan accent or dialect this thick. I'm certainly no linguist - I can understand a relatively wide range of different English accents, but when Bajans are talking to each other, it might as well be Spanish - I pick up maybe 10% of it.
I ask these two if I can sit down. The woman (Sherry) says sure, and the man says something - I have no idea what he says.
"I'm sorry - I didn't understand. Could you speak slower?"
I can tell he's messing with me; he's chuckling. I look at the Sherry for help.
"He says you can sit, but we're going to be having sex talk."
The man starts laughing hard.
"Ohh shit, I'm sorry - am I interrupting something - are you on a date?"
Sherry says no, he's just messing with me, and the man keeps laughing, enjoying himself, but he seems to be warming up. They were sitting diagonally across from each other on the picnic table, given its angle, where the bar is; I sat at the back end, on the man's side. I start sketching, and they go back to chatting.
Even if they were having an intimate discussion - I wouldn't have been able to understand hardly any of it. I pick up a few things - they seem to be gossiping about some people, but it's basically another language with hints or phrases that I recognize. It makes it easy to sketch because I don't feel I'm eavesdropping, and I'm also not distracted too much by the gossip.
At some point, Sherry gets up to go and do something. For a while, I'm sitting with the man. He looks at my business card a few times, and I show him the progress of the sketch. He appreciates it; he has warmed to me.
We talk a little bit. I feel like there are some Bajans who talk to white people/tourists every day - as part of their daily life or work. I feel like there are others who rarely, if not never, interact with white people or foreigners. I think this guy is the latter. He drives a small flatbed truck, which is also parked on the grass, and lives in the neighbourhood, which I will say feels 'working class' for lack of a better term.
He offers me a beer - generous -but I explain that I don't want to have any beer and then drive - it's someone else's car, and I'm not from here. He's had at least four or five while I've been here.
He mentions some company is doing marijuana rum. I ask him if weed is legal here. He says it sort of it - it's coming. He talks about a grow plant down the road.
I tell him about what's happened in Canada - the corporations got involved, set up major factories - and had to charge a ton of money for the product with overhead, taxes, etc. - the market was flooded, and now they have to sell it at reduced prices.
"Once the United States goes fully legal, I don't see how the rest of the world won't follow. There's just too much tax revenue behind it all."
He says something along the lines of politicians always wanting their money. We agree on this.
Through the afternoon a few people stop over to look at the sketch. Most of them are hanging out at the bar itself, and word has gotten around as to what I'm up to. One man sits down with my new friend.
"'E's a beach bum, 'Es always at the beach."
"Well, there's lots of beaches."
Eventually, they leave, and I'm alone for a while, which means I can make some better progress on the sketch. Two men sit at the table behind me, and, at one point, while I'm pacing around trying to move my legs a bit, the young fellow asks, "Architect?"
"Not exactly, artist" - I show them.
"Oh shit - you bad - you bad mon. This real bad."
This has been a common expression here. You bad.
Two other fellows come down and have a look. One of them - a rasta - Mark - was getting his hair done up earlier in the day when I started sketching. He's in the sketch. Mark and his friend (forgotten his name) give me some tips on other places. I show them the rum bar on the East Coast - they know it immediately. I love that they recognize the place so quickly. "That's run by a man… Best"
"That's right, Rodney Best…. I talked to him."
They give me some directions or at least rough areas where I might find some other places. Some Chattel Houses "with signs," they keep saying.
"What do you mean, with signs?"
"It's like… something official… they can't change d'buildings… they can't tear them down…"
"Heritage… historic designation or something"
"D'as right"
These guys are super lovely. Mark, the rasta, is especially delightful, and he is absolutely chuffed that he's getting his hair done in the image.
The afternoon light is starting to wane, I'm getting tired. I'm mostly working on my feet now, moving around a bit to see around some cars or figure out details I'm missing because of the angles.
The owner of the bar - Shernelle - yells at me from across the road, asking me if I'm done.
"Almost - twenty minutes."
I finish up and head across the road to show them. Shernelle really loves it; she seems to choke up a bit when looking at it. I WhatsApp her an image of the sketch and tell her that I'll send my family down for the fish fry when they are back later in the year.
