Skip to main content

Atlanta

This is a chapter from my third book called Love letters

I was a young adult and just turned eighteen. I wanted to go to UWI. I did not think I would get a national scholarship and this turned out to be true. There were limited national scholarships in my days and there was no GATE funding. I would not be able to afford UWI and I made the decision to continue my education at Morehouse College in Atlanta. I was hesitant but my mom convinced me. My uncle also thought it was a great opportunity. I did not know much about Atlanta or Morehouse then. I knew there were Trinidadians attending Morehouse and I knew Atlanta had hosted the Olympics.

I was focused and determined to complete my schooling but I was missing home and my mom. I love Atlanta and Morehouse for giving me the opportunity and being my home away from home for four years. Morehouse is the alma mater of Martin Luther King Junior. He was a prominent leader of the civil rights movement. My time at Morehouse opened my eyes and heart to the struggles, aspirations and culture of the African American. Crown Forum is where I learned what it is to be a Morehouse man and felt community. I remember singing Dear Old Morehouse as I held the hands of the persons next to me. I am at an age and maturity where these things hold more value to me than my younger self then.

Most of my time was spent on campus. My time away from campus was mostly spent at a part time job I had doing telephone surveys. That was a learning experience because of my Trinidadian accent. I had to speak properly and clearly so that the Americans could understand me. The trains and buses were always fun to ride. My favorite treat was Popeyes chicken strips and seasoned fries and spicy honey mustard dip. I remember having to buy those five dollar phone cards to call back home. The malls were happening places to relax and have a meal. I remember walking from campus to downtown Atlanta some days. I remember relaxing in Centennial Olympic Park and walking through CNN center.

Atlanta is less crowded and busy than New York from my experience. It is more laid back and with that Southern hospitality and the winters are milder. My first Christmas break I took the Greyhound bus from Atlanta to New York. I remember being interested in the different radio stations along the way. I remember listening to country music at some points. Atlanta is home to the Atlanta Braves baseball team. Atlanta made me brave. I would leave my comfort zone in Trinidad and travel miles away to a strange and foreign land. I became a small fish in a big pond. Thank you Atlanta and Morehouse for your hospitality and keeping me safe on my journey. Thinking about my love for that time and place, I would describe Morehouse as the school of kings and Atlanta as the city of the brave.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A pot of callaloo

Call for Submissions: Archipelagic Entanglements   https://singaporeunbound.org/opp/archipelagic-entanglements When I saw the call for submissions online I was doubtful. I do not know enough history. I do not understand the topic. Then after chatting with my friend Chatty I realised maybe I can be the topic. My ethnic and racial makeup is an archipelagic entanglement. Colonialism meets indentureship meets slavery. My mom is East Indian muslim and my dad is French, Portuguese and Mulato christian and who knows what else. I am an example of a pot of callaloo. Everyone's favorite Sunday lunch. I am what happens when lineages cross oceans and histories collide. I am thinking to myself now, what is the message I want to put forward with my blog post? What is the direction I want to take? Maybe it is this. What can we do when we have such a rich heritage and know so little of our own history? First of all I do not think I am alone with this struggle. I did not realise this until I though...

Cup of coffee

This is a chapter from my latest book called Breezes of Tobago . The cool morning breeze blew the hat off the tourist passing the coffee shop. We sat at the table waiting for our order of coffee and bagels. I had stayed up late writing and was now needing caffeine to stay awake. On entering the veranda of the coffee shop, the sign reads "happiness is a cup of coffee" and "sip your troubles away". This had me thinking about what is happiness? And was the theme of my chat with Chatty as we enjoyed our breakfast in Tobago. I told my friend Chatty that if we could put happiness in a bottle and sell it we would be rich. My friend Chatty then told me that money cannot buy happiness but it was a good idea to make a living. If according to the sign, happiness is a cup of coffee then maybe happiness is coffee in a bottle then. We could call it Caffibean, a taste of the Caribbean in Tobago, a blend of the happiest coffee beans from Tobago. Tobago is not known for its coffee p...

Sandy beaches

This is a chapter from my latest book called Breezes of Tobago . This story begins on a cool Friday evening in May. Fridays are the best days. Already a great start. It had rained earlier in the day and the clouds were moving away and the sun peeking through. I walked from the apartment where I was staying to Pigeon Point beach. Along the way I stopped for coconut water freshly extracted from the nut and straight into my mouth leaving traces on my cotton jersey. They say that coconut water is the drink of God—fresh from the nut, sweet with a hint of salt, a liquid reminder that paradise can exist in small and simple things. They did not say that but my friend Chatty did. It is my friend Chatty's first trip to Tobago. I asked him what he thinks of Tobago so far? He grinned, wiping a drop of coconut water from the corner of his mouth. "Man… it is like stepping into a painting. The air, the colors, the way everything smells after the rain—it is unreal. I did not know paradise cam...