The Arrival Home
No place is sweeter than home. Sauteurs, my home town, is
in St. Patrick’s, in the north of Grenada. Sauteurs is a town with one main
street approximately two miles long. It is situated just a few feet off the
northern seashore of the island. It is known as the most historic place in
Grenada because many of the important events occurred there. For example, the
Caribs (Amerindian people) leapt off its Leaper’s Hill (cliff) to their death in
1951 escaping from the Englishmen. I lived there all my childhood years until I
started secondary school. I was accepted to the Anglican High School which is in
the capital, St. George’s, twenty four miles away. Consequently, I departed from
Sauteurs and resided in my new home in St. Paul’s, St. George’s, to pursue my
high school and college education. Seven years later, I returned to that place
that marked my most precious memories. I was excited yet fearful of what
Sauteurs would be like. Will it be the same or not?
I packed my bag with clothing for two weeks in which I
intended to explore and have fun once more. I left St. George’s at dawn on that
Saturday morning in August, destined to Sauteurs on a public bus. We left the
bus stand at 8 a.m.; and, I would arrive in Sauteurs in two hours time. As we
drove along the western road through the different towns, I was most appalled by
what I was seeing. These areas were basically the same as I last saw them. Yes,
there were differences here and there, but it was the same. There were still
potholes in the road, evidence of landslides by the great rocks, uncut grass on
the sides of the road, and the people walking along the road with the same
facial expressions. The bus finally went around the last corner and we were
there. As we drove down the first hill (Belfon), I remembered walking that hill
everyday to get to my primary school. We got to the final bus stop very quickly.
Sauteurs was not huge anymore.
As I was walking down memory lane, I saw my old home. It
is situated to the southwestern section of the town near to the Carib ‘E’
Cinema. There were tall bushes around the house with big spiders lazily attached
to their thick, dark cobwebs on the underside of the roof. The roof was coated
red; however, it was now stained with rust and deteriorated edges. The white
outside walls were now decorated with large brown rings of water marks, and it
was scaling. As a child, this building seemed to be a palace, but now it was
just an abandoned, old house. The house is two-stories high and comprised of
three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs, with a kitchen, a dining room, and a
living room downstairs. As I entered the door, I remembered when I used to run
and open the door and jump on my dad and showered him with kisses, but when I
looked up he was not there. The inside of the house was just as it was years
ago, except for the dust and cobweb along with sunrays piercing the floor from
the ceiling and the deterioration of the board caused by termites. As I spent
more and more time in this house, I was tormented the by most joyous and painful
memories. At times, I was five again and running from room to room, jumping on
the beds and getting scolded by my old man for it. I’d be lost in these kinds of
memories many times until my mom would call me, bringing me back to reality.
My alma mater was the same. I attended the St. Patrick’s
Anglican Primary School which is found to the north of the town opposite the
police station. It has a large concrete yard.
As I looked at the building, I
started to laugh to myself as I remembered my sister and me with friends playing
dodge ball between the two main stairs in front of the building. Marcia and Dorcas
were throwing the ball to each other, then I ran from pole one unto pole two; as
I proceeded, Marcia aimed at me and threw the ball, I then dodged, and I was
home free.
The long board benches were still utilized, and the classrooms were still
separated by blackboards. To the front of the top floor (auditorium room) the
flags of all the Caribbean countries were still painted there. I was shocked to
see that copper bell sitting on that table with the bull beside it. The bull, a
short leather belt, was used by the principal to punish us. I had rung this bell
many times to indicate break-time, lunchtime, and lessons-time after school. As
I looked over the veranda, it seemed very short. As I jumped the walled ledge to
the side of the building, a bit of fear went through my spine, but in no time, I
was on my feet on the ground. The ledge was only about three feet high, but back
then it was like a mountain. I realized I have grown.
Main Street Sauteurs was like a ghost town. There were the
same stores and houses around with the exception of one. That small grocery
store was now a supermarket. I went from store to store and greeted the owners
whom I knew. They were as friendly and kind as they always were, except that
their faces were no longer the same. They were wrinkled and had lost body mass.
There were some new faces along with the old ones, but then I recognized them.
They were old classmates or their siblings whom I knew. I was further dismayed
to see that a number of businesses were no longer operational, including the
cinema and the disco. It was brought to my attention that the reason was because
the people were going to other parishes to view movies, to shop, and even to
party. I was disappointed. The place may not have really changed but the people
surely did. There were hardly anyone riding bicycles, instead there were a large
number of vehicles packed in many backyards. The working generation was now
younger and very adventurous; this may explain a change in their choice to go to
other places. One night, I went to the Mr. and Miss St. Patrick’s Show, and wow,
the Mc Donald’s College Auditorium was filled with ecstatic faces. Businesses
may have closed, but the cultural traditions were still alive.
The natural wildlife, vegetation and sea coast had little
or no change. The waves were still angry at the sand, and the lagoon still cried
into the sea. There were those waves still breaking in the ocean at about four
miles off its shore. The sand was as I left it years ago: same tanned,
grey-black color. That large tree was still standing in the Marli pasture. Crabs
were seen hiding in their holes, and the people still hunted for the maniocs in
the night with flashlights. Leaper’s Hill had a little erosion, but it was
still high. There were now signs indicating its position and history. The
beautiful sites and scenery were still captivating.
I was so happy that I returned to Sauteurs. The place had
a few changes, but upon my arrival there I was greeted and treated with the love
and warmness I knew. I was skeptical about how it would feel returning to this
place, but now I felt relived and at peace with myself. I thought that I would
have been troubled by my past, but instead, they were now memories I would
always cherish. After a few days, I felt as if I had never left this place, and
it was good to my soul. No matter how long I stayed away from Sauteurs, once I
returned I always felt secure and happy. Sauteurs will always be my home no
matter where I live.
Copyright 2003
Property of Stacey Paryag
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