Home.
It's half-past twelve and the rest of the house is asleep while I work on my latest shawl. I can hear the frogs croaking outside and the breeze from the fan is cool on my otherwise hot skin. As I knit, I am reminded of the many evenings I have stayed awake in this house in Diamond Vale, while my grandparents were asleep, and I'd be up late studying for an exam I had to take at Providence Girls Catholic School or I would have been writing a story or something. Sometimes, I just stayed up late to watch television, and in those days, there were only two television stations! There is something about this house that holds me with so much love. Maybe it's the fact that I spent four years here, maybe it's because it's my grandparent's house, maybe it's because it's in the land of my ancestors - maybe it's a combination of all that and more, but I truly do feel at peace here. I was so sick when I was in Denmark. My job really stressed me out. My body felt...
We have sadly forgotten the purpose and beauty of dance. I was blown away when I heard Akon’s voice in his song about the Ghetto, I felt like, wow! Ok…someone is getting it and singing about it. Then lo and behold i hear that awful song about smacking and yeah, the rest is history.
We have truly forgotten how and why we dance. What was once a celebration of life, a release from the mundane has become some crass imitator of what we are fed from tv. The Media is the idol and when you think about it this way, you understand why in some religions, the image is forbidden.
But anyway, I digress. We have forgotten why our ancestors, from India, from Africa…why they danced. We have forgotten the importance of songs and instead of singing about thanks and praises we singing about men who don’t have no money and sex like it going somewhere? Anyways folks, we have forgotten how to dance. And just in case ya’ll wondering if there might a connection between that 14 year old grinding up there on that stage like that and what we, the supposed adults are allowing to be viewed on television, check this out:
http://www.guerrillafunk.com/thoughts/doc1153a.html
It's called modeling--and this is how children learn. And remember, the image is, in the end, mightier than the sword and the only thing that can topple that power is the pen.
Oh, and don’t tell me that this is how trinis dance, because none of the trinis or myself for that matter–dance that way. And if the former is the case, then maybe we need to examine ourselves and remember the origin of the dance and the pride and dignity inherent in who we have descended from.