The Sense of Being Glared At

What are Trinis made of: fresh, free spirits, patriotism
and verdant nature; also barbed words and walled-up trust.

THEY ASKED ME, "What are you doing?" with a filed edge to their tone.

"I'm taking a picture of your church," I told the first, smiling as I turned so he could see my face under the wide floppy brim of my mud-brown felt hat.

"I'm taking pictures of some plywood thrown out here against the wall," I told the second, giving her the same treatment of disarming smile and head tilt to let her see me under the hat.

People didn't used to ask me anything. From what some of the more intrusive males would yell out, I gathered that most people thought I was just taking selfies (which I do now on occasion, but had no interest in for a long, long time).

Or there were the other types, of either sex, who would sidle over, or break their stride to stop next to me and begin "conversating"; like we'd come to this moment together, and I was all for them insinuating their odd-speak into my work, into my life.

But, this asking, "What are you doing?" with the cold, hard voice, is new.

Brittle stares

I had anticipated it, though, and planned for it. Because this is a different kind of Trinidad & Tobago. This is a TnT where the Media and a miniscule number of really bad people have convinced the many that there are crooks at every corner, thieves at every turn, and "Not every skin-teeth is a grin."

I see people looking at me, now.

The ones who recognise me from my own formal Media days hail me, or nod as of knowing and go their way, or smile as of knowing and stay to see.

The ones who do not recognise me -- well it is from among those that I get the squints, the glares, the shifting, the hunched shoulders, the expressions of bewilderment, mistrust, rage. Even when I am not aiming my little lens anywhere near them; even when I'm a door-height distance away; even when I'm across the street, or in the next field.

Fair to Fear

"My name is Jhaye-Q Baptiste. Do you know what a blog is?" I hold out brightly, like the open hand.

When I explain what I am doing I use the word "good" a lot. And the word "beauty." And "show the world who we are."

The first man I mentioned earlier said, "Keep up the good work." Taking me at my word that that's what I was doing.

The second, a woman, took more talking to; but was brought to utter, "It sound rea-ea-eal interesting. Don't take any picture of me, doh!" (Like I was trying to 😖)

I am not offended. These people are being careful. They are part of life's semaphore messaging me to be the same.

I move too much like I'm fearless. It makes me, maybe, a little bit careless.

Whatever watches over me is waving at me and calling out, "Kiddo, easy, okay."

I better listen, eh.