Barbados, or as it is often referred to as ‘Little England’, was the first country I fell in love with as a young adult (many years before I became a mum) when I set out exploring the world.
I was enthralled, not for the island’s historical landmarks and parish names of English saints, but the islands distinct and unforgettable relationship with its African ancestry.
I was taken aback by the enduring legacy of slavery and colonialism that was visibly rooted on the island and the minds of its progressive, conscious and proud inhabitants.
Here’s a brief poetic reflection of how I embraced Barbados on my very first visit over 20 years ago.
When the heat of the golden globe soothed my aching shoulders, and the racing froth like sea water so fresh and clean, where local men sourced their weekly feed, charged at my feet, joy and contentment awakened me.
For I was in a sweet and organic destination where the cultivation of sugar was once rife and the whip of a stick on bare skin was once the way of life.
Innocent green land, so fresh and fertile, no one knows what lies beneath it.
Now, the dotted windmills, once crucial for pressing sugar cane, no longer spin. Some are painted and well maintained while others remain in ruins.
The nostalgic imagery comprised a deep ancestral bond where lives were once broken and scattered, just like the fragmented seashells hidden in the sand and dug up by happy children to a story that’s so sad.
Cultural history surrounds and overwhelms me. Every parish owns a distinct connection to a bitter and frightening past.
St John, St James, St Joseph…a few of the English saints of the eleven parish names.
My eyes engulfed with tears and streamed down my face, leaving a trail of a people’s tale.
Thoughts of a faraway land took me back in time… way back.
My emotions were mixed and full to the brim, like a boiling cauldron about to overflow. The heat of the sun melted my heart, the brushing of the palm trees, swaying side-to-side made my time and experiences on this island surreal.
I catch myself.
As perspiration left my sun exposed anatomy, I stood tall – red cheeked to a pounding heart. I unclench my fist to find that pain and grief had left me.
I am proud to call my favourite place on earth- this distinctively charming Caribbean Island HOME.
Check out my other articles on the history of enslavement and colonialism in Barbados as well as other holiday tips on travelling to this stunning island.
