[dropcap]I[/dropcap]t was St. Patrick’s Day in New Zealand and I was about a pint and a half deep with a stomach coated of bacon and eggs at 10:00 a.m. when I checked my email inbox. It was Christian Wayne, a name that at the time meant nothing more to me than a faceless textbox across the world inviting me to take up an internship with the STAR. If you either: a) didn’t read my articles over the past seven weeks; b) are not employed at Purdee’s House of Roti or, c) are not Minister Gale Rigobert, there’s a fairly good chance you don’t know me. So, to inform you: I am a Canadian journalism student from Toronto, who came to Saint Lucia for an internship with the STAR.
I remember how jarred I was on my way to Castries from Vieux Fort. Drool ran from my mouth to my black T-shirt as a sleep-induced stasis overcame me; courtesy of an uncomfortable taxi-nap that attempted to compensate for three days of snoozeless travel and jet lag. Next thing I knew, I was at my homestay, discovering what it meant to wine.
After lots of hard research, I realized there are three stages to wining—the first being the Subconscious Wine. That’s where your Caribbean-embroidered brain hears slight music and subconsciously sends powerful, yet undetected signals to your lower half and causes it to pulsate. The second stage of wining is the Social Wine. This is during the beginning stages of a party and people want to dance but the party isn’t winfected yet (wine-infected). The final stage of wining is called the Seismic Wine: This wine is so powerful that Caribbean folklore attributes the Titanic tragedy to the first coming of the Seismic Wine. This overpowered subgenre of wining is the not generally known reason our carnival was moved to a month during the Atlantic hurricane season.
Seismic wining and shaking my booty in the name of culture (kolcha?) was something I had never experienced before. And that was only the beginning. There were plenty more learning curves that I went through working at the nation’s most provacative newspaper. I recall the first time I got a call from Mr. Rick Wayne. It was quite possibly the scariest moment of my young reporting career. My colleague handed me the telephone and said, “It’s Rick.” A sentence that can induce fear into anyone—from meatheads, to radio show hosts, to politicians.
However, he didn’t say anything bad at all. It was actually during the next half dozen calls that I got the Rick-act read to me. But during the first call, he commended me for my ability to jump into a strange country and pick up where everyone else already was and write coherently, as if I were myself a Looshan.
During my time here I wanted to try and dig a little bit deeper than most. I wanted to get from officials answers beyond PR statements and rehearsed one-liners. Since I was an add-on to the STAR’s staff, I had some freedom to roam and produce stories I thought were important to the community. In retrospect, I believe that was my goal. It was to show Saint Lucia how wonderful this country can be, and not only to wish for more, but to go out and get more.
The STAR’s place in media, I discovered almost on arrival, isn’t necessarily to uncover “breaking news” or to publish 30 articles every day. It’s here to create unsettlement, drive discussion and show a different perspective rather than regurgitating what politicians and public relations officers are feeding the nation. That’s something I will forever be proud to say I was a part of. And it’s also something I hope the nation of Saint Lucia grows to appreciate more.
I’ll miss all the lovely people I met along the way and the extravagant views Saint Lucia is known for; but will forever be grateful knowing I experienced the true beauty of this country in a way not many visitors have.
To my homestay and extended family, Noa and Siam Redjil, thank you for adopting me into your family with such love. To my editor, Rick Wayne, I’ll always remember your most common phrase as “I think you rushed this one,” plus “You’re going to be a damn good journalist one day.” I appreciate your support and advice during my time here. To his son who brought me on board, Christian Wayne, thanks for taking the chance on some kid who emailed the editorial department asking for a spot on the team. To Shauna Sylvester, your smile that greeted me at the office every morning represented the welcoming of the entire building. To Doretta Francois, you are the only person who was able to get me to care about grammar; my future editors thank you. And to Keryn Nelson, Joshua St. Aimee and Claudia Eleibox, I’ll miss hearing you laugh, sneeze and type away while I stand underneath the air conditioning to cool off. Thank you all for having me; this will always be a prominent moment in my life.
