pilgrimguyanne

[pilgrimguyanne]

Christmas

So I thought there was mass at 10 am at Mt St Benedict but actually it was in Mt St Benedict, California. So I ended up im Sacred Heart Church on Richmond Street for 11. I knew the Deacon, and next thing you know, I'm doing the first reading. 😂📖. And the Archbishop is saying mass.

I was hoping to go to a really nice fancy Christmas day mass with good music, but this church was decorated only by the water stains and the music came from the singing to two women and a tambourine. It was beautiful, and I was reminded of the Archbishop's words at the PM's Christmas Concert: Jesus comes in the mess.

After mass, I couldn't stay for sorrel because I have a macaroni pie to make, so I called a TTRide Share. None available. So I walked to City Gate to get the original TTRideShare- a red band maxi. Port of Spain on Christmas Morning is empty. Almost. There are no cars, no people on the streets, all the buildings and businesses are closed. Except on the Promenade. That's peopled with the poor. They are sitting, some shovelling food into their mouths, distributed by some good Samaritan. They do not have Christmas outfits. There's a couple on a bench with a crocus bag seated between them with clothes (theirs?). There are men lying on benches and seated on the Promenade tiles, which a recent powerwash has left more pristine than I remember it even in 1995,when it was new. A flock of pigeons feasts on some fallen scraps, but everyone else is maga. It smells of piss and shit and poverty and I clutch my bag a little tighter, lest the scent enter. I want to give a man who asks me, but I don't want to open my purse on the Promenade. There are a few stalls set up, selling cold drinks and hotdogs and Cheezeez. I am thirsty but again, I'm not stopping.

"Have a good day nice girl" a man seated on a gallon bottle says. "Same to you, thanks" I say back. I wish him that, earnestly. I wish that my word, like the Word made flesh, had the power to effect change, to bring light in darkness. It cannot. But it's okay, because Jesus comes in the mess. #christmas #word #maranatha

[pilgrimguyanne]

Thoughts on Emancipation Day

We are still in chains.

Not literal chains. Not always. On the Camino, I saw many dogs chained to gates and walls, so they could be held back, could not run free (or attack pilgrims). And there are so many things that chain us down today, hold us back: unequal distribution of wealth, or resources, of access to opportunities for growth. SIDS like the Caribbean islands, only barely recovering economically from slavery (the social wounds will take longer to heal), will bear the brunt of the climate catastrophe, already do. Devastating hurricanes which destroy the region year after year, rising temperatures and sea levels.

We are still seen as less.

Less capable. Less intelligent. Less likely to succeed. (more likely to go to jail). Less normal.

People's imaginations don't expand so far as to see us as more. Our own imaginations, too.

Or worse, exotic.

My mother told me once don't let anyone call me exotic. I am beautiful and they should say that. Exoticism is for specimens, not people.

Our lives are still disposable.

Which other group of people had to have a whole hashtag to remind people that their lives mattered? That the issues that they face are real and relevant to society as a whole?

As for me? Me personally?

I'm a black woman in a very white university, especially if you look up the ladder. The other day I spoke at the British Academy and there were only two black people there- and one was my guest.

I'm a black woman who just walked the Camino- there were maybe two other black pilgrims in 377 km.

I'm a black woman with a weird name. I mean I think it's fine, but I was recently told I'm lucky it sounds good.

I am uncomfortably and unapologetically ambitious. I remember the first time, many years ago, that I said I wanted to be a professor and eventually run a university one day. Or the looks I got, I still get, when I said I always wanted to study and later work at a top tier university. Like how dare I desire so much? How dare I dream so big?

Because, as Bob Marley sang, none but ourselves can free our minds. I will not have my imagination limited by others lack of vision. I will not be chained.

People didn't suffer and die and undergo awful living conditions, get kidnapped from their homes, lose their family, suffer abuse, have their names taken from them, for me to still be in chains.

I am free.

Walk good.

[pilgrimguyanne]

Journey to the end of the world

The ancients believed the World ended at Fisterra. For them, the earth was flat, and when you look to the horizon at Fisterra, there seems to be nothing. Just ocean.

But me, I come from the world beyond the horizon.

When they got to Fisterra, the ancients would burn their clothes and their shoes (people did this until recently) and returned to their everyday life renewed.

But me, I longed for my everyday life every day.

I do not know that I have grown in faith, as pilgrims are meant to. Perhaps I have,for there were masses celebrated along the way, churches visited, candles lit. And in Santiago we went to four pilgrim masses. Is there more to faith than mass? Maybe. Yes. Sometimes.

I do not know that I have grown in strength or endurance. The latter is a quality I have long possessed. But I suppose I must have, to walk all those kilometres day after day.

I do not know that I have grown in love. I have never felt so othered as on this Camino. From comments about my weight on the first night, to my hair, to my ambition, to being told I am not normal. But I suppose I did, grow in love. Self love, or self defense.

I do not plan to walk the Camino de Santiago again, but I will always be a pilgrim. There are so many places my feet will take me, if I let them. There are so many places my heart will take me, if i let it.

Early on in our Camino, we talked about Columbus. I don't like the dude. He was bad at his job and got lost and his "discoveries" led to centuries of oppression and subjugation for the people who lived beyond the end of the world. Yet, if CC had one good quality, it was that he knew there was more beyond the horizon, more than the eye could see.

The end of the world wasn't the end at all. There is always hope.

Walk good.

[pilgrimguyanne]

The lonely Londoner

The hardest part of walking 377km isn't the walking. I mean, the walking can get hard, but it's not the hardest part. The hardest part is walking alone.

People like to wax philosophical and say every Camino is walked alone and, while that's technically true, it's also not. Moreover, it's not meant to be true if you undertake to do a Camino with others.

I set off for this Camino with two others, and I thought it would work because I'd done a Camino with my friend before. He's taller and faster but on our last Camino it worked fine. We would walk the first 5km or so together, stop for a break, and then he would walk ahead and I would walk at my pace and we'd meet up for lunch or a break or at our accommodation, and I assumed it would be like that this time. But you know what the old people say about assuming.

By the third day, I'd looked into the possibility of returning to England- it was cheap and practical. I felt that like the other two were on a separate journey, like I was lagging behind, always running to catch up, like I was extra, a third wheel. I tried to address this, but you can't really get people to change how they walk, nor did I want to. They, for their part, tried to convince me that it was all in my mind, that I wasn't extra, but every day I would meet new people and they would pose the question: are you walking alone? It was saddening, because it made me realise I was perceived as being alone, although I wasn't. It also made me sad that lots of times, there would be a challenging bit of mountain or global warming induced fire rays, and days later other people would check in on me, but not the actual people I was on pilgrimage with, because we hadn't shared those moments. And I hadn't shared moments with them.

There were some days that were better. My best and worst quality is that I will say exactly what makes me unhappy, even if no one wants to hear it. I did this twice (making me the whinger), and even though it was difficult and uncomfortable, things definitely improved. Walking to O Cebreiro and the Cruz de Ferro, my friend walked with me, and that's something I am thankful for, because I didn't want to experience the big moments of the Camino on my own. Another day, heading in to Arzua, I asked if we could walk together, thinking we'd do maybe 2km. But in the end it was more like 8. We walked to Monto de Gozo together and entered Santiago together. Don't get me wrong: I've walked the Camino on my own, but that wasn't what I set out to do this time round. And so, even though in total it's less than 30km, my favourite part of the Camino Frances were the distances I didn't walk alone.

I also came to appreciate the fellowship of the other pilgrims: my three older ladies from California; two couples- one from Austria, one from I don't know- who would see me days later and greet me with, "we were wondering about you"; Marie from France whose nephew is dating a Trini and is currently visiting Trinidad; Clare from Fulham; Jennifer from Kentucky; random German boy who offered me cigarettes; group of 40 teenagers from Basque who overtook me 2x a day and greeted me afresh each day; Spanish couple praying rosary through speakers. They reminded me that I'm a person other people want to spend time with, even if I didn't feel like that most of the time.

Arriving in Santiago, we were able to spend more time together. But the joy of the Camino is in the journey, and there's a bittersweet feeling that the chance for bonding along the way was lost.

I am happy I finished this Camino- I'd always wanted to walk from Leon (we started a bit before), but I also regret it. We sort of have this belief that we have to finish everything we started, as though life is a plate of vegetables that will do us good in the long run. But some things- bad books, unhappy holidays, miserable relationships- should be cut short. I know that now.

And yet, and yet. I don't regret getting to spend time with my friend. I treasure our approximately 25km, and all the meal times and breaks. Living in a different country makes quality time a challenge and I don't think we'll ever have another opportunity to spend 3 weeks together. It's a delicate balance, and easy to fall.

Until next time, walk good.

(all pics in this post are selfies, or taken by randoms along the way)

[pilgrimguyanne]

"The Camino is for my body what work is for my mind" I told my friend today.

It's true: on the Camino, like at work, I'm always doubting myself, pushing myself, surprising myself by what my body (and mind) can do.

We now have just 39 km left to Santiago- 2 days of walking. It's insane to think I have walked more than 300 km now. That's the longest I've ever walked; my first Camino in 2013 would have been longer, but it was cut short. To be honest, I cheated twice. Once I took the bus from La Virgen del Camino to Hospederia (like 20km) The other time, on a particularly trying day, I walked into a bar and ordered "dos aguas con gas y un taxi" - which took me the measly 2.8 km up hill in the sweltering heat. I don't feel any guilt about this. The total distance covered will be about 377, so for me 355 km, and I'm pretty sure I would have died of dehydration sans taxi (and I never planned to walk that particular 20km stretch).

Mostly, the walking has been gently undulating, but sometimes there arw hills- mountains really. The most famous peak is O Cebreiro, and arrival there signals the crossing over from Leon to Galicia. Walking uphill can be strenuous but walking downhill. Wow.

I'm really surprised that I didn't die going down gravelly paths (or at least twist my ankle) and also that I haven't been attacked by a stray cow on the several occasions I have come face to face with a herd being herded (really?) from one pasture to another.

Yes, cows. Since we entered Galicia there are no cats to be seen, but there are cowa. While guide books might talk about the eucalyptus scented forests of Galicia, anyone who has ever walked the Camino will tell you it actually smell of cow shit. And cow. Sometimes goat shit, and maybe chicken factory, but really cow shit. Walking on the Camino I constantly hover between becoming a vegetarian and yearning for a steak, but my poles and shoes and nostrils have gone through enough cowshit for you to know vegetarianism will not win this particular up and down hill battle.

Well, the fellow pilgrims are stirring so I should make a move.

Till next time, walk good.

[pilgrimguyanne]

Pilgrim Pragmatics

In acknowledgement of the fact that I went on holiday during conference season and therefore missed, among other things #IPrA2023, here are my reflections on the pragmatics of pilgrims. I will look at: greetings, politeness with regard to negative face, and if I don't fall asleep, interactions with Spanish service encounters (maybe this needs its own entry)

Greetings

The standard greeting on the Camino is Buen Camino- good Camino. Basically once you see anyone walking, you tell them this. You can tell them this more than once in a given day if, say, you both stop for a break and then you take off again. And you can wish the same person Buen Camino on successive days. In fact, you should do this, the same way you wish people food morning every day. Other greetings include hi, hola, where are you from, and are you okay, though I return to these two in questions. The correct response go Buen Camino is Buen Camino, except if the greeting comes from a resident of a town or village you are passing through. In that case, the correct response is Gracias.

Giving directions

The Camino is very clearly marked with yellow arrows. Just followil them and you should be fine. Still, things go wrong and sometimes you might confused. If you are walking with someone you know and they take a wrong turn, you can shout out to them, but otherwise I have never in 4 Caminos, seen pilgrims giving one another directions. Never. You don't know if someone's guide book has suggested an alternative route, or if they have gone to have a poop far from the maddening crowd.

However, people living along the Camino are allowed, even expected, to give pilgrims directions. Once on this trip, an older lady grabbed my attention through her window to say I was going the wrong way.

Cheering people on

One really nice thing residents of Spain do is cheer on passing pilgrims. I've gotten thumbs ups, and friendly car horns with waves.

By being friendly and helpful, residents of Spain attend to their positive face needs.

Questions

Before I came on this Camino, it never really occurred to me how face threatening questions can be. If you think of adjacency pairs, questions require amswers, but on the Camino, people might ask questions that others do not want to answer, find intrusive or can't answer. In this way, the questioner ignores the negative face needs of their interlocutors.

Some of this is definitely cultural- culture being not just country, but things like education, rural-urban living, and age. I walked with British lady who is about my age (I didn't ask, and she didn't ask me) who said my name without problems and didn't ask any weird micro-aggressive questions about where it came from. In contrast, I met a German man who within 10 minutes asked me where my name came from, how old I was and then together with another German person told me I was lucky it sounded okay.

Interactions like these make me appreciate all the random EDI trainings in the UK. Even though people find them annoying, I think they do let people reflect on their actual language use. Posing questions without understanding that some topics are taboo for some people is, for me, a lack of intercultural pragmatic understanding.

Well I'm sleeping on myself so will save language choice for another day.

Until then,

Walk good.

[pilgrimguyanne]

Day 7: Foncebadon to Ponferrada, 26.5 km, 214 km to Santiago left at the end of the day.

On the seventh day God rested, leaving the shale of the Spanish mountains loose, supposing no one would ever attempt to walk down unconsolidated shale.

God was wrong and, after starting the day at Cruz de Ferro, where, in the tradition of the Camino, I lay a stone for all my burdens, and the burdens of others, it was all down hill. Literally, figuratively and trying not to break my ankly. It was a rough descent, helped neither by the stones or my lack of core strength.

I finally made it after a whopping 10 hours of walking and honestly, if I don't lose a lil 7 lbs from this me and God, maker of slippery, shaly slopes, will fall out.

Until then,

Walk good.

[pilgrimguyanne]

Day 6: Astorga to Foncebadon- 27 km

Today we walked 27 km. Well really 28, if you count the extra 1 from the accommodation to the start point. And I say we but really I because mostly I was alone. But at the halfway point I had lunch with my friend and some Camino cats (there are so many cats along the route they should rename it the Catino... I'll see myself out) and that gave me the energy and motivation I needed for the second half.

That and Machel, my constant companion.

I say I walked 28 km but in strict pilgrim terms, I cheated. I didn't carry my huge backpack, but instead paid to have it carried from Astorga to Foncebadon. Real pilgrims don't do this. Real pilgrims carry their load all the way to Santiago.

But why? Walking without my bag was a lot more pleasant. I was faster and my feet hurt less, even after the longer walk. Part of it, I think, is the glorification of the difficult. A bit like how some jobs glorify working long hours(looking at you academia), or some people glorify being busy. Pilgrims glorify pain. No Camino sin dolor, you read on tee shirts. No. Camino without pain. It's very... Catholic.

One of the first things I learned about when I moved to a British university was a SORA- a schedule of reasonable adjustments- small changes that can be made for a student in order for them to be able to complete their studies to the best of their abilities. It's designed to support students with disabilities or illnesses. They might have extensions or get things in bigger print or have longer time for exams.

That's how the luggage service felt for me today. Like a little bit of extra support, allowing me to achieve a goal I had set. Maybe I could have walked the 27 km without it, but it would have been more taxing and less enjoyable. And maybe, during the last 6 km, where the path of stony and the incline sharp, I would have thrown in the towel. I would have said, that's it, no Santiago for me.

So I'm glad the UK taught me about SORAs, and that I've made one for myself, which I will use tomorrow.

Till next time,

Walk good.

[pilgrimguyanne]

More than a walk

Day 4 Leon to Hospital de Orbigo

The Camino (caminar- to walk, yo camino- I walk) is all about walking. You set off every day for a new town on foot, each step bringing you closer to the final destination: Santiago de Compostela.

But what if Santiago isn't your final destination? What if it's some kind of weak metaphor for something else?

I've been to Santiago 3 times already, completed 3 Caminos. I've always wanted to walk one more, the Frances, the one I am doing now, but its daunting distance has meant it's been more a dream than a reality (sort of like my linguistic magnum opus). So this Camino isn't really about getting to Santiago.

It's about spending time with my friend. The thing I like least about being me is that I always move and leave people behind. Family and friends in Trinidad,and now in Germany. I like to imagine that I've left a trail of love everywhere I've been, but in reality it's that shards of my heart are scattered around the place. You'd think, given modern technology, it would be easy to stay in contact. Zoom coffees and so on. But if we've learned anything from the pandemic, it's that we can do everything online, and also, that we can't do everything online. Online is great for meetings maybe, but not great for actual relationships.

So today was really good. Leon is a lovely little city with a magnificent cathedral and, instead of walking the 36km tk Hospital de Orbigo, we decided to enjoy Leon. The third person in our party preferred to walk the distance, and so it was just two us. We went to mass, visited the cathedral, visited the church of San Isiodore and the attached museum, had breakfast. The we get off and walked may 7.5 km to a town called La Virgen del Camino to see a church, which was closed,had lunch and then took the bus to Hospital de Orbigo,where we met the third member of our party.

Strict pilgrims will say we cheated. Maybe we did. But I got to spend quality time with a dear friend I never see anymore because I moved to England. And that's worth more than any Compostela.

Till next time,

Walk good.

[pilgrimguyanne]

Let us be very clear about one thing: I almost never know the name of the town I am walking to, or that I walked from. It's part of my general aversion to place names. Suffice it to say that we have walked for two days and I believe the name of the town I am in is called Mansilla de Mulos. But I might be wrong.

When we first arrived in Sahagun, after some adventures getting out of Madrid, our accommodation locked us out (even though we got there on time) and we had to find a place to stay at 10.55 pm in basically a sleepy village. I want to take a minute here to recognize the efforts of Mrs Annandsingh, Mrs Shepherd, Senora Olton and Ms O'Brien, without whom that task would not have been possible and also to encourage you to encourage your students/ children to learn a language until at least form 5.

Anyway we set off from Sahagun, the official centre of the Camino Frances. Why the centre? Well why not? I love walking, but 6 weeks of walking would be too much for me. Also I only have 27 days vacation so there's that.

Our first two days of walking have been along the Meseta, a plateau that goes on for a while across the Camino. The Meseta ia famed for the emotional and psychological endurance it demands. It is long, flat, with no interesting sights really and except for changes from sunflower fields, to cornfields, to dry grass, and my favourite because of the colour, fallow land, the landscape is boring. It's not physically demanding- there are no steep inclines (being a plateau)- even temperatures above 30.

I acknowledge I'm not selling the Camino right now, but trust me, the Meseta is worth it (or at least the rest of the Camino). First off, if you're recovering from an injury to your both feet and want to ease them back into walking (by you here I mean me), it's a great testing ground. Second, if you need a space for your mind to wander, the Meseta is great because it's so easy you can attend to your thoughts and not hurt yourself from being distracted (to be just, the distraction is good).

Said feet are holding out okay, and I think they should be able to do the 377 km (in total, not left,or most of it). As for the thinking, just the usual what is the meaning of life stuff. Nothing too dramatic.

Tomorrow is our last day on the Meseta, where we will end in the town of Leon. I really want to see Leon and maybe go for a swim- Spain is very hot right now.

Till then, walk good.

[pilgrimguyanne]

I am lying on my couch doing nothing. Saving energy, really, for tomorrow, when I'll set off one more time on the Camino de Santiago, the Jakobsweg, the Way of St James. I suspect this will be the last time I do it- I'm much less fit than I was 10 years ago when I set off for the first time, so there's that, but also there are other routes I'd like to walk, such as the Via Francigena, and other places I'd like to see. Still, I'm looking forward to this holiday. It's been in the planning since December 2021 and, where most people might have negotiated a higher salary, it was the one thing I was genuinely worried about when I took my job at UCL and the thing I have been fiercely protective of.

What I'm looking forward to most is spending time with my friend. We've been on lots of trips together, sometimes in a large group of pilgrims, but in recent times with just us. This time, there's a third member of our party, whom I've never actually spent time with,but who from the few interactions we have had (and her willingness to bring me Reisewaschmittel at the last minute since nowhere in England has it) seens nice.

The Camino is the exact opposite of ny current life. I get up, get dressed, take a train then a tube to work in Central London, eat a sandwich woth colleagues, sit, teach, write some stuff, and go to meetings. It's crazy busy. I always feel like I'm behind because there's so much to be done. I feel a lot of pressure to do my job well, or at least okay. My workplace is supportive and I have great colleagues but I feel a lot of pressure to perform because everyone else seems to be performing. And obviously, I have the double, unspoken but real pressure of being black and 1st generation and just bearing all the marks of being an outsider to academia. It might be easier if it weren't such a central part if UK higher education discourse, but it is ans it can be exhausting.

On the Camino, the only thing exhausting is the walking. You have one thing to do every day: walk. That's it. No extra meeting. No tutorial. No book to write. No exam setting. Just walk. It isn't a race, and you don't have to be faster than the next person, or out walk them or make a good impression. You just have to walk.

The most noticeable change I observed when I moved to England was how well dressed everyone is for work. Like they are clever and beautiful. It's crazy. In Germany everyone just wore jeans all the time but here almost no one wears jeans, especially not to teach. So I spend more time getting dressed. You don't only have to be smart, you have to look it. On the Camino, no one cares what you are wearing, and you wear the same thing for several days- or every other day. There's nothing extra, nothing glamorous.

Don't get me wrong, I love my day to day life, but I'm excited about my Camino. I am excited for the time to think, walk, talk, listen, be, love, be Love and be loved.

I'll try to post every few days- usually on the Camino I journal- so come journey with me.

The Slowest Pilgrim

[pilgrimguyanne]

It's strange to think I have already been here for 2 months. And stranger still to think that I am living here.

I never really imagined a life for myself outside of Germany or Trinidad. I figured I was doing okay in Germany, and hoped that some day, somehow, something would happen and I would get a permanent position- it didn't have to be a professorship, I would say to myself, although what's the point of thw whole Habilitation trauma (and Albie was traumatic) if you aren't going to be a professor?

Despite my lack if imagination, I'm not in Germany or Trinidad but here.

London.

I don't like cities, not really, but I do like theatre and concerts and culture- the activities of cities. Of London. I'm not a huge fan of London; it's dingy and expensive and not very clean. But I am a huge fan of UCL. Huge. It's one of the best universities in the world and the English department is, in my opinion, the best in the world. The Survey of English is there and really I don't know how they hired me.

And now I'm here. The first month was hard. I rented a room from a crazy person. But now I have moved out and I have a flat which needs a bit of paint and some fixing but which is in a nice part of town and affordable. I have very nice colleagues. They are intimidatingly intelligent but not at all intimidating. I have friends, from Trinidad, from King's and Cambridge. I haven't had much luck with a church, but I go every week and it's nice to sing hymns in English and the hymns of my youth. I've joined a gym (twisted my ankle) and been to 5 different pools. I think I have found a choir but I am not quite sure.

Because my choir is the Essen Cathedral choir. Becoming a member of another choir, an English choir, means that I'm really here. Choirs mean commitment. They mean giving your time and your voice and your ear and your heart. My time and my voice and my ear are here. My heart is not.

[pilgrimguyanne]

Easter. My favourite liturgical season by far. I imagine it from the apostles' point of view. You liming good with your friend, JC, big fete when he enters into Jerusalem. Palms and party people everywhere. And yes, he keeps going on about dying but he's always been a tad melodramatic. Fast forward to Thursday, you gather for a lovely meal and afterwards you go to pray, Jesus taking his three BFFs, as he has done many times before. And then all hell breaks loose. Military and mobs. Crowds crying for crucifixion. Death and darkness.

The liturgies of Holy Week are among the Church's most beautiful and dramatic. Palm waving, foot washing, silence, contemplation, emptiness. And then, a glimmer of light. A fire. Candles, bells, alleluias. To me, for me, they are almost magical- though Jesus' death and resurrection are not magic. The readings of Gloria Saturday (Holy Saturday, Easter Vigil etc) take us through the story of our redemption to its climax. Not simply death, but resurrection. Not only God made human in Jesus. But the resurrected Christ. Jesus 2.0, if you will. There is, there should be, great joy.

Yet the past two Easter nights, for me, devoid of this joy. In fact, anyone I spoke to last night would have heard me say that were I Jesus, I would have gone back in the tomb. Cos no. And well last year they never even said Jesus rose from the dead.

I couldn't sleep last night because I was so distressed. My favourite day. Ruined. Again. I tried to think about why this could be. Since my student days in London, then Cambridge, then Münster, I have almost always actively been involved in planning Holy Week liturgies, or at the very least singing. So maybe that was it. Maybe it was my fault for not being active in the planning. Maybe this is a lesson in humility, in patience. But at the same time, I welcome the opportunity to participate as a regular member of the congregation. Before Covid, I went to mass almost daily because the Liturgy and the Eucharist are for me my source of life. I really liked that on Holy Thursday and Good Friday, for instance, since I could listen and gain new perspectives.

Then I thought, maybe it's because I have a fixed idea of what Gloria Saturday should be like. I do. The music should be the most beautiful music. Even if the choir is not good, beautiful music isn't always correcrt. Sometimes the beauty comes from people coming together joyously. The homily should be excellent or at least very good. It should not be short on joy. Even if this joy is uncertain. Even if this joy seems misplaced in the world in which we now live. It should be filled with hope, and with the promise of the resurrected Christ. It must be filled with hope because if we have nothing else, we have the hope of the resurrection. We have the hope that, if every single things goes wrong and we seem defeated, God will raise us up. The Easter blessing should give us courage to actually go out in peace and proclaim alleluia.

I wonder if the problem is me. If my previous battle with depression has robbed me of my ability to ever feel joy again. If Albie and all the challenges surrounding writing him gnawed away at the foundation of joy that as always defined me, distinguished me. But this I can dismiss, because my God (and my therapist) are bigger than depression and much much bigger than a Habilitation. I still feel joy, (joy joy joy down in my heart). I know the difference between joy and fun, joy and entertainment.

This morning I sang for mass at the cathedral. My "favourite" auxiliary bishop said mass and his homily was very good (not excellent) and the music was beautiful, but not perfect (far from). But I was still disappointed from last night. No one brought communion to the choir and so after mass I went to the sacristy to get communion for those who wanted. And it occurred to me that sometimes you have to go searching for joy. That is what the women at the tomb did.

I hope you too find joy in the emptiness of the tomb.

[pilgrimguyanne]

There are things Google Maps cannot tell you. The way to the beach, for instance. I mean, it will give you a route, but this will take you along the road, on pavements of concrete and asphalt. At least, this was what she does to me.

As she instructs me to go straight, I hear the ocean, to my left. There is another, stronger, better map, inside me. G for Guyanne, G for Google.

I switch of Google and follow my ears. I can hear that the sea is wild today, not angry, just restless. I can hear it in her voice.

I no longer know where I am going, but I am not lost. My ears lead me to a staircase, and I clamber up. I do not like stairs, but my feet know the reward is great. They do not complain. At the top, she greets me. Her vast waters hug my tired spirit. I want to cry with joy.

I descend, and begin the short pilgrimage to the water's edge. I wish I had a wetsuit, and am envious of the surfers. I, too, wish to be baptised. But it is not my time.

I walk along the beach in my jacket and sneakers. The sneakers have to go. And the socks. I need to feel the sand under my feet. It is cold and familiar, moulding to each footstep and holding me firm before each new step. On the uneven sand, I do not wobble, do not fall. I am rooted in the sand. Few plants can grow in beach sand. Only the coconut tree. I am a coconut tree.

I stop to sit in the sand. I have a book, and an audio book, and music, but I do not want any of this. I want to sit and look at the ocean. I want to sit and listen to the ocean. Tomorrow, I shall dip my feet in the ocean.

[pilgrimguyanne]

On 185 #conventstrong #ConventPride #sjcpos185

I belong to a long generation of SJC girls in my paternal family. Grandmother, great aunts, aunts, cousins, sister, me. In total, there are at least 17 women in my family who passed through SJC POS. Not everyone had a great experience, and that's their story to tell, not mine. But I had a wonderful time.

I was Cluny educated from the age of 4, and passed for SJC POS from St Joseph's Girls' RC. I was one of four girls from my primary school, 14 others went to sister school SJC SJ, and 3 to the other sister school, Providence. I have no idea what it was like for them, but for me, SJCPOS was a culture shock.

Other schools have rules and order marks and pink slips. They tell you how many inches below the knee the skirt should be and how many folds a sock can have. SJC POS did not have this. SJC POS had tradition. You figured out what to do, how to behave, because you saw other people doing it, or because you saw someone being told off for falling short. No one really TOLD you anything. SJCPOS' rules were very vague. They comprised statements like, propriety, without defining what was improprietous. This, for those who are interested, could range from anything as dramatic as talking during assembly, talking on the steps on the way to class after assembly, to spitting in the road, to cavorting on Pembroke Street, to, and this was the worst of all, hooting while applauding. After the first few months, I kind of figured out, and soon I settled into life as a "dirty" convent girl.

I have lots of great memories of school. I think my favourite was in Form 2, when the Phantom Scribbler wrote "blah blahbiddy blah blah I am the Phantom Scribbler" on the bench that faced the car park on the outside of Sr Paul's office and then defaced a stall in the junior school toilets. Mrs Crouch stood in assembly and said "Phantom Scribbler when I find you, I will suspend you. In fact, I will slap you, then I will suspend you." She was having trouble with that though, so eventually she cancelled class for a morning and gave everyone a bit of sandpaper and we had to sandpaper every surface of the school. Every desk, every AV room and lab table. She personally checked, and when she got to my class, my desk neighbour got into trouble because she had been building a straw hole to drink the copious amount of nesquik she consumed. I never found out who the Phantom was, so am making this note public, in the hope that she sees it and knows how happy she made me.

I have some less pleasant memories too. But nothing too dramatic. Nothing more than the average teenager. I had a lovely group of friends. They were really smart and so after a rocky start academically their work ethic rubbed off and I started really shining academically. We weren't very cool and didn't rebel or anything, so we liked looking on when other girls opened nail salons offering French manicures with liquid paper or did Geography homework in Chemistry class. We talked during Bio and French in Form 3, but somehow we were never enough of a distraction to warrant teachers separating us, so the 9 of us formed a band in the back. I'm still close friends with 3 of them, and in contact with 3, and have lost contact with 1.

I enjoyed the Co-curricular experience at SJC a lot. I loved October with lip sync and food fair, and was sad when that ended. I loved Divali, Prefects Concert and Captains Concert (why did they have 2 different concerts?). I loved anything inter-house, except inter-house Carnival. In Form 1 I lied and said my religion was against Carnival so I would not have to dress up and jump in the courtyard. I liked singing Calypso though, and entered Calypso in Form 3 and 5, which I won and got a CD voucher which I used to buy a Best of Queen CD, having being introduced to Bohemian Rhadsody via lipsync. I loved sports day, and the two years we had inter-house singing and we sang Somebody Bigger than You and I and St Joseph's house sang Somebotty bigger. Hilarious. I loved swim meet. People always accuse SJC POS of being all academic, but this wasn't true of my time there, though of course academics were important.

I tried lots of different extracurricular activities, too, but the ones I remained most committed to for my 7 years were Literary and Debate Society (what some people called Debate, but that is not the name of the club) and choir. I loved Debate because there were never any teachers there, just students debating and discussing ideas. We had so much freedom to explore. Nowadays I guess the supervising teacher would have to be present for the meetings, but from 1995-2002, we did our own thing. I loved participating in inter-class debates, and I still remember in Form 4 when I got naked debater of the match in the Modern versus Earth Sci debate. I was really dedicated to the choir. In my time in SJC, there was only one choir show I didn't perform in, the Christmas concert in Form 5, because it was the only time I had a main role in a Love Movement production (Stella in the Christmas musical about stars) and it was too much. I still find the experience of singing with other people extremely enriching and think that chroal singing might be the key to world peace.

But yes, SJC was very academic. I don't see anything wrong with this, to be honest. Every year it receives some of the most academically gifted girls in the SEA. It would actually be a sin, a waste of their talent, to not push them to try to achieve their academic potential. I don't think it was too much pressure and, while I do think more could have been done to encourage other subject areas and interests, I think that's a shortcoming of the system rather than the school. In lower 6, I made the decision to drop History after a few weeks of class and change to Spanish. It meant that I was no longer competing with my classmate for the Modern Studies open scholarship, but was now going up for Languages. This was not my motivation for changing, but it's perhaps the single most important academic decision I have ever made. Both my classmate Krista Beuzelin and I won open scholarships. Winning a scholarship shaped my life in ways I cannot explain in this post.

My wish for SJC is honesty. Maybe you have noticed that I never shared the school history video. There's a reason for that. Part of the 185 message is that the school was opened for members of all races, classes and backgrounds. If this is in some original mission statement, it must be read with 1836 eyes. In 1836, apprenticeship was still going on. Opening a secondary school for *girls* who had formerly been enslaved would have made no sense. A primary school, maybe (and this explains the fact that all SJCs have a Cluny Primary school nearby or on the same compound). Whoever all included, it was definitely not the children of the formerly enslaved. All the early photographic evidence shows that. The school was opened for the daughters of the planters and the island elite . It's something that former Provincial Superior Sister Gabrielle Mason as addressed many times. The sisters were invited by the planters. It's not the philanthropic start one might wish for. But part of celebrating your history is interrogating it and facing it. The school has a history of racism, and this is also part of the story. But if you read on, you will see that the school does expand. It does include girls from all backgrounds now. It's learning, growing and evolving. And this growth is also worth celebrating. But first you have to acknowledge it.

I learned a lot of things at SJCPOS, but most important was "to whom much is given, much is expected". SJC gave me and so many others so much. I hope we continue looking for ways to use it to the service of our God, our school, our country and our world.

[pilgrimguyanne]

On bread:

For most of Lent, the local milk brand teamed up with a local bakery in a publicity move like no other: if you bought their milk, you could qualify to win a year's worth of Sunday bread rolls. And, with every box of milk, you could get a free roll. Since I buy this milk anyway, and I love free stuff, this was a no brainer. Every 4 days I cut out the vouchers for free bread. But I soon found I couldn't use them. I rarely go to the part of town where the bakeries are located, and often not at a time when they are open. One day, I collected a roll, gave one voucher to a man who was begging, and then 2 to a friend, but I still had 5 left.

Yesterday, I went into town and was able to get two rolls- turns out you can't get more on a single day. So I still had 3 left. I bumped into yet another gentleman who was begging. I don't open my wallet in train stations, especially platforms (safety), so I told him I had no money but asked him if he would like vouchers for bread rolls. He took the two vouchers from me and looked at them.

-So I just go to Kamps and give them these and they give me bread roll

-yes, but you have to go today because it ends today

-And I don't have to buy anything

-Nope, just give them the vouchers

-Completely for free?

-Yup

He set off immediately in the direction of the bakery, walking past the other people on the platform.

This Holy Thursday he is on my mind. He could not believe that this bread was free. That he did not have to do anything for it. That the bakery did not expect him to buy a thing. The bread Jesus offers us tonight is similar. He gives it to us, for free. No strings attached. We don't even need a voucher.

[pilgrimguyanne]

On friendship- AGood Friday reflection

At some periods during this pandemic, I felt really let down by friends. I really tried to get reach out- letters, calls, online events, one on one visits etc- but from lots of people, there was nothing. That's actually my main reason for applying for the exemption to come home- I am not certain how much longer I can do pandemic alone.

But the events of Holy Thursday and Good Friday have me thinking about friendship. Firstly, the man of the hour says that he is going to die for his friends. Not his children, or his cousins, or his parents- his friends. So friendship must be a really important relationship, worth giving your life for.

His friends, however, suck. There is no other way to say this. First, one of them betrays him. I've been betrayed by a good friend in this pandemic. For legal reasons, I can't reveal more, but I think I understand a bit how Jesus felt. My friend's actions nearly cost me my livelihood. But in the end, my name was cleared, because the law worked for me. Not so with Jesus.

Then, they fall asleep. Jesus says, guys, pray with me, I'm suffering, stay with me. And they fall asleep. Like what? Who does that? Well, everyone. I've definitely felt like my friends have fallen asleep in my hour of darkness, and I am pretty sure I have done the same.

THEN they lie about knowing him. I mean that is just subpar friend behaviour.

And finally, they desert him. Like, there is no station called Bartholomew wipes the face of Jesus or Simon Peter helps Jesus carry the cross. And only John puts an apostle near the cross (spoiler: it's him, he puts himself at the foot of the cross). None of the other gospels do this. All the apostles watch from a distance. They see their friend suffering and watch from a distance, even though they are perfectly capable of going to his side. I know about this.

And Jesus dies for them anyway. If I were Jesus, I was dying for everyone except these so called friends who desert me. I would literally be on the cross and be like, Father, I am dying for everyone except Peter, James, John, Andrew, Philip, Barthomlew, other James etc. Lucky for us all, I am not Jesus, who begs for their forgiveness.

BUT, along the way, Jesus makes new friends. Veronica wipes his face, Simon carries his cross and lots of women cry for him. Oh and Joseph gives him a tomb.Jesus didn't even invite these people to his farewell dinner, and here they are, being good friends to him.

After their lame attempt at friendship, Jesus rises from the dead and the first people he asks Mary for? His waste of time friends. Who does he try to find hidden in the room? The worst friends ever. Who does he leave his inheritance (his spirit) with? Peter et Al. And who continues the work he started? His friends.

The Triduum reminds me that friendship is complicated, that if Jesus' friends can be sucky, who am I to expect anything else from my friends? I mean, Jesus friends go MIA because they are scared, and this pandemic is scary for everyone. So it challenges me to be more understanding to how my friends are experiencing this pandemic, more compassionateand generous. I mean Jesus dies for these people. And even though I feel deserted, I've made new friends along the way, and the Triduum reminds me to be grateful for my Simons. Finally, it challenges me to look at areas where my friends are calling for help, and I have fallen asleep.