Interlude
13th January 2009
I had to go back to Port of Spain, no matter how much I resented it. For starters, I needed internet access and I might have to go round the BWIA office to sort out my transit. That mess still haunted my dreams. But mostly, it was about RN. I had to talk to the docs, and that meant checking into Pearl’s.
But would I come back? Suddenly I wasn’t so sure. It seemed to me that my presence placed an obligation on certain individuals, such as RN. And then there were others—such as whoever had shot him. Or the sullen man I’d met in the bush. I didn’t care to run into them on my own.
Besides, I believe in never walking the same path twice. That was why I had ended up in Nariva, instead of cowering in safe, boring Buccoo.
*
I awoke on the hard floor of the balcony where I’d spent the night, since all the rooms were taken. The landlady had greeted me like an old friend and said that I could sleep in the kitchen, but since the kitchen doubles as the TV lounge, I put my tent to use and fashioned a den of sorts in a dark corner. Overnight the tent pane shifted on the smooth stone and bits of rigging poked into my back.
I think I’d subconsciously made up my mind to return to Nariva even before I got to the call centre to phone RN.
The docs’ verdict was good: it turns out that I’ve been watching too much Iron Man. After three years, the pellets would be safely encapsulated and surrounded by connective tissue. Nothing is moving any more. However, RN was right in that they don’t take out the bullets unless it is absolutely necessary. I guess they wouldn’t have enough manpower and beds otherwise, considering the number of shootings here.
“I spoke to the docs—you’re safe! Nothing is moving. You’re in no danger!”
The line spat and crackled, and this is how the conversation actually turned out: “I…crackle, szsst…docs…pop, crickle…moving…pzzt, sprock…danger!”
It was no good: I’d better tell him in person. I grabbed my backpack and the daypack—which contained a new map and a refill of Vitamin X—and walked over to the maxi terminal.
*
The entire morning had been spent running around the town (which, thankfully, isn’t big) on one errand after another. Consequently I had run out of patience when I got around to the Land and Survey Office. It might have been possible to obtain a more detailed map of the Nariva area, but I merely bought a—slightly better—map of Trinidad. I learned my lesson about impatience when a man sitting outside the Survey Office stopped me to talk.
He seemed to know a lot about Nariva and the manatees, but then he was a surveyor living in Sange Grande. He told me that there is oil underneath the Protected Area.
Damn. You only have to declare an area as protected for it to become vastly interesting to prospectors or developers.
However, he went on to say that under no circumstances would the RAMSAR site be compromised, not now that there are extensive restoration schemes in progress. Instead there are plans to drill a two-mile-long underground tunnel from the shore to extract the oil without disturbing the surface environment.
*
Before I boarded the maxi, I spent an hour on the internet—ignoring the to-and-fro from the airlines and booking agent—to see what I could find out about the status of the manatees. Here’s what I found:
- There is indeed a manatee pond and research station in Cocal: a designated hide-out which has been managed since 1992. The surrounding land is owned by the Huggins Trust and has been granted to the Rotary Club of St. Juan upon founding of the Manatee Conservation Trust;
- ‘Manati’ is the Carib word for ‘breast’;
- in September 2000, a baby manatee—caught illegally in the Mitan River—was rescued and successfully rehabilitated;
- in 2005, the area was visited by an expedition from Dundee University. The expedition leader, Prof. Keith Skene, praised the manatee conservation effort.
- The restoration effort is in full swing. There is trouble brewing for the remaining squatters who are due to be relocated ‘prior to the 2010 planting season’, but there will be over 120 new jobs in the nursery and on the reforestation project over the next five years.
*
While I was busy with my errands, the pavements had become populated with pasty-skinned cruiseship passengers who were wandering around in tight little groups, looking lost. The police presence had been ramped up accordingly. I did a double-take: there were lollipop ladies at the crossings.
One of them jumped into the street as I stepped out. There was no traffic and the three lanes on either side held no fear for me any more.
“Do you know where you are going?”
I grinned at her, re-shouldering my daypack.
Yes, I knew where I was going.
Tags: Americas, Manatee Conservation Trust, Nariva Swamp, Port of Spain, Travel, Tag Index
Denni
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