devils in trinidad

{Adam}

Surpassing the halfway mark of our trip, it seems like a perfect time to reflect on what it means to be in Trinidad (in all honesty, it’s not just the timing inspiring me to write about this…add in the fact that Charlotte pretty much summed up our entire work week in her post, and I’d say I really don’t have a choice). After being here for 5 weeks, I feel like I’m finally starting to get settled. In fact, except for the fact that I stick out like a piece of corn in a Fourth of July Baked Bean pan, I feel like I’m actually starting to fit in. Even our taxi driver the other day commented, “Whoa boy, you are Trini.” Unfortunately, roughly 50% of that characterization came due to my less than immaculate control of profanity. I even figured out how to dress like a local this weekend when I finally bought myself a pair of jeans. But my best achievement thus far is my slowly developing grasp of Trini-English. Case in point—I ordered Roti today at lunch completely alone, and didn’t have to scrunch my face and say, huh, even once. (To give you a rough hint of what it is like to order at a roti shop, think about Sean Paul being the person making your Chipotle burrito, and remove all knowledge of what the ingredients in each of the dishes actually are). I finally know what people are asking me when they throw around, “hey boy, whassa scene?” and I realize that when someone says they are going to “carry me” to lunch, that I will not, in fact, be put in their arms. This new found confidence has even carried over into my job, where I am no longer afraid to try and have a legitimate conversation with vendors within the market or even my own boss. Although I will never quite be able to perfect the pronunciation of the delicious “buss up shut” (it looks like a busted up shirt, get it?), at least I can make sure that when I get it, my mouth won’t be on fire for the next two hours.