A positive plan to fork up the land – Agriculture

This plan is sow for cane good.  If i may say so myself.

This is fact not fiction, allyu eh wah nothing with me when it comes to going for cane. Yea you might not believe it but I am somewhat of professional. There are even some ladies who can attest to this (of course I will not call names) and being the bright spark that I am I will prove how for cane good I am without exposing the names of lady accomplices. I will call some partners though and give you an idea as to when and where I gained this for cane experience.

You see I grew up between Hassarath Road Cunupia and Chin Chin Road Cunupia, in case you do not know these are two area deep deep deep in the sugar belt. One ah my primary school mates is a lawyer for the All Trinidad Sugar and General Workers Union. Member of Parliament Rudranath Indarsing (former leader of said union) is my personal friend. I was there in Balmain Couva, when they (All Trinidad Sugar and general Workers Union) made a coffin for Ramesh Lawrence Maharaj (working media).

The Caroni 1975 yellow jeep run me down several times and catch me once for cane. Long time there use to be a ceremonial opening of the cane cutting season, I was there “5, 5, 5, in the morning” (dais ah ole stickfighting chant) on more than one occasion ( working media). So I hope allyu could now believe how for cane good I am.

So what’s up with the ole Caroni 1975 or and modern version of it.  And though Caroni 1975 is viewed as some people business, I feel If I so for cane good, I could say something. For starters I believe in Caroni 1975 (or whatevr remains of it) as potential waiting to be explored and well if you disagree with me you would be speaking gobar. (Cow pat or cow dung, manure, fertilizer etc.)

Sooooooooooo here is an idea which could put some real gobar into agriculture, foster some unity, help crime, reduce foreign food import, facilitate prisoner re-integration into society, and even still offer some latitude for some political gobar. Lets say we take the Caroni 1975 land and find all the remaining workers, who have rights to the land, or interest in it.

Lets say we call them “Managers” yes ah big word. Lets say we get all the incarcerated prisoners who are able-bodied and call them “Farm or Agriculture workers”. Let’s say when they enter prison they are mandated to (since they have so much spare time) learn (attend classes) about any given field of agriculture or farming that is possible in Trinidad (on said Caroni land) for a year”.

Oh why Caroni land? Well because it fertile, accessible, proven, tilled, etc etc.

After that year of learning let’s make it mandatory that they (prisoners) work in the agriculture or farming area that they chose to learn (on state land). Lets say these farms are managed by the Ex-Caroni workers. Lets say neither Managers or workers have right to transfer the land. The proceeds (crops, livestock etc) is bought by government, for export or local market according to quality.

The proceeds are used the pay the managers, and workers. In the case of the workers money will be paid to a bank account in their name (made available when the finish their prison term). The workers can work for their period of incarceration, and once free can opt to continue to work. Once they stop working or pass away, someone new enters the system. The least we could have is more home and kitchen gardens in hotspots if they stop working. The most, employment, food, reduced crime, wealth, unity, productivity, economic growth and the list goes on.

With just the power of the pen I have made a not so for cane good story into a masterpiece. Now who to address this letter to:  Clarry, Rudy, the Project Manager, or maybe I should just go for


On the Occasion that you Celebrate Arrival


Hassarath Road Cunupia, and Ramgoolie Trace North, Chin Chin Road Cunupia, these were my childhood haunts between the ages of 1 – 14. My primary school, Cunupia Government School, some of my teachers Mrs. Benn, Ms. Naidoo, Mrs. Narinesingh and in STD 5. Mr. Mahabir. The principal Herman Roop Dass, coincidentally my Grandmother and Grandfather were Headmaster’s and Mistress at the school generations before. Large up my other half of blood the Fortune´’s. I know Hindu, I know Muslim, I know Indian. I eh know prayers, I know Ramayan Yagna, 9 nights. Back in those days I did not know race, not when we went by the river to pick Jamun (pronounced jah-moon), or were tying knot grass and playing catch.

I came to know race in secondary school, race and class and streaming. Even then I did not know the venom and distrust that I see displayed today. I dare say, and say so comfortably, I know India, before I know Africa. That is to say Indian culture was much more evident, visible and I engaged in it as a child. This in no way takes away from what is in me, is innate and African. I went Ramayan, eat out of fig leaf, partake in Phagwa, Divali (pronounced dee-valley) and drink Sawine (pronounced say wine). You cyar eat dhal and rice with your hand like me. A Junior Sammy mixer cyar mix that better than me.

Even as I grew older into adulthood as the holidays approached you know who you was going by to get sweets and other delicacies. I left these shores for a little while and went up the islands to study. Hear the possie, A Rasta, ah Karim, ah Shah, ah Rajkumar and ah Abraham (me/ Muslim/Christain as I call myself). We helped each other (God knows without them I could not pass stats with that damn f test), we went to the beach, lime, study, and we existed and still remain friends.  Roger Karim, Gerard Rajkumar

Then I look at the papers and the leaders playing ball with who pay who to carry racist placards. Clearly they don’t have enough of me in Trinidad. I know how we vote is not how we party, but how we party is clearly how we vote, if you know what I mean. Maybe we too young (as a Republic) or maybe I too old as an Independent. By far and large we live the good life, the callaloo, the douglarisation, the pluralism, we live it and we speak it. The thing is, do we believe it. If so how come we are so quick to doubt it when some exception comes to break out from the norm.

A man once asked “who is your leader”. It remains a profound question, not just of or for identity. The larger question is one of purpose. How does he/she lead, in what quarters do they lead, in what quarters should they lead. Should they lead all the time? Are they religious, political, social, and what is their agenda? There are times, places, purposes and virtues of leaders. I, like you will adopt and even genuflect when and where necessary as I choose my leader (s). But we must not forget that we too are leaders, and must choose when by our actions, or inaction to lead. For not to lead can land us in a sadder place.

To my brethren and sistren of East Indian descent, I say have a happy day, remembering that we are all decent people who came here (who were brought here) and only by our coexistence have we made here and will we continue to shape here. Here could not be here and would not be here without you.

Happy Indian Arrival Day.