Man Today Yuh Dead.

“Man today yuh dead, man today yuh dead and bury, man today yuh dead and bury, who tell you to come an trouble me. Man today yuh dead, man today yuh dead and bury, man today yuh dead and bury, who tell you to come trouble me.”

And with the reverberating drums carrying the tales of the gayelle echoing in my mind, I sit here on this November day reminiscent of how the culture of stick fight could have been erased from the history of Trinidad and Tobago as the younger generations of revellers wooed by the Brazilian style nakedness and the American style cash cows have within a few years transformed the true art forms - changing, thwarting and corrupting everything till the cultural jewels like minstrel, kaiso, extempo and stick fight were almost phased out.

Probably what saved them from sure demise was the very speed at which the bombardment on the true indigenous aspects of this culture were being eroded. So quickly that generations of yesteryear were still around to tell the younger generations that something very wrong was happening. Imagine the father of Soca was alive and around to tell the first born like Iwer that they were singing rubbish. That the grand master of costume mas, still alive, told the nation he’s packing his bags and leaving: because art was being destroyed by consumerism, capitalism, lewdness and alcoholism!

With such warnings and cries it seems that some were able to pull us back from the brink of this bit of our culture becoming extinct. It seems that the bois man did get to cut the devil of “modernisation” and save himself and the gayelle – even if only for a few generations again.

But I did not come to talk of carnival culture. The parallels though to which I really wanted to mention were quite similar: another aspect of our culture that is under attack – almost to say “being poached by a skilled hunter.”

It may shock some when I say that this aspect of culture and tradition to which I mention is Hunting.

I could pause here to take on the various steups and insults and twist face that is expected of ignoramuses in this land but I won’t pause for long. Just to cut their sourness short I would clearly state that this is not a scientific piece on wildlife conservation. I think it has already been long established by those who have cared to listen to the voices in this the “hunting gayelle,” that we understand and have no problems with and are in fact the biggest advocates and supporters of conservation – period!

Like the stick fight, hunting is deep rooted into the culture of Trinidad and Tobago. Make no mistake about it, it is not a case as black and white as predator and prey.

Hunting has been entrenched into the fabric of our culture to the extent that it is quite probable that every citizen of this land has a family member or one close enough who is a hunter, or has a love of wild meat etc. Of course this in no way means that everyone is partial to hunting, but should at least be a serious point to consider by those who wish to tear this part of our heritage from our culture.

It maybe that like the fate of the stick man, the younger generations need to sit with the old folk and listen carefully to the tales they would tell. Being hunters, many of these tales would clearly need to begin with  “once upon a time,” but the general nature of them is common: they speak of the pre modern times, when the people in these islands were deeply bound to the land – to seeking from the forests and other natural sources their food and lively hood.

These tales of yesteryear speak of how hunting defined men and shaped families. They give us insight into aspects of our history that people take for granted. Of how the lives of families that depended on the hunt and the forests were built – from which small communities grew: communities that still exist today, unique in appearance and dialect and flavour. Maybe those born and raised in the concrete jungles and high societies of our islands may not be able to recognise it but do they not consider that iconic communities like Matelot, Brasso Seco, Blanchicheuse, Caigul, Tabaquite, Rio Clarro, Moruga, Guayaguare, Cedros, Erin, Fyzabad, Quinam, Tamana, Bieche, Plum Mitan – and the list can go on – would not be the same had it not been for hunting.

The tales of these old hunters can fill volumes, paint a myriad of canvases and lecture to the elite and laymen.

These stories are also indicative of change as well as give the guidelines of how we should chart our futures. If one would sit with the hunting legends they would understand the passion and drive of the new generations (not considering the generation of poachers who have sprung up and roam our islands like cockroaches – looting, raping, pillaging everything from iron to forests to human souls as they swarm).

The new generation of hunters have not appeared from nowhere – these are the seed of the past, eager to continue the traditions of their lineage. Of course, like Iwer should have listened to Shorty, new generation hunters aren’t infallible and would need guidance and rules and corrections from time to time, but nonetheless they are here awaiting their turn to eventually become the old story tellers in the hunting gayelle!

Sadly there is a new poacher in town – an odd fellow. His words meticulously devious and his deception and cunning rivalling the best predator. Yet all he sees in his scope is the hunter! Determined he is to remove us from the fabric of this society. No care or concern has he for the roads were have come from and the paths we wish to thread. All he does is plays on the emotions of ecological zealots pandering to their wish make us extinct! The Poachers of Men they are, the Bambi Brigades!

Like the old stick man, we have to battle, to save more than just a sport and lifestyle – to save a part of our culture and a Legacy that many who have their roots buried deep in this soil desperately wish to continue.

An Original Caiere Chase article.

By; Abby Karim.

Posted on Caiere Chase blog Wednesday 30 November 2016