At the end of 2015, Tobago moved into colourful kite season. Mainly men and boys made kites in front yards, walked with them at the roadside, flew them in villages.
One day a little boy came to me, distressed, asking if I was busy. Another boy had borrowed his kite and had let it go. It had drifted away to a part of the village to which he could not gain access without walking past some bad dogs.
“Pitbulls!” he had whimpered.
I, and the only other adults present were unable to go with him at the time, so he waited patiently until someone was able to accompany him past the dogs to retrieve his precious kite.
One day, returning from the grocery, I saw two small boys clutching kites so huge, they struggled to carry them along the sidewalk. As the descending afternoon sun illuminated the kite material (translucent green garbage bags), the image was reminiscent of innovative Carnival costumes parading through the streets.
Refreshing December winds. The non-stop buzzing of lofty kites throughout the day and into the night. The homely image of kite twine wound around empty sweet drink bottles. Kite twine stretching across the Pennysaver’s car park, tangled up under car wheels and dangling from bannisters like a huge spider’s web and tangled in overhead powerlines.
The season of kites in Tobago is a national celebration of colour and artful recycling. Many kites are made from garbage bags, gift paper and anything that will successfully enable these humble yet intricate works of art to fly high and proud.
The Tobago Flying Colours Kite Festival, started in 2000 by Valerie Critten-Stewart, is a unique and publicly inclusive way of honouring this national pastime, which has been around since ‘way back when’ and has been passed down to some children by their elders who also enjoyed it in their youth.
About three weeks ago, I was chatting about Christmas with two women I had met sitting outside of a shop. With increasing excitement they told me of the simple pleasures they used to enjoy at that time of year as children.
Reminiscing about receiving the gift of a ball in bright pink, red or green still caused woman number one’s eyes to sparkle with excitement all these decades later.
“A new ball means you can invite the neighbourhood over to play football!”
Woman number two said.
“You fly yuh kites until yuh tired!”
“And yuh vex when the kite string tangle!”
“We playing rounders! We drinking Ju-C!”
“We playin’ footsee!”
Woman number one jumped up from the ground, put her hands on her waist and started rotating her body. “We hula-hooping!”
“Bread and cake and everything baking in the dirt oven!”
“We get we little ginger beer and sorrel!”
“Tobago people helping and sharing with everybody!”
Disgruntled, woman number two mentioned that these days people only want backpay so that they can buy expensive gifts for children who ‘did well in exams’. She expressed concern that if children are not ‘trained right’ now, the situation will get out of hand. She was thinking of her own childhood, when she and her siblings got whatever their poor parents could afford and how they grew up being not only content with, but excited by the simplest of things—a colourful ball, dirt oven goodies to be shared with others, a home made kite.
For 2016, I wish everyone an increasing awareness and enjoyment of life’s simple gifts. In the words of my favourite taxi driver, Mr B: “Money isn’t all.”