Sylvia Wynter's Dream

In the depths of my memories lies a blue house with a white roof. This particular home, nestled in the quiet Newport community, served as the backdrop for my earlier years of my life. When I close my eyes, I see the sights, hear the sounds, smell the scents and feel emotions of being inside those rooms.

When I transported back to that particular house, it struck me how the different smells of my mother’s cooking filled the air. A self – proclaimed chef, my mother was never afraid to try new recipes and I was more than willing to be her test monkey. A comforting aroma that mingled with the scent of my father’s diesel van whose fumes you could smell through the cracked kitchen window, created a symphony of familiarity and love, funnily enough now as I recall looking back and initially hating the scent. The living room, the heart of our home, was a sanctuary where my family gathered to share laughter and stories. The whatnots were adorned with family photographs, capturing moments frozen in time.

As I passed through the house, I heard various relatives scattered across the neighborhood, and it rang on by my ears. Their joy was contagious, and they were all rambunctious, and as a result, their presence filled up everywhere leaving warm feelings in me but uncomfortable ones in my mother which I could not comprehend at that time. Whispers behind backs and underhanded tactics over money and land laid the foundation for our relationships but we were still a family.

Outside, the backyard was overgrown with lush greenery and birds always rose early, chirping in the distance. The many palm trees, with its branches expanding, offering shade and solace during sweltering summer days. The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the earthy aroma of my mother’s beloved flower beds.

The “sensuous richness” that defines this childhood house has played a major role in shaping my memory. It marked the start of my journey to become aware of the person I was becoming and who everyone around me already was.

But why does this house specifically continue to hold a special significance in my life? I have moved more than seven times in my life so why? Is it because of the bonds that I made with my extended family? Is it because this was the true starter home for my parents, now that is more than just the two of them? Is it because this was where I experienced my first natural disaster – a hurricane, that took off our roof while I sat in our living room settee and watched? This blue house with the white roof and its distinct sights, sounds, smells and emotions, etched itself into my memory, becoming a part of my identity.

There can be no doubt that physical space is linked to my memory and the bond that this house holds dear in my heart, it tells me what I am and where exactly I am from.

N.B. The pictures used in this blog post, due to personal reasons, are not of my community or my family.