By Anu Dev
“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.” – Nelson Mandela
Now don’t get me wrong after you read the quote above. It’s not as if I spent the last 27 years on Robbins Island. Or even that I was locked away for the four months I was away in Trinidad – with armed guards patrolling the perimeter of the UWI Medical School! But I’ll tell you what: like prisons, medical schools (and all schools for that matter) are also institutions that seek to impart a new way of looking at the world on its inmates. And they have more than a few things in common.
There are no guards clanking on bars to wake you up (I’ve seen this in prison movies, in case you’re wondering!) in medical school but those early classes that are mandatory pretty much have the same effect on you. And if you detect a note of chagrin in that sentence, it’s quite heartfelt – coming from a person who enjoys a late morning snooze. So you end up, after four months, waking up early.
I’ve also heard about the prison “slop” – and seen it in the aforementioned movies – and I’ll tell you something. The people who run cafeterias in medical schools probably graduated from the same culinary institutions as their compatriots in the correction facilities. So, I’ve ended up pretty much doing my own cooking. Not that I have anything against cooking – in fact, I happen to actually like the experience. I can let my creativity pour forth in the kitchen.
But when you return home to your dorm room and have to whip up your vittles, it does take the sheen off even the old favourites. So I’ve resorted to cooking pounds of puttanesca and gallons of dhal and sequestered them in my fridge. And you appreciate like you’ve never done before, the effort your mother made to whip up all those concoctions (effortlessly, you’d thought!!!) to deal with your finicky eating habits. So yes, I can emphasise with Mr Mandela when he conceded that you are inevitably altered by institutional rules and regulations.
So how was it to return to a place that was unchanged? Well I’ll tell you…it wasn’t that unchanged. The four lane exit from the airport’s coming on nicely and there was a new hotel near the stadium. I thought they should’ve put up a facade around the roof, though – the present one makes the place look too ordinary from the outside. See…I told you I’ve changed. Moving around Trinidad (which could fit into half of my native West Coast Demerara) that’s so oriented towards tourism makes one much more aware of the amenities demanded.
But I’ll tell you what hasn’t changed – the garbage situation. I’ve written before about my school bus manoeuvring through the flotsam and jetsam from floods that have receded; and almost retching on my way to Queen’s.
But this time, in my newfound freedom where I could go shopping, the old revulsion was intensified from seeing gorgeous new malls rising from the same garbage. But this time, I was much more outraged – at the Mayor and City Council, at the people dropping their garbage so nonchalantly and at all the political gamesmanship.
But one thing that was unchanged was the love from my family, friends and old nexuses. I dropped in to the birthday of an old school friend and was able to re-connect to most of the old gang. Like me, they’ve moved on…but the old bonds are still there.
So unlike what Tom Wolfe said, you CAN go back home.