"My Cat Island" Tinkerwee: Going For Sisal

There is a brown girl in the ring tra la la la la la, brown girl in the ring tra la la la la and she looks like a sugar in a plum, plum, plum…Screeching at the top of our lungs, skipping along. I guess screeching would be the only way to describe Ava’s and my singing. Neither of us could carry a tune if we were paid million dollars. The sun beating down our backs bare feet, tattered dresses straw hats, crocus sacks over our shoulders armed with a dull knife to cut sisal. 

We rarely wore shoes other than church or school. There was a specific order and progression of how clothing was worn. New shoes were worn at church and special events. Old church shoes was then passed on to school, the school shoes if it still fits would be for the yard play. The same order was applied to clothing. The new and best clothing was always kept for Sunday-go -to- meeting. For adults church clothing was worn until new one was could be afforded. Everyone was always well turned out”. No matter how old faded, or patched the clothing, it was washed, starched and ironed within until it could practically stand on its own.

I would be remiss if I did not briefly describe interesting fashion statement the older men settlement made. At church the men always wore jackets and ties, no matter how old the clothing with a hat that was respectfully, removed at the church’s door. For farming and fishing and day to day activity it was usually the old graduated church clothing, where the shirt was missing practically every button and the pants all it hooks, buttons and zipper. The shirts were causally pinned together with safety pins, the pants waist was skillfully pull together  where each end was loop over at the front where it miraculously stayed securely in place no matter the activity, this was referred to as the “John Newton hitch”. Shoes were made from old tires cut to fit, holes punched in to string sisal rope through then tied to the feet, completing the look would be a straw hat finishing look was a clay pipe that had seen better days having lost most of the stem and the bowl being so close to the face the eyes were squinted to avoid the smoke. Comical! However, no matter the hard ship everyone took great care of what they had and was most grateful for their blessings.

Well back to gathering sisal. Going to collect sisal was an all-day event. Ava and I would set out at sunrise going to the North shore the opposite side of the island. We refer to this beach as the North side because all the settlements were built on opposite south side of the island where there were long stretches of beautiful beaches, no reef hazards and the sea was calmer.

Though the sisal industry is no longer a major industrial product of the Bahamian economy it is still used in small quantities to produce rope, handbags, hats and other items for sale at the straw market. It takes a long process to make the sisal into useful items for sale in the Bahamas. The younger tender leaves are removed stripped chained together then anchored into the salt water pond until the surface of the leaves begin to disintegrate exposing the fiber inside. The fiber is washed left out to be bleached and dried by the sun. Then rolled into small useable strips to be braided and sewn into products for the straw market. This long drawn out process antiquated production method was the major reason only a few of the women worked with the sisal. Most of the ladies prefer to work with the native palms to produce for the straw market. So usually Ava and I would be the only ones headed to the North side to gather the leaves of the sisal, Saturdays or school breaks.

Naturally there would be a few detours. Since we never carried anything to eat, we would stop to find ripe bananas, mangoes, sapodilla, tamarind, sugar cane and picked coconuts. No one could climb a coconut tree like Ava. Dress fold between her legs arm and legs wrapped around the trunk she would scurry up the tree nearly as fast as a gecko. Being a little timid of heights I would stay on the ground nearby and watch to see where the green jelly coconuts fell then gather them up for our feast. We would find a shady tree and a smooth rock where we pounded the coconuts to split the outer shell to get the water and soft coconut jelly inside. Nothing is as refreshing as coconut water and jelly on a hot summer’s day. Once we had our fill we would rest a bit taking the rest with us to eat later.

As we approach the North side the waves could always be heard from miles away, the boom, and boom sound echoing, as the waves pounded against the reefs. These rough seas made the north side beach a treasure trove of unusual discoveries that washed ashore. We love scouring the beach as we suck the sweet juice from the sugar cane the juice running down our arms and faces. Warm summer breeze tugging at the hats on our head one hand on top preventing it from blowing into the sea. Our dresses twirling and tangling around our bare legs not a care in the world.

Our usual finds were canned powdered milk, cheese and other food items, cigarette lighters, shoes, hats, sunglasses etc. Anything we were unfamiliar with, we made a game of guessing what it was and what it could be used for. It was great fun. I was an avid reader and I a wonderful imagination.

Collecting sisal was always last on our list of things to do. But it had to be done we would move back in land searching among fragments of the old sisal farms harvesting the most desirable leaves. Once our bags were filled to capacity, bags on our, under the afternoon shadows of the overhanging trees we would head back, with me anticipating my evening meal. No skipping, no singing, correction screeching just tired bare feet placed one in front on the other.  

Sisal is a member of the cactus family. For a brief period sisal played an important role in the economic development of the Bahamas. The plant was introduced into the Bahamas in 1845, but was not produced in large quantities until the 1880s.Today countries such as Angola, Brazil, China, Cuba, Haiti, Indonesia, Kenya manufacture sisal in large quantities for a wide variety of uses

Let Smiling Pat Eco Tours help you to make your acquaintance with some very fascinating aspects of Cat Island’s past. View the remaining frame work of an old plantation home, remnants of old sisal, and sugar cane fields etc.

If you want to learn more about the sisal & sugar cane and the historical perspectives of agriculture in the Bahamas, read Agriculture in the Bahamas: Historical Development 1941-992 by J. Godfrey Eneas, Abaco the History of an Out Island and its Cays by Steve Dodge. Also a great read about childhood exploits similar to those of Tinkerwee’s on Cat Island pick up Sir Sidney Poitier’s book The Measure of a Man, he is Cat Island’s most treasured son on the soil.

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"My Cat Island" Tinkerwee: Sunday Mass

Sundays were for the most part the best day of the week. It was truly a day of rest. No school, no early mass, no fetching wood for the fire or feed for the goats. I could finally sleep in late - in island time that was probably about 7: 00 am at the latest. Coming awake, I could smell my favorite breakfast being cooked. Stew fish that was to be eaten with potato bread baked the night before. During the week breakfast was always the same old thing. Tea made from the leaves of the lime tree, or a number of other native plants, eaten with bread or corn meal made from ground corn or flour pap - which I hated with a passion. You ain’t Bahamian if you haven’t eaten flour pap. Water was heated, flour was stirred in to thicken, then it was sweetened with sugar to add taste. It didn’t look any better than old fashioned liquid glue. It probably didn’t taste much better either. I can’t really say since I never got the inkling to taste it myself. It took me many years to realize that those were extremely lean times and we were given the best our parents had to give. This was my Sunday. What I disliked about Sundays most was standing for an hour or more, parting and scratching my adopted mother’s scalp while she sat in the door watching the neighbors go by. Nah! Possibly it was just a half hour, back then it felt like hours and hours. My relief would usually come in the form Holy Redeemer church bells. Ding, ding, ding, ding! Goes the church bells. Time for Sunday school!

The bells could be heard all over the town. The church tower held three different size bells. The medium size bell’s bass sound meant time for church. Then there was large bell, slow heavy toll, Bong! Bong! Bong! This bell told the town there was an emergency. The smaller bell’s dings in rapid succession meant time for Sunday school. Basically it is was saying, “Hurry! Hurry up!” And so, off I would go! Usually in a pretty pink dress, white collar, and smocking down front, white laced trimmed anklet socks, white buckled shoes, tiny white handbag, occasionally short white gloves, and my catholic missal (Catholic prayer Book) proudly stepping down the road heading to Sunday school. You see, my proud strut was because I wore a store bought dress. For school and other events, I usually wore dresses sewn by the local dress maker made from chicken feed bags, durable, flowery prints that were quite pretty. Some were made out of flour sacks or chambray. Resting in that missal was a lace veil that I delayed wearing until just before I entered the church door. I was never too happy about that lace covering my pretty braids. I was proud of those braids because my adopted mother would allow the neighbor's daughter to braid my hair for Sunday mass and other special occasions. During the week , my adopted mother braided my thick hair. It often looked like goat horns protruding from the top of my head. Needless to say, I learnt to braid my own hair at an early age before most of my friends.

As I head up the road, various persons would call out to me.“Hi, Tinkerwee!” “Good afternoon, Cousin Ida.” Older persons were never called by their first names. Cousin, was a term of endearment as well as a show of respect. “Hi, half-pint.”, that would be Mr. Brown who owns the local bar. He would often say that I was no bigger than a half-pint of brandy. Him being a bar owner, you can see where that comparison lies. Then came my usual routine. Once I turned a corner just down the road from my house, I would look back over my shoulder. Yes, All clear! It’s time to loosen that sash (belt) of my dress and pull in as tight as my tiny waist would allow then retying it neatly back into a bow. Grumping, steaming, and stomping my feet with frustration, I just could not understand why my adopted mother insisted on tying that belt so loose. All the other girls wore their belts tight. Well... Maybe, not as tight as I would pull mine. Meanwhile, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that she does not show up to mass to see me before I can loosen it on the way back home.

Making my way into the Sunday school classroom with a friend or two, we would always sit neat and lady-like during our lessons. But once mass began, we fought to sit behind the large pillars that divided the church into four sections. They hid much of the playing around and eating we did during mass from the watchful eyes of the Catholic nuns who sat at the back. Ironically, I did want to become a nun as I would get to wield their powerful, cringe-worthy, chilling glares and quick art of knuckle whacking. The nun wore long grey gowns, grey and white veils, white starched collar and long grey bibs down the front with rosary beads attached at the waist and black laced shoes. Looking up to find one hovering over you, arms folded under her bib with those eyes that seemed to stare through to your very soul seeing all the mischief hiding within was terrifying. Nonetheless, the following Sunday we would always be up to mischief as usual. Why? Because a 7 year old believes they can always outwit any adult somehow. Today, I can only relish my past impish ways through my mischief-loving granddaughter who I’d shake my head at and say “Been there, done that!”

Be sure to let Smiling take you to visit Holy Redeemer Church New Bight Cat Island, a beautiful historical land mark. Sit behind the pillars and imagine yourself, 7 again, hiding from the steely eyes of the nuns. Also would you be brave enough to sample the dreaded flour pap of my youth! Come to Cat Island feel the flavor and true culture of the Bahamas. s.