Throughout my bus ride I was feeling like someone who had been robbed of a valuable possession, robbed of that personal jewel that no other human being could possess, that which was that most precious item that no one else could keep because it had been found and handed over by “God” himself in some earlier moment of my youthful life, to be revealed in times of more fruitfulness. The thought regarding being fruitful remained with me that night as if I had heard of such things in a Sunday School lesson. Continue reading
I needed my marching uniform to support my Barrio.
The last semester of 1952 would be the last report card that I would receive from the National Institute. The chain of events leading up to this break with my prized ambition of graduation from this illustrious institution will soon be manifest. I had always hoped to follow in my Uncle Eric’s footsteps and continue on to my university studies. But, fate would have it another way. Continue reading
I feel compelled to continue relating my personal experience with assimilation and how the history behind the black Christ helped me. Assimilation seems to be on the minds of many people around the world these days, especially young people like I was when I first immigrated to the United States. Continue reading
The front entrance to the Instituto Nacional de Panamá hasn't changed much.
It was early morning on the Third of November of 1951 and my first year at the National Institute. I joined my fellow patriots who were already assembled and lined up outside the school at the foot of Ancon Hill before the watchful eyes of the twin statues of the vigilant Phoenixes. Continue reading
Here is the newspaper photo of young Rannie McAlmon who drowned at Gorgona Beach on July 4 1946.
Back in the days of my youth when I knew nothing at all about religion and I was introduced to churchgoing by my paternal grandmother and aunts, I came up with the idea that Jesus Christ was the good Obeah Man. Continue reading
Instituto Nacional de Panamá with its familiar double Sphinxes guarding the entrance. Image thanks to skyscrapercity.com, a forum for architects.
The experience of just entering a school as famous as The National Institute of Panama made me feel reassured that I had a place in the history of that institution. My family history, after all, had been seeded with the essence of that school with my Uncle Eric Reid being one of the first to brave what it had meant to be one of the sons of Panama and a member of the institution in its early days. Continue reading