This is Mount Hope Cemetery in Colon, Republic of Panama.
After grandfather’s funeral my sister had also told me that grandfather had been sick for a long time walking around with urination problems and that he had not said anything to any of them. I thought I would never forget that day we buried him at Mount Hope Cemetery which, in Spanish, translates to Monte Esperanza. Continue reading
The last mental note of treachery was just one more to be added to the string of misery and of things happening to me in those days. But, I still maintained the hope that my mother wound let me stay a couple of days with her to make up for her abandoning me. By then I was also considering the last times I’d visited Colon which was my visit on Fifth of November the year before. Continue reading
This image represents the grand celebration
of light that is observed in Presov, Slovakia.
This is how we all should celebrate All Soul’s Day
in the Americas in memory of our beloved
ancestors who worked to leave us the best of all
possible worlds. Image is from: www.iarelative.com
I learned a great deal from Miss Polly and her experiences, especially about death and dying. Since my grandmother’s retirement my Aunt Berenice had lost her first (and only) child and no one talked about the infant or my two deceased uncles Eric and Vicente or where they were buried, much less go visit the graves of these young men who had long ago become part of that Black Canal Zone. I used to watch how the Black Westindian people buried their dead and congregated during the funeral for any and all spiritual gifts from any kind of church or organization that might have presided. Continue reading
This image is similar to the
Virgin Mary grotto image that
brought me so much peace as a child at
Cristo Rey Church.
Since the day in the first grade that I had experienced the paternal side of my family tree and their terrible judgment in child rearing, I inevitably developed those feelings of wanting to be detached from that first generation of Westindians. The cruel beatings my father had unmercifully rained on me was just an introduction to feeling unprotected. My parents’ divorce had led to such treatment I reasoned and had triggered the crudity of the beatings my Aunt Gwendolyn encouraged my father to dole out to me. Continue reading
Casino and Hotel Venetto
There is a building boom going on in
Panama and they can thank my
pioneering grandparents, The Silver People,
for it. Top photo is just one example of the
mushrooming new skyscrapers, banks,
shopping malls, hotels, casinos etc., that are
going up faster than anyone can keep track.
Bottom photo is a view of the new and changing
Panama City skyline as seen from the walls
of the French Embassy in old San Felipe (Casco Viejo).
I’ll never tire of saying it but I’ve always believed that we Westindian Panamanians are a very unique people. Of such strong mettle we the Silver Men, the Panamanian Westindian, have evolved. Continue reading
Throughout the social and economic struggle which, for me, was an attempt at maintaining some kind of foothold on the heritage left by our forefathers, we as part of the Silver Roll people were still suffering as if it had been our own fault for being hold up in one room in some barrio of Panama. Pauperised, the whole community would fight back any way it could, if passive aggression counts in any war without negotiation. Continue reading