Why I write


I remember when I first entered England, and looked around at the magnificent buildings, one of the thoughts that entered my mind was “So this is what my forefathers helped build. This is where the sugar, log and rum money went. Everyone in the Caribbean should have the opportunity to experience this.” I’m not sure why that thought entered my mind when it did, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from thinking it then… ‘this is where the money went, part of this is ours…’

I remember telling mummy that thought when we were walking around Cambridge, when daddy kept mentioning his astonishment at how organised everything seemed to be in England. I remember thinking that the organisation was partly built on the backs of many people who never saw or knew what they were working for….and I remember thinking that I want people back home to live this experience with me– because we deserve to, because we have a right to. I remember thinking that I want people back home to know that if they wanted to come here and enjoy their ancestor’s hard work, if only for a while, that they could…that it was possible (even though it often doesn’t seem that way for many people, like me). So, I decided that I was going to write…and that’s the beginning of that.

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