At home

After landing at the airport we ventured onto the forecourt to make the onward journey, it was like being in an extremely hot summers day on the South Coast of England.

I knew where I was in Barbados. That is to say, I knew exactly where I was on the globe. As I swam in the Caribbean turquoise water, ahead of me was South America and over my left shoulder was England, far far away.

When I travel to a new place, I look out to see if I would like to live there. Barbados was everything I had wanted seaside Llandudno to be. Still warm as the sun slid down, background music from the bar, sipping cool alcohol on the beach, relaxing back with family.

They call Barbados ‘little England’ To my mind it’s more that England is a Big Barbados, operating the inherited centuries of colonial indoctrination and ‘business systems, set in the sea. The power structure of capitalism borne from the slavery system and rolled back on the waves to England.

At no time do I feel physically reminded of being in Barbados, in the same way that I do about Jamaica. A car can roll up outside on a sunny day in London playing a reggae beat to the street. I am instantly transported to Clarkestowns surround sound music, all of the time. Music has that way about it, like the power of sense of smell, to take you back in a flash, in an instant I am in that beloved place where I am welcome and at home.