Antigua and Barbuda

So, I’m guessing you can tell by the name of the country: Antigua and Barbuda consists of two major islands—Antigua and, well, Barbuda. Oh, and there are also a number of smaller islands. The islands are part of the archipelago of the Lesser Antilles—and as such Antigua and Barbuda is neighbour to all kinds of other places. Guadelope, Dominica, Martinique, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Barbados, Grenada and Trinidad and Tobago. Got that? This will be tested later.

Today marks Antigua and Barbuda’s Independence Day. Let’s celebrate! Independent from? The United Kingdom. Year? 1981. Remember, there will be a test.

And as an island nation in the Caribbean we are familiar with many of the pre-Columbian settlers—Arawaks and Caribs. The first settlers, though, are known simply as the “Archaic People,” and they were later succeeded by the Saladoid people, who originated in Venezuala. The Arawaks came later, bringing agriculture—including the apparently famous Antiguan “Black” pineapple. Okay—apparently I’m ignorant. I don’t know anything about this pineapple. Apparently the skin is dark (not black, though) while the flesh is yellow. Oh, and I hear it is luscious. Thankyou to the Arawaks! The pre-Columbian settlers called Antigua Wadadli, and today many locals call Antigua Land of Wadadli.

And Columbus? He landed on the island on his second trip to the so-called New World in 1493. The original full name of Antigua was Santa Maria de la Antigua—named after a church in Seville. The Spanish were the first European settlers, but were replaced by the English from 1632. There was a brief period of French rule—but the islands reverted to English rule fairly quickly. Wow, see those dates above? They’ll be on the test.

Ooh. The first Prime Minister of the independent state of Antigua and Barbuda was the Right Honourable Vere Cornwall Bird. That’s a name. And the islands are still part of the Commonwealth. They totally play cricket.

I lied. There’s no test. But you should remember these things anyway. It’s interesting.

I decided that, rather than a poem, I would give you an excerpt of an essay by Jamaica Kincaid. The essay first appeared in Callaloo in 1997, and it explores the sorts of questions that have interested me throughout the year.

from In History

What to call the thing that happened to me and all who look like me?

Should I call it history?

If so, what should history mean to someone like me?

Should it be an idea, should it be an open wound and each breath I take in and expel healing and opening the wound again and again, over and over, or is it a moment that began in 1492 and has come to no end yet? Is it a collection of facts, all true and precise details, and, if so, when I come across there true and precise details, what should I do, how should I feel, where should I place myself?

Why should I be obsessed with all these questions?

My history began like this: in 1492, Christopher Columbus discovered the New World. Since this is only a beginning and I am not yet in the picture, I have not yet made an appearance, the word “discover” does not set off an alarm, and I am not yet confused by this interpretation. I accept it. I am only taken by the personality of this quarrelsome, restless man. His origins are sometimes obscure; sometimes no one knows just where he really comes from, who he really was. His origins are sometimes quite vivid: his father was a tailor, he came from Genoa, he as a boy wandered up and down the Genoese wharf, fascinated by sailors and their tales of lands far away; these lands would be filled with treasures, as all things far away are treasures. I am far away, but I am not yet a treasure: I am not a part of this man’s consciousness, he does not know of me, I do not yet have a name. And so the word “discover,” as it is applied to this New World, remains uninteresting to me.

—Jamaica Kincaid
from Callaloo, Volume 20, No. 1 (Winter 1997)