There is nothing in the rule books which advises against a change of plans- especially when the road to a particular plan calls for just that- a lane change.  Very shortly after deciding to make Antigua my resting place, I had decided upon who I would be and how I would make my way or living on the island.  My business plan at the time seemed sound- if not a bit too safe.   But, after various pieces of unsolicited advice from family members and one or two friends (who knew more about the island than I did), I was very keen to change my plans.

When my fisherman and landlady’s advice on local politics became less frequent, one of my neighbour’s decided to pitch in with the advice-giving. Business advice. This particular neighbour was my closest (which was still quite some distance away).  He first showed up two months or so after I moved in.  One weekend morning, I was dragged out into the torturous sun by a ringing doorbell, knocks and “hellos”.  Muttering a few curses, I went outside to discover what looked like a family of five: a mother, father, two daughters and what looked like some random male relative.

They had come armed with some Middle Eastern dish- the contents of which I, sleepy as I was, was happy to delay discovering- to issue the official welcome to the community.   Manners dictated that I offered them some of my own brand of hospitality.  I led them inside, away from the sun, with offers of coffee for the adults and other treats for the children.  The mother and daughters, of a noticeably darker shade than their two male relatives, looked on at me with unbridled appreciation- the father prattled away busily and the random relative (now identified as the mother’s brother) sat with a paralyzed grin.

On this island, and I suppose other places in general, but more so on this island, people appear very willing to share information- about themselves, their state of affairs and what they think you should do.  Within twenty minutes, I learnt that the father of this family disturbing my weekend rest, had moved to the island three decades ago. He had gotten his start in business as a travelling salesman of sorts. He boasted that he knew every nook and cranny of the island, having traveled from end to end of it in his first years on the island.   With the help of a family member and other natives of his homeland who had relocated to the island before he did, he had moved to having a store, then two…and was now, if I remember correctly, located somewhere in the construction industry.

He, unlike my Dominican landlady, spoke highly of his own countrymen.  With his wife nodding at his every word, while keeping her eyes locked on me, he assured me that he would have never made it this far had it not been for the support of his own kind.  The only thing he did not particularly enjoy was the way that many seemed keen on inhabiting the same line of business- stores, apartments and what have you.

He revealed that one of his friends had hurried to construct an apartment complex for Cricket World Cup, but had not really seen any returns on it.  He was sure that the island was teeming with business opportunities; one just needed a discerning business eye to make oneself very comfortable here.

He tried poking at me- asking questions about my family and my line of business or pleasure- while his daughters and wife looked quizzically and hopefully at the empty photo frame or two standing around.  When I gave a non-committal grunt in response to his questions about my intended length of stay on the island, he offered that he himself had no intentions of returning home- not even for vacations.

He had initially set his sights on returning home after some years on the island. But now, he confided in me, he had grown too out of tune with his family back home. As he said this, he looked fondly across at his wife who was now blushing very deeply in her dark brown native Antiguan skin.

(V).Damien