Governor General

I've been helping to plan a fun run/walk event for the Special Olympics chapter here in St. Kitts, only because my supervisor at Ade's Place was assigned to do it and I've pretty much become her assistant.  The chairman of the board of the Special Olympics is a stern, ornery older man named Mr. Lazar (names are in general much more formal here; for the most part, people are known by their title and surname) who stutters a firm disagreement to any and every suggestion put forth to him and ends all of our frustratingly pointless planning meetings by speaking (not singing) the lyrics of "Tell Laura I love her".  Which is weird, yeah, but made weirder because the song ends in vehicular death and undying love - what was with that theme in pop songs in the early 60s?  Anyway, Mr. Lazar is maybe a little senile and definitely very hard to work with, but he's well-meaning and invited me to the Special Olympics annual "appreciation dinner" at the Governor-General's house.  Because I'm an ignorant jerk (what kind of person lives in a country for almost three months and doesn't know the structure of that country's government?), I had to look up who this "governor general" was - turns out, he's like - THE guy. He's as high as it goes in St. Kitts. And his house?  Is a mansion.

Sir Cuthbert Sebastian

 When I first arrived, people were nervously waiting outside the grounds, not knowing if it was time to go in, and I realized that I was inappropriately underdressed: all of the women were wearing mother-of-the-bride type gowns with shiny things in their hair and special-occasion jewelry.  After a few minutes of waiting, army men holding huge automatic rifles gestured with the tips of their guns to usher in the sequined-and-satin fancy ladies through the gate and up the drive, into the house.

portrait of the queen in parlor

 The Governor- General was waiting for us in the second parlor-type room,  and he shook every one's hand as we filed past him. He's 90 years old, pretty robust, with tons of bright white hair and watery eyes.  Everyone thanked him and called him "your Excellency"; I didn't hear him speak.  We were led outside, and once on the lawn, I got a twelve ounce plastic cupful of the finest Carlo Rossi from the bar (I'm pretty sure I was the only person not drinking fruit punch, as they twisted the cap off of the jug of wine for me);  it smelled like cancer dust but I drank all of it anyway, because I was nervous, but also because it was free booze.

There were probably fewer than a hundred people there, and after we all had drinks in our hands, we sat in folding chairs to watch Mr. Lazar's speech and the presentation of awards to the coaches and teachers. Like all award ceremonies, this took for-ev-ver. Finally it was time to eat weird fried things (I think saltfish fritters?) and chicken wings out of silver chafing stands, and as I was on the last bite of the almondy cake with the seafoam green frosting, loud and awesome drums started and the "Masqueraders" came out and stomped around in a dance. The masqueraders were all pretty young kids, dressed in costumes made of strips of fabric sewn to dangle down, with huge headpieces of peacock feathers.  I was in the front row, really into it the whole time because I love that stuff, and one of them grabbed me and made me dance with him - and you know me, I just can't stand being the center of attention. Heh.

night photography is hard.

So far St. Kitts has seemed like a place where many, many things are so much more difficult than they should be - but there are also a few opportunities to do things that wouldn't have been possible at home... this week, I met the President and partied at the White House. Sorta.