A Tale of Bajan Shame

Let me tell you the story of the first time I was ashamed to be a Barbadian.

I was a student in Montreal at the time and the then Barbadian prime minister, Erskine Sandiford, was visiting to make a speech to some association. The Barbados High Commission sent invitations to all the Barbadians who were on record of living in Montreal at the time. My roommates and I, as poor students, saw this as an opportunity for free food, so of course we attended.

The event took place in a large conference room of the High Commission which comfortably held maybe 50 Bajans, made up of students, expats and visitors. It was winter, so everyone was dressed in appropriately layered clothing, but for the most part we all looked quite stylish. Also in attendance were the staff of the High Commission and members of the media.

We were greeted with welcome drinks but there was no sign of food - neither the finger variety or otherwise. Ah well…

Eventually Mr. Sandiford gave his speech. I don’t remember anything he said but he spoke for maybe 30 minutes and I do remember that I would categorise his delivery as… measured.

After he had finished and left the podium a waiter appeared at a door in one corner of the room with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. He got maybe three feet into the room before he was absolutely swarmed by a horde of attendees. He was trapped in that corner while what moments before had been an elegant group of assembled guests, was transformed into a mob in the Fairchild Street bus-stand at 3:30pm on a weekday, complete with all the shoving and yelling.

I was horrified.

I glanced at my roommates and we wordlessly decided to leave. We turned towards the door through which we had entered where a waitress suddenly appeared with more hors d’oeuvres. Apparently the mob had cut off regular access to the room so she had circled around to this alternative entrance.

We weren’t the only attendees to notice her because there was immediately a shout of “look another one dey” and then half of the crowd peeled away from the first waiter and headed towards the second one. She also made it no more than a few steps into the hall before she was pinned in place by the teeming throng.

I looked around in shock at the procedings and then noticed a television camera operator doing his job: recording this scene.

My shock turned to embarrassment. This was the first time I was ashamed to be a Bajan.

The second time is happening right now during this appropriately called silly season. I am even more ashamed this time