#TheForgottenTombPt2

I consider how a tomb that no one knows about at the base of a 13th Century mud fortress links to the self-determination of the men with whom I drink coffee. Safari drivers at the interface of Eastern and Western cultures. Maybe, there is no link.

It reminded me of the Cabildo in Port of Spain. Once, on a historical tour of Trinidad’s capital. I ‘discovered’ the Cabildo which is thought to have been the first seat of the Spanish government in Trinidad although the details are unclear. The architecture is Spanish and it has a beautiful courtyard. It’s a tiny building and was orange when I saw it. I must have walked past it a million times in my life and never noticed it. One might argue, “Dat’s white people history. It have nuttin’ to do with me or my life.” Just as Chimamanda talked about in ‘Americanah’. It is a part of history but for people who don’t feel seen they don’t feel it’s their historical context or worse, it is painful for them. “What’s the point?”, “How’s dredging up history gonna improve my life today?” Time has moved on and they’re probably not even asking these questions. Maybe, just as for many Trinidadians and for the Nigerians in Americanah, colonial architecture is of little, if any, importance. Maybe this tomb is of low importance to the Amazigh. Is the tomb even that of an Amazigh? Or is it an oppressor’s tomb? If he is Amazigh… he’s dead. From another era.

The night after seeing the tomb the first time (keeping in mind the tomb is ‘hidden’ in plain sight) I met a young woman around a campfire. She described herself as a nomad. I asked her where she was from and she answered, “Borinquen, in the Caribbean”. “Where?” I said. “I’m from the Caribbean too, Trinidad and Tobago”.

“Borinquen”, she insisted.

Finally, she said words to the effect of, Borinquen is the name that we, who are indigenous to the island, give to Puerto Rico.

This young woman oozed confidence. She sat erect and expansive taking up space not making herself small in any way. She’d been travelling the world alone for six years. She described vulnerable situations she’d found herself in and she had strong opinions. A man she knew asked her to look after his jacket. She took her time and chose her words carefully, “Sure but, I don’t know how long I’ll sit here”, not making any commitments out of politeness. She scared me, the mouse. She did not hesitate. She did not dither.

I told her about the tomb. She said different people come to things in different ways. Maybe knowing about the tomb will create a sense of self, maybe it won’t. She talked about past lives, DNA memory, explaining it as knowing that fire burns because it’s in your DNA memory whether your mother teaches you to keep away from fire or not.

I started Googling: ‘why is history important’, ‘the role of identity in politics’, ‘traditional knowledge and indigenous’. I messaged Tracy a Trinidadian Amerindian friend of mine. She had made a film to explore the role history plays in self-esteem within her family. She found it made, “…some impact. But it isn’t necessarily the ultimate salve…”

In Trinidad, the natural resources people use usually come from a watershed outside their own - often, from a watershed from outside the country. I have a friend who literally could not make the link between her buying frozen fish from the supermarket to the fish swimming to the sea- and she lived on an island. So often, there is a giant disconnect between humans and their environment. As I walk around Siwa and see the shops selling agricultural pesticides and fertilizers I wonder how much of the methods Siwan farmers use today their great-grandfathers also practiced. How much has been lost maybe they’ve even been gains? How has their relationship with the land changed from their forefathers? And what relationship do safari drivers, restauranters, shopkeepers have with the land now that they are bridging traditional culture and Western capitalism? I wonder how women and girls fit into all this? I did see one in a garden.

In the last few years, and in my recent research of my father’s life I started to understand that I am a point on a line. That many came before me and many more will follow. I started to understand that maybe I will not live to see the changes in the lives of women and girls whose rights are denied. Maybe, I can’t facilitate change that allows them to change their own lives in the way they want. It is likely to take longer than that. Three steps forward, two steps back. But maybe, hopefully, I can do something that adds to the efforts of others to progress in the right direction. Biological evolution happens incrementally and then sometimes there are giant leaps. I guess, so does the evolution of our relationship with our socio-environment. I’m on a mission to find more information on The Forgotten Tomb.