Lemme Smoke My Ish Though!

Clifford been my dream date forever now.

Why was marijuana criminalized in the first place?

We as a society (Barbados) aren't ready for the decriminalization of marijuana...

We've been living in the folds of propaganda, influencing us to believe that marijuana itself is a demonic drug, that encourages negative social and health related behaviors in its users.

Many persons over the age of 30 still believe if you consume marijuana (in the most popular way of smoking it) you instantly become a violent criminal minus control of your senses and prone to terrorize everyone you come into contact with, simply because the drug influences you to be the worst you can be.

The perception that you will sell all your furniture, your body and your mother to get yourself your next fix of marijuana is STILL rampant and being taught as a method of prevention of drug abuse.

The idea that weed is a gateway drug to other, harder, more dangerous drugs is still being peddled to the ignorant masses, scared to look for information because let's face it, information is dangerous in large doses, in the hands of ignorant men.

Here are a few facts about Cannabis: 

Cannabis, is a psychotropic drug. Meaning it alters brain functions, other such drugs include Ativan, Xanax, Zoloft and Prozac.

In Barbados the most easily acquired form of Cannabis is Marijuana, the dried plant form that is smoked.

There are two main strains of Cannabis (there are more but let's keep it simple), Cannabis Sativa, and Cannabis Indica. They have varying effects on the consumer.


Those effects include:

• an altered state of consciousness. The user may feel "high", very happy, euphoric, relaxed, sociable and uninhibited.

• distorted perceptions of time and space. The user may feel more sensitive to things around them, and may also experience a more vivid sense of taste, sight, smell and hearing.

• increased pulse and heart rate, bloodshot eyes, dilated pupils, and often increased appetite.

• impaired coordination and concentration, making activities such as driving a car or operating machinery difficult and dangerous.

• negative experiences, such as anxiousness, panic, self-consciousness and paranoid thoughts.

Ironic as it is, Cannabis is still a Schedule 1 drug, which means the US based organization, the DEA, Drug Enforcement Administration, considers it one of the most dangerous drugs, in terms of addictive quality, and damage to individuals who use it. It joins LSD, and Heroine on that tier.

Why is that ironic? Well, because it's currently legal in over 20 states listed as follows:

Here are states with legal recreational marijuana: 

1. Alaska

2. Colorado

3. Oregon 

4. Washington 

Willie Nelson... America's poster Uncle.

Here are states with medical marijuana: 

1. Alaska

2. Arizona

3. California

4. Colorado

5. Connecticut

6. Delaware

7. Hawaii

8. Illinois

9. Maine

10. Maryland

11. Massachusetts 

12. Michigan

13. Minnesota

14. Montana

15. Nevada

16. New Hampshire

17. New Jersey

18. New Mexico

19. New York

20. Oregon 

21. Pennsylvania 

22. Rhode Island

23. Vermont

24. Washington

It's legal (with medical permit) in half the states, in the country that originally ordered it a dangerous substance, while that country maintains its highly xenophobic bias towards lower class, African American, Caribbean and Latin American offenders, caught with questionable amounts of the drug, often resulting in harsh terms of incarceration, heavy fines and deportation.

Anyhow, enough about America, it's clear that the government of the USA is still heavily biased and bathed in contradiction regarding Cannabis, as American scientists, doctors, patients and citizens who casually use the drug stay proving that the DEA's stance in refusing to demote Cannabis from Schedule 1 is in no way based on scientific evidence of it being any more dangerous than say over the counter drugs used to suppress coughs and manage colds, it's clear that the war on Marijuana is actually a war on class and colour, which is proven every time a high profile white male is revealed to have used the drug purely for recreation, and the major response from the higher ups stays within the circles of "boys will be boys" and "all kids go through a rebellious phase", but the other classes and colours are quickly branded as thugs, and social nuisances, by those same voices.

Don't Do The Marijuanas, It Will Turn Your Skin Funny.

Let's get back to this little island, Barbados.

On August 17th 2016, a 16 year old went before the court, his charge?

He was caught with marijuana. street value of $3, consequentially he was placed on $2000 bail, to return to court to find out his fate.

$3 in weed.

Not even $30, but $3.

It was weighed at two grammes, and is worth $3. He is 16, In my opinion, he should not be smoking that, or even in possession of the drug independently, he is too young, but, I wonder if he would have been charged if thy caught him with a Guinness, or a pack of cigarettes?

In my opinion that was a waste of the court's time, and the fine is obscene, not to mention, who the hell is selling that kind of weed so cheap? Are we even sure that's not just funky oregano???

Okay, two days later, an adult on a pleasure cruise was caught with $16 of the same substance. He was fined $1200, BY THE SAME MAGISTRATE.

Now, pardon me for seeming crude, but WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK THOUGH!!

You COMFORTABLY give a teenager a damn charge sheet, put their parent in whatever financial situation to post a bond/bail for $3 in chipwood.

Yeah, I'll let y'all think about that for a minute.

At some point, the powers that be in Barbados will HAVE to look at the fact that the law, and many who are tasked to uphold it, are asses. Around that same time, we will see them grow a backbone and stand up to good old Uncle Sam about his hypocrisy, while adjusting our own laws to encourage education rather than ignorance.

I can never understand how a country based on a culture of rum, minus any real control and protection against abuse, also, little to no legal consequence for being drunk, and doing anything from driving to driving with passengers, heck, there's no real legal limit to the amount of alcohol one can consume in Barbados, and there is no way to measure it, but, I digress, I can never understand how a country based on a culture of rum, can remain so ignorant to the value of decriminalizing a substance that they cannot prove is linked to misinformation used in the smear campaign and propaganda from 40 years ago, in racist USA.




Sources include: 

http://www.druginfo.adf.org.au/drug-facts/cannabis
https://www.drugs.com/illicit/cannabis.html

And other sites.

Have A Seat Aunty Betty, Wrinse Out Ya Salt Aunty Gwyneth.

The year is 2016.

This was me on

Grand Kadooment Monday, living where

you vacation

The Crop Over Festival has drawn to an end, and I survived Grand Kadooment on Monday, made it through the heat of Day 2 (Emancipation Day Bank Holiday) and here I sit in my pajama pants and breast cancer awareness t-shirt, at the computer scrolling along innocently after the trolling exercise I used yesterday to shirk my research duty into regional and international statistics of police brutality.

When suddenly, I happen across an article from our native online publication, Barbados Today.

In fact here is the exact words taken from the article still available to the public at this hour:

Award-winning designer Betty West said as she paraded on Monday she was shocked at the number of semi-nude women on the road.

“You could be sexy but covered. I saw big women with cellulites on the road. The string was so far up you couldn’t see nothing. For me that is a no no,” a disgusted West said during an interview with Barbados TODAY.

“Yes, you have slender girls with these things [on]. But when you see a full figured woman in this, for me it is disgusting,” added West, who said she expected criticism for speaking out about the issue.

“We don’t want this kind of thing in Barbados,” an adamant West stressed.

This sentiment seemed echoed further into the article as they interviewed my queen veteran, Aunty Gwyneth. Look, up until this point Aunty Gwyneth could very literally do no wrong for me, I adore her spirit and her costuming, she is boundlessly talented and there is no one above her.

Well, was. This is what Barbados Today journalist Anesta Henry came away with from my superhero. 

Young Lewis, assisting a Young Robyn

in the search for the next Bus Crawl.

Respected bandleader Gwyneth Squires shared similar outrage, telling Barbados TODAY some of the costumes she saw on the road ought to have landed the revelers behind bars.

“It has to stop. I saw some people yesterday in revealing costumes. To be honest, I sorry the police didn’t lock them up,” Squires declared.

The article went on to cleverly protect the identity (whether intentionally or not) of someone else, a male band leader who was taken aback by one of his male patrons turning up in less fabric than he paid for:

"Barbados TODAY understands that on Monday one bandleader received the shock of his life when he discovered that a male reveller in his band was wearing a thong instead of the shorts with which he was issued."

Now, before I go any further, lemme just declare, I have put on my Sunday hat, and taken off my behavior, my language will be bitter and my message will be absolutely clear.

BUT WHAT DE WHOLE HAM LEG AN' SOUSE I NOW READ DOA???

I have grown up loving and respecting these two women to almost familial level loyalty and dedication, but, in big 2016, you mean to tell me these two clowns cannot understand that it is not their place to cast judgment on the revelers who patronize who they want to, or to denigrate women by insinuating that they are only visually acceptable if they are slim, minus cellulite.

Aunty Betty would get me hawk one up from my guts and just leggo at she brass bowl, though.

Yes, I just typed that in pure, unfiltered bajan. I ain' giving two wukkups and a cock back who vex.

Aunty Betty forget that people have been telling her for YEARS, that she dresses too skimpily for her age? I grew up hearing women say "Betty West need to cool out with the sexiness" and never once has she bowed, who exactly de rambam she feel she is at this point? Women out here fighting with deciding if to go out or not because they're a little fatter because they had a baby, changed their jobs, just struggling with finding the discipline to control their weight? Do you know how many women are embarrassed to this day, that they sit down and their belly rolls look bigger than their girlfriends'? When you walking and wining all cross Bank Hall on an evening do you not think you can be criticized for not being an elegant 50 sain year old?

You just opened your mouth and talked utter jobby, because face it, you are losing the fight for Crop Over, you are no longer unrivaled along with Aunty Gwyneth for your shared crown. The "bikini" bands have taken over and are leaving you, with your antiquated, invidious opinions in the dust.

This is not about the festival, this is about your arrogance, your hubris at being left behind the same way Mr. Harding's effigy was.

And as for Aunty Gwyneth, your solution is to jail revelers because they are reveling in what you deem costumes too revealing for public consumption?

WHAT THE BACKSIDE ARE YOUR OPINIONS ON JAILING ABUSERS AND MEN WHO ARE FOUND IN THE ACT OF RAPING OUR GIRL CHILDREN? WHEN WILL YOU SPEAK OUT AGAINST THE ABUSE HOMOSEXUAL MEN FACE IN BARBADOS? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU HAVE TO SAY ABOUT JAILING WOMEN WHO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOUNG BOYS? THE ONLY TIME YOU APPALLED BY THE HAPPENINGS IN THIS COUNTRY IS WHEN YOU REALIZE YOU NO LONGER FAMOUS AND YOUR GLORY IS BEING OUTSHONE BY HAPPY PEOPLE ENGAGING IN CONSENSUAL DEBAUCHERY BUT NOT DOING IT WITH YOU?

GIRL... BYE!

I am embarrassed to write this damned piece, knowing that Didi Winston, a queen whom I love with no restriction, was once criticized for being a flag girl for Aunty Gwyneth, "he" was "TOO BULLING"  "he" was obscene and offensive and everything Barbados didn't need at that time too. "He" wanted "locking up, cuz people 'chruldrin' did watching he get on like a bare ham an' ting in de middle ah de so an' so suck me teet' road."

"But waiiiittt... Skippa?"

Yet here you two are, flagrantly attacking the revelers who love the festival just as much as you do, because they aren't celebrating the festival WITH you. Here you are, guilty of the same discriminatory, yellow minded (that means badminded in my universe) comments and expressions towards your fellow revelers. Revelers who you cannot guarantee were local, who might have been interested in sharing a part of our heritage with you and your bands in future, who you do not know what opinions they have about body shaming, and ostracization, who are grown adults. You went so far as to suggest incarceration for the more adventurously clad revelers in your rival bands, because their costumes weren't made here (not a word bout "Crop Over Water", not a word about the Day 2 Jump that saw the East Coast Road shut off to accommodate it and has caused 'ruption in de place but arrest de girls and boys in de tstrings and cellulite boa). As you are my beloved aunties, I feel as a Bajan and a lover of Kadooment, it IS my duty, to offer both of you, and that homophobic ghost band leader, ALL THE FLIPPING SEATS IN THE AUDITORIUM, TEK ALL. DON'T LEFF BACK NONE, DUM IS WUNNA ONE.

SIT DOWN AND THINK BOUT WHA WUNNA NOW DO.

* ROLLS EYES AND SUCKS TEETH *

The Frank Collymore Hall itself, plenty sitting room.

* Article provided by journalist Anesta Henry from the online publication Barbados Today is linked here :Oh My ... God... Y'all Actually Said This? *

Self Love Is Never A Bad Thing

As a woman, I can only exist as myself.

I forget that this is mine, like all mine. It's not like I see it often. 

Today as I took my favorite body parts into account, taking photos, rubbing in the lotions slowly and deliberately, I realized I take these body parts for granted.

My shoulders, breasts, stomach, ass, thighs, I really don't show them the appreciation they deserve.
these are the parts that have contributed to my claim to womanhood. These are the parts that everyone else sees and appreciates, these are body parts other women pay their souls to achieve, be it by augmentation or voodoo magic waist bands.

Oh but, I am not perfect, and I remind myself of this, to the point that I have taken my own beauty for granted. I cannot simply see what others see, because they only see what is the end result, but never what was the journey.

Everyday I see my brothers hailing the sexiest of the sexiest, the women who represent the claim that "Black women" are perfect.

Most of these women look like they popped out of ghetto barbie catalogs and got smacked with a dose of Daddy Big Buck's right to the ass...

They shake, they "twerk" (not a motherfucker ask rasshole me to twerk I will digitally throat punch the ever living RASSHOLE outta you for that shit. I am Bajan, I do NOT fucking TWERK!) They are deemed the "Baddest" and they are loved and admired by all far and wide.

This is me, flaws and everything.

Then come us humble girls, us normal women, who can't pay anyone to suck off our body fat, who have cellulite over the thickness of our thighs (in my case, because when I go down by 40 lbs, the appearance of cellulite ceases to exist) or who can't pay anyone to inject silicone to widen our hips, or lift our tits, who are struggling against the tide, because our men, our beloved men, think we should be simple, plain, and content to be cheated on by them in thought and deed as they shun our love for ourselves, but embrace the sexier plastic models and their unconditional implied love of selves.

We should be modest, because we are imperfect or something, which never flies well with me, I worked hard for this body, carried children, lost and gained weight unpleasantly, gave up favorite pairs of jeans that made me feel complete because of widening hips and you trying to tell me I cannot or should not be in love with myself? Jokes. Yet in the same breath, you would tell me most vulgarly how you would love to leave your seed swimming at the apex of my thighs, the same thighs you have condemned as unworthy of being shown.

Yes, I own a Panda fluffy hat/mitten combo!

I was once told by a guy (who once pleaded with me to let him cuddle me, and I declined several offers of his, after realizing that his affection to me only included him satisfying the part of him that needed to feel like he'd conquered some great intellectual, sexual dime, but not my own feelings or desires), that I clearly hate myself, and all men can see it, that's why I "don't have a man" (despite having 3 of 'em at the time, I don't do the social media advertisement slots with photographic evidence of my relationships, whether you believe they exist isn't my problem- so he ran with whatever). His conclusion of my self hate came according to my consistent evidence of posting sexy pics of myself, for men's approval.

I remember why I'd begun posting those images of myself, they were my testament of acceptance. They were me, loving me, and sharing my love of me with others.

Today, his words came back to me, and I felt immediate remorse, for not recently showing my own body more love and adoration for it being exactly what I'd wanted it to be.

Make no mistake, as a woman, I can only exist as myself, and I refuse to make any apology for it, except to myself, all of her, for not loving me, and taking me for granted.

An Abused Child, An IronHyde Woman.

Yesterday was a breaking point for me.

Got a lot of shit I don't talk about, in my personal life, the specifics of my "relationship" with my mother is pretty high on that list.

Sure, people know we don't get along, but, only a few knew why.

Now, I wasn't a saintly child, lord knows for some reason I started lying and couldn't stop. I was messy, and forgetful, gosh I was forgetful.

I don't mind that I got beat, truly, in my generation almost everyone got lashes.

What I do mind (I just fucking started crying) is that I got tortured, because I hadn't learned my lesson from the last beating, or because I didn't cry enough the last time, or because she was so much angrier that this time I did it in front of people, or because it was more creative to find more damaging things to hit a skinny ass little beansprout with to see how far she could be pushed before she gave up and just was exactly the child her mother/tormentor thought she was supposed to be.

Abuse had many forms.

I watched my collection of books burn, being an only child, to a reclusive socially dysfunctional mother, I didn't exactly have a lot of friends (Juliana was there from Infants B, because I spent Infants A at Ch Ch Girls) but I had my books, and because I hadn't washed my undies in the shower and forgot them in my laundry heap, I watched nearly 2000 books burn.

That was one day I would have just let her keep beating me if I knew it would have taken that turn.

I really don't know why I lied, I always knew it would come back to me, I would spend my bus fare buying snacks with the other children, and tell the conductor she didn't give me bus fare, after about 2 weeks of this, the conductor got tired and bawled her out in the road.

The beating that evening, tore skin from my back, ass and thighs, it started when Brave Star started and ended well after the Salem strangler had been standing by Marlena's bed.

She seemed to love my cousins more than she loved me, because all of them could get angry with her, or be rude or forget things, and just get a scolding, and all was well. Me, I got the electric wire, phone cord, window stick, hot saucepan, plugged in iron (that was reflexive, I hadn't washed my school socks and had to wear over a pair and I only told her when she was pressing, she just used whatever was near to lash out). My eldest cousin, beautifully quiet girl, got pregnant at 17 I think, while staying at my mother's house mind you, she was having trouble home with my aunt, but I, was constantly reminded that any boy comes near me, she would kill me.

If I got pregnant, she would kill me.
If I had crushes, she would kill me.
If a boy called my house (which one from secondary school did, and yip, I got beaten although this time I wasn't lying, I hadn't given anyone my number and certainly not a boy, but it was one of my school friends, I think Krystal Henry or one of the other girls, pretending to be a boy, pranking me, after getting my number from a sheet the teacher told me to put my number on) ... I couldn't go to school for 2 days recovering from that beating.

By time I was developing the mentality that there is freedom at 18, I was sexually active, I was discovering that people frowned on abuse, but none of those people had to go home to her so many times I shut up. She had isolated me from my father, and her family saw me as a problem child, and her as a problem, so no one ever came to my defense.

Oh but plenty people loved to tell her how much trouble I was getting into though, my first year of fourth form, I was tired, mentally, I was sick and I was stressed, someone played another prank, and wrote some shit in one of my exercise books that I had had sex with someone named Jeremy (hilariously, there is NO Jeremy who went to school with me) and the beating that evening was epic, my head got slammed into about 4 walls because I kept twisting to avoid the punches to my ribs, then she got tired, and decided to chop off all 14 inches of my hair, this was a Tuesday, my hair had just been done on the Sunday night and was gorgeous, but it was something boys liked so it had to go.

After that money was tight, so I stayed home a lot, she would tell me "You're not learning anything at school so you're not wasting my money to go to school" and her boyfriend would sneer at me, laughing that i was too stupid to know how to be what she wanted. Only as an adult I started wondering why she really kept me home so often, I thought it was a lack of money, but I remember she had a car, and my grand mother lived in Speightstown, so I could have always gotten food, plus there was always food in the house for her and her man, I thought it was because I was behaving badly, but, keeping me home 3 days a week, almost every week, with no phone in the house, and neighbors who realized she was beat killing me, so they hardly reported to her when I would leave the house to go up to Bentham's gas station or over by Helen's. I have no real idea why she did this. Maybe I really was that bad a hellion.

i would draw, if you think you have seen my drawings as an adult and think they are anything, me as a child would have left you stunned. I was pumping out high quality art pieces that would make Marc Silvestri smile, this isn't arrogance, I was that good during those years. and she hated it. another thing to add to the list of things I got beaten for every week. No, I seriously got beaten for drawing every week. I refused to stop. It was my first cognizant rebellion. You can beat me, but I will not stop drawing. Up until the day she tried to break my right hand and had it swollen, I laughed as she beat me.

I didn't hate her, I mean I went on to win about 4 art competitions in school, and still, stupidly, I took home my prizes to show her, and she angrily accused me of stealing money and lying, then threw out my water colors, art pads, pens everything.

I cannot remember what caused me to run away to my dad's house that night I left, I remember her calling home and telling me "when I get home, you gine wish you were never born" and that was the last straw for me. The fear was so real. I packed my clothes, all i owned, my school books, and shoes and I ran.

From Blowers to Holetown, and up to Lower Carlton, looking back praying that the headlights weren't her and Rudolph coming for me. Crying that this time I was going to die.

nah, the abuse didn't stop there but for about a year of my life I was free of the fear of going home to her and I could actually have REAL friends

This is why I cannot stand her today, why I fight to forgive her now that she is trying to be a better human to my own child, see, the abuse isn't tied to her, it's tied to me. My mother don't know how to be anything but abusive to me, and I now understand, we cannot exist together.

I sent my daughter to live with her, after she volunteered to take her until i got back on my feet, knowing that WE would never be that happy mother and daughter I see everyone being, but I wanted to give her the chance to be that mother she dreamed she was before she lost herself as my nightmares.

Yesterday she called me and told me she cannot be in my child's life because MY attitude to her is harmful, lol, to both her and MY child, I told her great job, have no future contact with either of us, just make sure I get my child's documents...

Now I wait.

7 Absurd Stereotypes West Indians Have Had It With

By now, everyone has discovered this tiny corner of the world, where time stops, rum is a staple, condiments come with disclaimers and interrupting a stranger's thoughts to announce the time of day is normal.

The warm, sunny, post card perfect Caribbean, incorrectly titled as the (West) Indies when some bumbling Italian guy named Chris or something, stumbled into them, and swore that they were islands off the coast of India, and low, we were born.

Let's start on this list of atroci- okay, I'm dramatic, it's in my blood.

7. All West Indians Speak The Same Patois. 

This is how a Bajan says 'I Love You'... Honestly. 

Chances are, you have heard popular international personalities who have their 'navel strings' buried in this region and can recognize the distinct twangs laced in their vernacular, at least enough to recognize that there's an accent in the speech pattern.

You know, that distinctive lilt Rihanna carries when she gets too excited? 

What about Wylef Jean's? 

You MUST have heard Usain Bolt in at least one interview?

Yeah, about that, we are several countries and cultures in this little pot. 

A 'Bulla' to a Bajan, is not the same thing as a 'bulla' to a Jamaican. Kinda like how a 'fag' is obscenely innocent to an Aussie or Brit, but not so innocent to an American or West Indian. 

The contrasts in our command of language is as stark as our food culture. You might want to remember that when you engage a Vinci (native of St. Vincent) with a friendly greeting of "Wha' gine on, famuhlees?" ("What's up, my man?", but in Bajan)

6. All West Indians Know Their Respective Celebrities Intimately.

International star and Grammy Winner, Shaggy, stood at this
bus stop with me once.

I am a Bajan, a native to Barbados, that little 'Gem Of The Caribbean Sea' where Rihanna comes from. I have actually been within breathing distance of her cologne long before she actually had her name and face on her own perfume packaging. However, I have never had a conversation with her beyond "Excuse me," in order to pass around her. 

Now of course, we are great story tellers, and I can certainly tell you stories of how cool she was back when she had just been discovered, along with taking you on an all inclusive tour of her previous haunts and home neighborhood, but, I cannot tell you any stories of her running around barefooted and scruffy headed as a teen. 

It's even worse for Jamaicans. I'm most despondent to announce your Jamaican workmate's parents who grew up in Portmore, St. Catherine's, Jamaica, probably did not smoke a bong with Bob Marley before he stepped on stage to discuss his sheriff shooting habits. 

5. We All Have Carnival, And It's All About Bikini Costumes, Gyrating Body Parts And Calypso Music. 

Stop it. Immediately. 

I cannot stress enough how insulting and frustrating it is, to have to sit through endless recollections of how a tourist enjoyed "Carnival" in Grenada, or how they're going to "Carnival" In Barbados. 

Annual Air-obics brought to you by BajanTube.
(No bumpers or acrobats were injured, just mash up).

Now this may be a pet peeve, okay, upon introspection it most definitely is a pet peeve but this needs to be said: 

Like our language, music, and food, our festivals are each special to us. Trinidad for example, they have a five day festival, after two months of 'fetes' that culminates in their 'Pretty Mas', you know what? Have a link:

 All yuh click dis 'ere.  (not that I'm lazy or anything, but, these guys covered everything you need to know.)

See? It is steeped in culture, it's more than just tossing on beads and a swimsuit and 'chippin dung de road'.

In Barbados we have our own, it is Crop Over, which runs approximately twelve weeks, and ends in August with our Kadooment Day festivities. This festival is historic, and very precious to us, in fact, I once wagered that Bajans are nicer during that season than any other time of year, including Christmas (we are a mostly Christian society), because it is only during Crop Over that you can walk door to door at 6:00am imploring on the kindness of strangers to afford you a canned food item and not get a good hot pot of stale piss thrown on you AND still get fed, (oh and in the name of research I have done this, with friends, while walking home from 'fetes')

4. Everybody In The West Indies Smokes Pot. 

Nope. 

In fact, according to a study performed by the United Nations Office On Drugs And Crime, there are an estimated 39.17 million human beings living in the Caribbean, and approximately 2 million of us have toked up. That's not even a decent 5%. Marijuana is still largely viewed as the devil's lettuce to our older generations, and it is NOT legal in any island except Jamaica. 

The law doesn't care if you forgot that one joint in your luggage crossing borders. You get caught, that is a charge, including hefty fines, deportation and incarceration. How's that for an episode of Locked Up Abroad (Our prison doesn't have hot water just in case you think it's not so bad.) 

I swear!! 

3. You Can Tell Someone Is From An Island By Looks. 

Well, let's look at this pragmatically. 

39.17 million human beings. 

African, European and Asian diaspora. Natives/Indigenous people, external cultural influences. Come into ANY country in this region and you will be left flabbergasted at the rainbow of features, textures, shades, tones and all forms of diversity thrown at you without restraint. 

Sadly, we're not quite out of the woods with petty little things like nepotism, or colorism. For bonus points, hit twitter and follow up the YouSoCaribbean hashtag. 

2. West Indians Are Always Easy Going. 

You probably haven't met my mother. You lucky bastards! 

Every West Indian Aunty... Ever.
Ask them!

There is such a thing as "Island time". It is VERY real!

That being said, understand that we function on a perpetual wheel of anxiety that we're late for everything, ranging from work to our own funerals. That makes us constantly on edge and ridiculously high strung. Getting 'Shell down tuh de ground' is a normal and very casual thing, it doesn't mean we hate you, just means we gonna cuss you out. Quickly, and then it's over in most cases. We will cuss you for crossing the road too slowly, we will cuss you for walking across the road too quickly with attitude. We will cuss you for walking in the room and not greeting, and then cuss you for walking in the room and disturbing everyone when you greet, but above all, our passion is the thing we are honest about, and we are loved for it. 

1. West Indian Women Are Overtly Sexual. 

You've seen how we dance, the way we move our hips, the way we chew our bottom lip and throw our hair over our shoulders as we 'wukkup' or 'wine' (not 'whine' common mistake, but nuh body ent complainin' he'e). 

Yeah, I see that sweaty lecherous look as you imagine it. 

Stop that. Come on. You're better than that. Tuck that thing away. Damn. 

To explain this is without coming off as completely contradictory is the most difficult part of this entire thing. 

Caribbean women grow up in a culture that tells us to dance, music is infused in our bones. Now, being honest, there are instances when we are being intentionally sexual in our dance culture (Jamaican Dancehall scenes should be popping into mind, along with images of Alison Hinds telling boys to come up to her bumpa and Aye Aye Aye) but when we're just out, moving with the music, in that fever that is ours, and only ours. The fury of our ancestors translated into the passion of the moment, we move everything between neck and knees, while scantily clad, with not as much as a second thought about it. 

Lewis Hamilton is such a nice fella, here he is, helping Rihanna
not fall off the truck..

This isn't proof that any woman, born into the rich cultural pot that is the Caribbean, is any more or less sexual, modest or morally inclined than any woman from any other part of the world. 

Our cultures are ripe for exploration, and yes we love that you want to share them with us, so, please, keep that in mind before you commit to any outdated cliched stereotypes about us. 

Shout wunna laters. 

Being A Black Woman

Being a black woman is easy.

Be Sexy Dammit!! 

I gotta be sexy but lowkey, smart just not smarter than anyone who isn't a black woman, strong just the kinda strength that's really weak, black but not too black, but like ultra black, have a straight nose, and smaller lips than a Jenner, but not wrinkled like a Jolie, have straight edges and waist length naturally wavy, not straight, but not nappy, kinky nigga pepper lose hair, it can be loc'd but they gotta be that fancy look, like someone from another ethnicity chose them and I just wore them.

I gotta smell like vanilla and taste like caramel popcorn, and able to take insults but never ever able to insult, unless it's a white man who finds me attractive, I have to be ready to denounce the white devils, and be willing to be submissive to a Real Black King, but, gotta be single mom, just like his, until he comes to take on my kid, which I must be grateful for because I'm more a charity case for appreciation than deserving of respect, cuz I owe a strong black man the chance to show me how wrong I been doing things by myself even though I should know how to do everything by myself by now.

No Smart-Assery, No matter how smart you are!!

Oh, and not be smart mouthed, gotta know when to shut up, cuz I can't be making him feel unimportant or less intelligent because nobody needs to feel like I feel I'm smarter than them and I can only be sexy Muslim type sexy, you know all the shape and figure shown, no hair, no skin except my flawlessly gorgeous face that's naturally got contoured to death cheeks, gold shaded yet naturally tinted eyelids over Asian slanted grey, green or light brown eyes.

My booty gotta show thru with the ferocity of a mad Rihanna fan who got skipped over in the front row for that backstage moment for the white Beyonce fan, but it can't have any cellulite, cuz that's basic, and I gotta learn to cook like that same black king's mother, but for free because I'm supposed to have my own and don't no man need no woman he gotta provide food for while he's fucking her, that's basic.

I still gotta know how to eat and act in a restaurant that he'll forever post that annoying pic of the girl on her phone at, even though I'll never go there because I'm supposed to be busy working my 2 jobs to prove how resilient and unbreakable I am, to save money for OUR future, and I'll be tired but still have energy fuck him like he thinks Amber Rose chunky ass was fucking Wiz skinny ass, while reciting the Psalms of Solomon but denouncing the white supremacy, and being Mother Superior to all his trust fuck bastards because he's not ready to get married to my whoring ass since I let him knock me up before we got married and his mother thinks he can do better.

Easiest shit in the world eh? 

So I gotta go to school but like I said it gotta be still within the realm of stupid, gotta be on my religion and love God, like a decent Black Christian Girl but enlightened to ancient Egypt, and I've got to have my children's hair looking on point while balancing my job, school and babysitting these overgrown man children that need strong, smart, stupid, soft, hard black women, while at the same time remaining smiling and untainted by the fuckery going on around me, that no matter what happens, it follows me because my skin is either too black or not quite black enough to match a) my level of intelligence or b) my level of intolerance to fuckery (also known as my ghetto reaction when I start cussing wunna right the fuck out)

Yeah.

Being a black woman, it's easy.

Is That We're Too Sexy, Or That We're too close To Y'all?

There remains a certain dissonance caused by the idea of a woman claiming her sexuality without interference or consultation of her male counterparts.

Sorry, I see where I went wrong, I started that entirely too, decent.

What I really meant to say was,

Certain of wunna rasshole men like to sit the fuck down and believe that a woman is to be sexy just fuh rasshole wunna. If she doesn't consider yall feelings about her sexiness and when, where and how it is displayed, she is suddenly not a "good woman". Suddenly she should be aware of the image she projects because what she putting out is what she will get back.

... Let's rewind the clock by 24 hours, a certain image of a certain woman is posted on a certain website, about 75 comments in and the men are in the majority, by a landslide

"I would wife dat"

"she could have my children"

"i would give up all the rest"

"looking like a goddess"

At first this reads that men only value their fantasies once it's not a reflection of the level of domestication or lack thereof, and their inability to domesticate the most relevant female in their mundane and ego depraved existence, their homebody female.

That's at first. Go deeper, you will find it's really not that complicated. It's a very blatant issue. Men find women in high quality pictures more attractive than the same women in low quality edits. The cleaner the image the sexier the woman!!

It is the only thing that makes sense about why they would consider a woman, that they do not know from a can of paint, more worth their flattery and admiration, than their own sexually attractive and comfortable friends and acquaintances.

Be real with me, it's because you can tell me what your mother thinks about women, vs telling that super sexy model what your mother thinks about women and not fear hearing "but who are you?" because you are insignificant.

It's because you feel you are entitled to own the movements and growth of the women near you, when you know you cannot own that fantasy chick, she is just another figure online, you're just a little nobody of the thousands of nobodies that constantly try to get at that woman and get her attention if only for one reply to your accolades and declarations of admiration and appreciation.

Oh. Sorry went off on that vibe again, let me adjust that.

" You women need to..."

Wunna like to decide wunna gine try to control de women wunna know because wunna know wunna aint shit outside wunna pool. No sexy stripper on IG aint paying wunna nuh fucking mind after she get 400 likes for showing she ass, but wunna friend Candacie who work with wunna last year, she might still give wunna crutch and lil title as she nearby, gotta mek sure when u get it she aint gine be advertising fuh de rest of fellas.

Y'all like to think you control the idea that different women "ARE ALLOWED" to be different levels of sexy. It seems to me that you are empowered by this, and seek to use it as footing to secure your place OVER women.

I am so sorry to say this in a manner that will come across to the idiots as me being degrading:

FUCK. RIGHT. OFF.

Y'all dont control shit on a woman. Her sexuality is not for you!

Stop thinking yall the only reason a woman is to find herself or be found sexy.

Cut out that rasshole bout "a good woman doesnt do certain tings like post all she sexy pics online"

"a good woman doah go out partying every night"

"a good woman has one man and worships him and ignores her own desires for him"

GTFO.

Anyhow, that's quite enough from me. Lol, I know half of you won't read all of this, but here are some pretty pictures just in case...