Castaway and The Handsome Dutchman have been, give or take, in their house for a year. That might lead you to think that we have now some kind of routine. Well, to some extent we do, but this is Trinidad and there is always something going on to keep a Castaway on her toes. This week started with a pretty normal Monday. The PlayStation Junkie and I were halfway through lunch when, lo and behold, there was another full-blown power outage. This was inconvenient, to say the least, as the PlayStation Junkie was in the middle of making some toast. We decided to finish the process by putting the bread in the grill pan on the gas cooker. With a few eyebrow hairs gone, we got the gas lit and were at least able to finish our lunch. We assumed the start of the rainy season and the accompanying downpours were to blame but it seemed that an overenthusiastic truck driver had taken a corner at speed and turned his truck over and into the power lines. With no electricity, we had no power and no air conditioning. We were also without phone or water (as without electricity, the water cannot be pumped up our hill. Not a great start to the week but an excellent excuse to postpone writing an essay about social media usage in teenagers which was part of the week’s Dutch homework. Yes, you have guessed it, Castaway has had enough of the pidgin Dutch spoken at home and is following some formal Dutch lessons by Skype. By evening, there was still no electricity and so we went through the same eyebrow hair losing process and resorted to making pasta by candlelight. Luckily power was restored as we were eating so we did not have to endure a sweaty night without air conditioning.
Tuesday again started reasonably normally. Castaway was just about to make a coffee to have before heading across town for a meeting when lo! No electricity again. No problem, I thought, I will pick up a coffee en route. I left the house and drove down the hill to our gate – electrically operated. Usually, it opens in the event of a power cut so that no one is trapped inside. Somehow the opening had not been triggered. Our hill, being approximately 30% gradient and winding requires guts and a foot flat on the gas to ascend. Tricky enough, but trying it in reverse was a new challenge. I had to take several hundred metres that way before the road widened enough to attempt a three point turn. I found a maintenance man able to open the gate and I was on my way again. I stopped at the recently opened Starbucks for coffee. Coffee-to-go in Trinidad assumes there is no hurry to go anywhere. It has to be the slowest Starbucks I have ever encountered. Six people are behind the counter – only one of them seems to be an operational barista. The coffee is, at least, worth the wait and even more so, if your own espresso machine has been rendered out of action by lack of electricity.
Wednesday purported to be normal until the PlayStation Junkie and I arrived home from school. There was something on our front door. It appeared to be an insect but it was the size of a small rabbit and had antennae twice as long as my fingers. It was conveniently positioned to either land on your head as you were trying to dash inside or worse fly into the house and make itself at home there. We gradually gained enough courage to get out of the car and examine it further, albeit from a large distance. Experienced bat-hunters as we are, we considered what innovation we could craft from the available tools in the entrance way. The options were limited. There was a hose, a brush, a plunger, a half-full bag of compost and a piece of broken IKEA shoe rack. The last three were quickly discounted as of being no use whatsoever. The hose had merit as we could deploy that from a greater distance so we turned it on to check the water pressure. We concluded it was probably not enough and we were further concerned that either a jet of water or use of the brush would only anger the insect and increase the likelihood of it landing on our heads. We were pondering on our dilemma when our security guard appeared on their rounds. Clearly, much braver than either of us, one of them knocked it off the door lintel with his hand! It was stubborn and refused to give way. The guard tried again with his walkie-talkie and was successful. Much stamping then ensued to ensure it would not darken our door again. We subsequently concluded it was a locust. One was enough – a plague does not bear thinking about:
After a so-called normal week like that, it is a good thing that we are soon island-hopping again…
Castaway in the Caribbean 
2 thoughts on “One Locust Makes a Plague”