Raised by A Rose from the Flower Capital of Dominica: A CariMAN Mother’s Day Conversation with Lester Guye

I recently wrote this special Mothers Day piece for an online news platform, Dominica News Online

Raised by A Rose from the Flower Capital of Dominica:

 A CariMAN Mother’s Day Conversation with Lester Guye

By Adom Philogene Heron

The special bond that exists between mother and son in the Caribbean (and across the Afro-Americas for that matter) is a widely recognised and deeply meaningful one often characterised by interdependence and an intense mutual fondness.

In this short interview during the lead up to Mothers Day 2013 (12^th May) and The 2013 Giraudel Flower show (19^th May), Adom Philogene Heron (researcher on family life in Dominica and Cariman member) caught up with Lester Guye (psychologist/counsellor at The National HIV and AIDS Response Unit and Cariman member) to discuss Lester’s memories of his mother - from his time raising up in Eggleston, through his educational years, and up to the present.

This special CariMAN conversation is a tribute not only to Lester’s mother, but to all of the mothers and motherly substitutes across Dominica and her Diaspora. On behalf of all of your sons CariMAN extends an extra special ‘Thank you’.

A Beautiful Flower

APH:  What is your mother’s name?

LG:  Roselyn

APH:  And when you think of that name what is the first thing that springs to your mind?

LG:  A rose obviously! [a smile suddenly lights up his face]

APH: A rose? So a beautiful flower?

LG: Oh, definitely!

Raising up

APH: Give us a little background, some context on where you raised up and the family you raised up in.

LG: I grew up in Eggleston/ Giraudel, the flower village of Dominica. I grew up with my mum, always a single parent. It has always been she, myself and my [younger] sister. It’s only later in life that I developed a relationship with my father, but it has always been mum. She worked at one of the supermarkets [in Roseau]; she has been there from since my sister was born.

A Perennial Educational Support

APH: One thing I remember you mentioning in a previous discussion is how supportive your mum was of your education. You mentioned how proud she was when you got into secondary school.

LG: Oh extremely supportive! Oh man! Secondary school, yes I remember that. I remember my mother buying stuff for us, buying your school stuff. And you could see more pride in her face than you yourself was probably feeling, you understand. Just the fact that she can safely say that “my kids, my son is going to secondary school” was something very important to her.  And I think it carried through, not only through secondary school, but when I went out to university [in Mexico]... You were assured that every time she called you would get a boost of energy, or encouragement. And she would let you know that “Eh listen, I will go through the grinds for you to know that you will complete successfully”.

APH: So she offered emotional support throughout your studies?

LG: Exactly, you know emotional support was there, financial support was there. I remember at a point when she herself wasn’t even well. And she would encourage me not to worry about her because you got to do  what you got to do. “You have to do what you have to do”. Because she have support back home, because she’s back home. But you on the other hand are flying solo to an extent, so you have to keep your focus. Those kind of things meant a lot to me, they really meant a lot to me.

The Only Woman I Can Truly Rely On

APH: You mentioned in another conversation that you learned from a young age that your mother was the only woman you could truly rely on. At what point did you come to come to realise that?

LG:  It would be my late teenage years... in our society at a certain age you’re supposed to somewhat be on your own, doing your own stuff. You have your little hitches, your little hiccups, but I could never remember a time when I could not call on her, when she wasn’t able to help – she would go the extra mile... In the given situations you knew that an extra effort had to be in place... based on the circumstances that were presented to us, financially and socially at the time. And it has stuck with me you know, and in any given situation, no matter where I am and what I’m doing I Know that I can call on her at any time.

From Provided to Provider

APH: I know that in his relationship to a mother, as a boy becomes a man, there is often a tipping point when he is no longer completely dependent on his mother and he begins to provide for and care for her as she grows old. Do you think of this as you look to the future, or even now? 

LG: That’s a good question because it is something that has been established in my mind that whenever everything is said and done, she is retired and everything, for me the fact that she has to live with me–, it’s almost inevitable, it’s something that will just be. I will take pride in it.

I will even joke with her now. My mum is very particular about what she eat. So I will joke with her and say, “when you come to live with me, what you get is what you will take!” [we laugh]. Just being troublesome, like naughty. Telling her, “eh listen, you know the tables have turned”. Out of love you know.... I have never said, “When you’re with my sister” or “if you have your own home”. No. It’s like “when you live with me, I am the one who will be cooking for you at some point”. So it’s Almost like I look forward to it.

Food is Love

APH: So food has a very special place in your relationship with your mother?

LG: I am not one of those people that are not very particular about what I eat. [But] I don’t eat meat and stuff... I can remember specifically when my mum would cook on a Sunday and she is making food for everybody and she would make the same thing, my own, but without meat. And that was never a problem. It was never like “oh, why can’t I just cook one pot” or “find something to do for yourself”. It was always like, “Lester, I did this for you and before I put the meat in I took out yours”...

Even recently, there is something I really like when I cook, I like tomatoes. My mum don’t really like it... Just the other day before I went overseas, she cook one day she says, “Lester, I put tomatoes in this because I know you like it”. And For me it was like wow. It seems like something so minute and simple, but in my head, for me it really meant something large for me.

...Even when I was younger I would go out and not eat. Even when you’d offer me something, I would not eat because I know my mother is preparing something and I have to eat my mum’s food. And it’s not out of disrespect for you, but it’s out of respect for her. 

... And anytime I am with someone and she asks me have I eaten, it means a lot, it carries a lot of weight for me – because my mother does it... It’s something that meant a lot to her, that we’re never hungry. So for me, somebody looking out for my well-being in terms of alimentary stuff, for me meant a lot.

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For mother’s day CariMAN in partnership with the Dominica National Council of Women will be giving a hamper to an individual Dominican mother who has been nominated by her community for her outstanding, exemplary and sacrificial motherly love.

To learn more of CariMAN’s work in Dominica and the Region: http://cariman.org/cariman-countries/dominica/ 

For more on Adom’s PhD research please visit: http://www.st-andrews.ac.uk/anthropology/dept/phdstudents/?studentid=181

For some background on The National HIV and AIDS Response Programme where Lester Works as a counsellor please visit: http://dominicanewsonline.com/news/homepage/news/health/dominica-assesses-its-national-hivaids-response-programme/

The Plight of the "Paro" : a conversation with Delroy Nesta Williams' poem 'A Stray in Roseau'

Today on Inside Dominica, an opensource news page, I encountered a poem by Delroy 'Nesta' Williams (a poet who has previously contributed to Fathermen) that resonates with some themes I have begun to explore in my research on men in Dominican families.

A while back there was an incident when a man described locally as a 'paro' broke into a car in central Roseau. Some citizens apprehended him and a crowd gathered, geering and taking photos of this apparently entertaining sight until the police came. I watched the scene play out from the balcony of a friends workplace. Discussing the issue of insurance and who would meet the cost of damages to the vehicle, the friend exclaimed: "but he is a paro, he has no family, how can he pay!"



The question of a 'paro' being someone without a family, or whose kin relationships have destabilized and broken down stuck with me. I began to ask, why is it predominantly men who find themselves alone, outside and exposed to the vagaries of life in the streets of Roseau? Indeed, many men are socialized from a young age 'outside' of the home, on the road, and the independence and fortitude they develop are valorised masculine characteristics. But what happens when their independence comes to be undermined by substance dependence, or their networks of familial support fall away or are dismantled? What happens if they lose a limb and can no longer work or fall into a state of 'madness'? What happens when they find themselves going a-stray, deviating from the dominant society's normatively prescribed path?

Nesta's poem is entitled 'A stray in Roseau', it focuses on the social abandonment of the figure of the 'paro' - the drug dependent beggar (or presumed to be drug dependent beggar), who wanders - and often sleeps on - the streets of Roseau, Dominica's capital.

In the title 'A stray' offers a semantic link to the stray dog, connoting the dehumanizing treatment of those referred to as 'paros'. Yet the title also suggests a sympathy on the part of the poet, reminding the reader that 'paros' are humans who have gone astray, fallen, whether by circumstance or otherwise from the mainstream traffic of life.

'Paro' is a derogatory and derisory yet socially accepted term here in Dominica (and elsewhere in the region; I understand that the term is common in Antigua too for example). It derives from the word "paranoid", describing the embodied psychological state induced by the smoking of crack-cocaine.

Unaware of this, yet very much aware of the derogatory nature of the term, when I first arrived in Dominica I had curiously asked an acquaintance if 'paro' was in fact short for "parasite". "No", she replied "but you could call them that", she added with a laugh.
Paro can also be used as verb; I overheard heard someone saying in the street to a friend: "I do[n't] paro, I work hard for my money". Thus, to 'paro' is also to beg, an act which violates the strong ethic of hard work held by many across the society. Begging is seen to undermine an individual's dignity, it places beggar as subservient to potential giver/denier. Evincing the latter, an individual would much rather lay claim to something via a demand - e.g. "buy me a drink na!", thus offering a semblance of power - than ask for it and hence admit her or his relative economic powerlessness. But a 'paro' is seen not to care, willing to do anything to procure the funds needed to meet the demands of their dependency.

And therefore as Nesta reminds us, 'paros' become cheap labor (cleaning our buses and doing jobs we don't want to do), or the butt of our jokes (doing press-ups on the road for a few coins or unintentionally posing in handcuffs as we photograph them in the back of a police pickup). Nesta reminds us however, that our exploitation of such desperation comes at a spiritual cost. 'A cost deferred is still a price to pay, someday'. Maybe the poet is suggesting that the inconsistency of such actions with the christian values of charity, empathy and care for the poor and meek - so proudly espoused by the churchgoers of this predominantly Catholic country - will be payed for at the moment of judgement. But he also adds that before that time, in this life another moment of judgement may befall the judgmental. Those who laugh at and judge the man in street may also one day be knocked down onto the hard concrete on which he sits and sleeps.

Nestor closes on a somber tone, highlighting the society's collective failure to regard the plight of the 'Paro'.

However, if they have failed to acknowledge their plight,  ministers of government have most certainly not missed their presence. Officials Ian Douglas, Minister of Tourism and Anthony Scotland, Chief Environmental Officer, have recently made public statements about 'the problem of vagrancy' in the city and its tainting of the national 'tourism product'. Douglas is quoted in a recent Dominica News Online article as saying:

“Vagrancy is something that affects the visitor experience … guests must feel comfortable in the destination...We don’t want those guys coming on to the Bay Front and touching the guests and harassing the guests…put them in a place where we can treat them humanely with a warm bath and a meal and stuff and get them away from the general area while the guests and the ship are in port.”

 Scotland then echoes the sentiment of his colleague, adding: 

“Some people might be talking that they have their human rights and all sort of things but you cannot afford to have a town of loose vagrants going up and down, creating problems for you and the environment... It is a problem we must address in Dominica quickly.”

Therefore, rather than talking of social abandonment and offering a reinvestment of tourism revenues into sustainable social programs that provide rehabilitational services, shelter or a support network for some of the countries's most vulnerable citizens, Douglas and Scotland prefer to temporarily 'put them' out of sight, Chloroxing the public space of the polluting presence of the 'paro'. 


Thank you Nesta for this timely poem:

A stray in Roseau

By Delroy Nesta Williams

How do you walk through Roseau

And not smell the stench

Three, four “paros” taking a hit

Behind the broken down wooden fence

Crouched over without a concern

Withering away into obscurity

While young children look down from their porches

Point fingers, laugh and make jokes

But this “paro” man wanted a future

Just like the one you hope for

River Street, Cork Street and even Virgin Lane

The streets of the city are all stained

Roseau has gone to the dogs

And who is to be blamed?

With a hand out they ask for a dollar

Harassing you on every street corner

But the pungent smell is a turn off

So you hold your nose and show no love

What you do to the least of your brothers?

No one seems to bother

And we carry on our merry way

Unless we need a favour

Something we don’t want to pay for the full price for

So instead we hire the “paro” labour

But a cost deferred is still a price to pay, someday

So while you show no love

You walk the city streets going to the Cathedral

So routine that you see almost nothing

In your Sunday best and two-edged sword

It’s funny how you carry the good Book but ignore the words

Along your journey to cast empty prayers to the Lord above

The rhetoric of last Sunday becomes the gospel retold today

Ignoring that the “paro” problem is a situation

That you’ve created when you turn a blind eye

And instead cast judgment

But the “paro” was once just a passer by

Yes, that could just be you

In a few years after being knocked down

By a society that creates problems

And offers little or no solutions

And so Roseau rest afloat

On a cloud of issues

But the least of which we see

Is the “paro” roaming the city streets!