Losing faith

Am proud to call this prolific scribe, friend!

One nation…many bodies…boundless faith

One of the things that always made most sense to me about moving back home was the manageable scale of things. The group of young men looming toward me, who made me flinch my New York flinch, until one politely started up the chorus of “Good Night.” Nationhood, in my experience, connected everyone to everyone—even the clerk at the Tobago ferry, who made life difficult for no good reason, was my people.

I’ve always delighted in sharing with visitors how driving here is a feast of nonverbal communication, merging into traffic is all about a reading of the body language of the other cars. With my African travelling companion looking on in terror, I could cuss a customs officer stink for trying to embarrass me by holding up materials I was bringing in for a volunteer HIV group, blaming him colourfully for killing people. I ridicule visiting sociologists about their…

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