Thoughts from the Other Side of the Postcard #3

As I write this long blog post, I am trying to excavate and type out the words to my fragile emotions. It has taken me several rewrites and loads of paradoxical thoughts and angst filled editing to get this out of my subconscious state and into my conscious being.

It seems that I have been carrying my past like an overstuffed travelling suitcase. See, my seemingly enchanted  life that I had discarded in London, had been swept along with  the tidal waves of romance and marriage; these were an anchor for me before I made  life changing decisions to emigrate from my uncertain familiarity.

I had a great job as a counsellor - helping vulnerable people with their dual diagnoses, mental health, anti social behaviour orders with disenfranchised youth, domestic violence, teenage mothers,  and other supportive elements of my work. I tended to work within agencies, where for me the pay was better, and most importantly, I was not tied down.  In retrospect, sometimes I wish that I should of thought better about job security and the pie in the sky pension. But this did not hover on my horizon at the time. I knew that my duration of living in London was becoming shorter and shorter, hence my somewhat laissez attitude I had towards the stability of my future economics.

At the time, my boyfriend, who is now my husband, was living, working and  bringing up his two children in Holland as a lone parent. Their mother in Dominica had given him custody and he wanted them to have a better opportunity at life and education in Europe.

Because of my working patterns, the fluidity and flexibility of my work allowed me the freedom to catch the Eurostar on many long weekends. I was able to  just steal away, receive my warm embraces and eagerly anticipated kisses, ride our bikes , in unison,  on the flat roads and bike sanctioned  lanes in Arnhem, Holland, and just to  feel his strength and  solidarity calm and our one day imagined fantasy that we would be together for ever! By the way, his qualities have not changed. He is still my protector.

Although I was living some kind of blessed life in London, surrounded by my two delightful sons and a chosen handful of dear friends, I was at a standstill; I was stagnating. My oldest son had moved out. My youngest son was undertaking his A levels in a college that was nearer to his father's home and he decided to move there instead. So I was free. However, like Eshu-Elegbara,(A Yoruba Orisha), I was at the crossroads of my life, looking to see what direction I needed to take; I guess my destiny told me soon enough. With all of this in hand, I swapped all that I had ever known for our unplanned adventures and the idyllic notion of stirring the nascent writer in me and  settling in the comforts of the 'nature island'.

The Commonwealth of Dominica is a small, tropical island  which sits midway along the Eastern Caribbean archipelago, and is squeezed, like a slice of lime, between the two islands of Guadeloupe, which is in the North and Martinique, which is in the South. These two islands  are still under French rule. Dominica has had a fraught relationship with France; however it gained its independence from the UK in November 1978.

Dominica is truly a beautiful, lush country, where about two thirds of it is covered by tropical rainforests, and boasts, according to the locals, 365 rivers - a river for each day.
I initially saw Dominica as a place where I thought that I could loosen my tight fitting jacket -I wrote about this metaphor in a previous blog. However, unfortunately, I lost my blog to the evil clutches of cache, forgetting to renew my domain, and pure and utter carelessness on my part . My tight jacket for me was the oppressiveness I was feeling about living in London.  How my life was becoming restrictive. So, I decided to excitingly exchange my monotone for Technicolor. I was tired of living in the cold and grey climates of London. I was weary of drudging to work and keeping up the rhythm with disenchanted commuters who hated their jobs but loved their monthly pay packets. I was tired of squeezing onto  tubes, buses or trains, where my nose would be constantly assaulted  by offensive odours on varying days.  I wanted to feel some sun on my skin, feel the sand between my toes, and just truly breathe again.  I thought that I would be able to  swing and daydream  in my simple hammock on our  soon to be built veranda,  and feel the sweet  and tranquil breeze of the Caribbean Sea that was just a glance away from our property, hoping that it would  hypnotise me, energise my writings and inspire my creativity. 

When I landed in my newly adopted home, I offered my skills and expertise from my professional background. However, because I wasn't in the 'know', I wasn't able to successfully navigate my way through the maze of nepotism, political affiliation and lack of kinship within the country. Due to this, and after a while when our savings started to diminish -which was also offset by the fragile economic instabilities of the land - which ultimately led to our  own economic uncertainties, we took the initiative of plugging into our entrepreneurial aspirations. We took our love and knowledge of herbs, massage, aromatherapy and oils and started hawking them on the streets of Roseau. We built up quite a loyal customer base and met some very interesting people on our journey. People were fascinated by my precise and proper English accent and the way that I had seamlessly integrated into a small, island life - together with the pitfalls and joys that I experienced on this mountainous, undulating small island. I loved being with my husband, creating our fresh herbs (grown on our land or locally sourced by locals), together with the oils and creams that we lovingly produced. I loved receiving positive feedback and glowing testimonials about the healing benefits of our products, and how even folk, with small monetary benefits, would still come and patronise us.  How ironic it was when we had a great following from the many medical students who studied conventional medicine at Ross University located in Portsmouth. How gravitating it was to see the familiar faces of people in Roseau going about their daily business, and the hails, injected by witty, sad and delightful conversations we would get from complete strangers who brought our products. Folk who felt so comfortable in opening up to us on the kerbs and sidewalks of Roseau.  Sometimes it felt that I was conducting informal counselling sessions on the roadside! It was so edifying for both my husband and me; we took a lot of blessings with us. We also saw how the other side of the human spirit could be the and  how some particular folk would vent their silent grudges and envy towards our way. But we just laughed joyously at the bitterness and  'let it go' and just smiled inwardly  at the up and down  nature  - which reflected the topography of the land  -of our fellow human beings let we met on our journey.

However, the Tropical Storm of Erika literally cleaned away my cataract fantasies of surviving and living an almost sweet life in the  paradise I created within; the tempest rage of Erika surprised and drenched the country and its unstable infrastructure  in Dominica. The storm had accelerated our desires to leave, because frankly, things were no longer working for us over in Dominica. Faced with a non-existent economy, a paucity of people with tight, limited or no budget to splurge on our products, a slow dribble of tourists coming into Roseau  and the environs, and the hard, frigid  realisation that we are not in a financial position to conceptualise  our aims and objectives for our business  for now, we started looking at other destinations in the Caribbean. Erika manifested that for us. We came to the decision that Guadeloupe was the perfect place for us for now: it is only two hours away from Dominica on the ferry, and also, as it is an EU country, our rights living here as EU citizens are protected. Again,  the irony that this seems to afford us is not lost on me and it seems to be a continuous loop with my story of migration.

Post Tropical Storm Erika and leaving the ruins of Dominica, I never glanced back towards the tall body of Dominica, as the ferry lethargically carried my husband and me - still traumatised - to the French Overseas Territories of Guadeloupe.

We had been offered sanctuary from the storm from this delightful woman, Marilyn, who is from Dominica. We had met her and her beautiful family on previous occasions on our fact finding visits to Guadeloupe. I will never, ever forget their authentic support and their unconditional love. It truly makes me believe in the decency of people who don’t even know you, but will offer you shelter. These people are not family, but they have made my husband and me feel that we are family. I will never forget them, as it has truly made me believe in the loving kindness of strangers

Whilst in silent contemplation on the way over, I was still attempting to decipher the haunting images of Dominica that had left me feeling so sad:

 Set adrift from the many broken bridges, where cars, buses and four wheel trucks had to cross raging, dirt filled  rivers to reach their final destinations; roads, recently heralded by the people and the government, which were solely built and constructed by Chinese labour, and now were  teasing us with  large craters and seismic splits, showing us the true nature of their shoddy construction and faulty workmanship;  small villages decimated by the sand, uprooted stripped barks of trees and twisted, awkward limbs of these trees, waterlogged and bobbing in unfamiliar locations; large, foreboding boulders carried along by an unforgiving storm and dumped outside unsuspecting portals; cars, bikes and dumper trucks carried along like balsa wood toys and unceremoniously scattered within the many rivers, the heaving mud and sands of these waters and the Caribbean Sea; landslides of mud taking away part of a community in Petite Savanne,  who were peacefully slumbering in the watery embrace of Erika and having no awareness that their last inhaled and submerged breaths would be their conclusion to their diverse lives.

The solitary images of Dominica, with scant attention from the world media and the sometimes glaring mistake of geography with that OTHER Dominica, was really only pushed forward by the proud daughters and sons of the soil - who live inside and within the sizeable areas of the Diaspora -who made the world know that the Commonwealth of Dominica DOES indeed exist, and that they, as a small island will rise and reunite once again; this was their rallying cry in the aftermath of the destruction. For me, my realisation  and my status as being an ' outsider' but married to a proud son of the soil -who  by the way decided to return back to his homeland  after living in Europe for several years, where he was sick and tired of bolstering 'foreign', when his beloved country needed his support - and  after nearly three years of living in Dominica the storm helped me to eliminate my own  romantic veil that had me covering my eyes to see, that indeed, Dominica is extremely underdeveloped,  is not really prepared for natural disasters, is systematically riddled with poverty and varying levels of inequalities when it comes with access to health and employment (the statistics for unemployment is very high), with a very weak infrastructure and, in my own subjective  opinion,  a completely inept and incompetent government, lead by an indecisive and weak leader.

These have been some of the images that still pierce the innards of my soul. That has still stayed with me. A month anniversary of Tropical Storm Erika has come and gone. People on social media, out on the streets and elsewhere are still talking about it. This time it was different though. When Hurricane David literally blew the galvanized roofs, houses and other movable objects to oblivion  in 1979,  nearly thirty six years ago to the day on unexpected islanders,  Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and other social  media networks did not exist. The internet was just a pixel of somebody's imagination. The impact of social media has been phenomenal on giving the Commonwealth of Dominica it's rightful voice. It is a voice, I hope of redemption, hopefully of salvation, truth and reality of what has to be faced in the aftermath.
It seems like only yesterday that I was receiving Lime mobile alerts warning me about "Tropical Storm Danny". The gender  of the storm had changed, but what it had engendered for Dominica was complete disaster and devastation.

Although there has been a chorus for unity and the rebuilding of the country, I will remain distant and observant and watch Dominica from the shores of Guadeloupe. Time will tell, just like the precious time it will take to build up my beloved, adopted country, Waitikubuli, 'Tall is Her Body'.

Thoughts from the other side of the postcard: Part 1

Some folk think that I  am living the charmed life on the 'Nature Island'. Don't get me wrong, my life style has changed drastically, and all for the better I may add; running  our business, hands on,  and doing something that I have wanted to do for a long time. It seems appropriate that our business is all about nature and wellness - we create our own herbal massage oils and aromatic creams, with herbs and spices either grown on our land, or sourced locally from farmers who do not use any harmful fertilisers or chemicals. We also package dried and fresh herbs. We go out on the streets and sell to the locals and tourists. I feel that I am living my dream!
Check out our Facebook page EnTaise EnTerprises™ for further information. Well, after that quick sponsor advert, let me continue with my blog post!

When I first starting blogging about migrating to The Commonwealth of Dominica, I compared it metaphorically  to wearing an ill fitted, tight jacket. My jacket still feels tight at times, but mostly it is transforming into a better fit, all the way around. At times, when I do my daily reflection and meditation in the morning,  when I have offered up a libation to my ancestors, when the different tropical birds are chriping away  in flowing harmonies,from my wooden shutters or balancing on the rails of our soon to be completed verandah,  where the many small lizards scamper and seek sanctuary from the hot solar rays, where our cat and two dogs dart freely around the land, I I marvel at it all, and the same time, I get a bit perplexed at it all. I mean, here I am, sat in the lap of nature, where the Caribbean Sea is not a mirage, and the many bowing trees of moringa, the great big mango tree, sandwiched against our soursop tree, the trailing passion fruits, which constantly carpet the soft, rich earth earth, where plants and plants of wonderful smelling, aromatic basil, succulent plants of aloe vera, peeking scarlets of tomatoes, heads and heads of lettuce, and other vital crops, lovingly cultivated by my husband's hands; where the tall palm of our coconut tree - where coconut water is drank - instead of purchasing it from a shop, and the soft jelly flesh of this nut is devoured hungrily by my husband and myself,  I am in awe. Absolute awe and cradled in the abyss of paradise.

But, on the other side of this postcard of my thoughts is my perplexion thoughts, on why there is not any manufacturing plants to capture the amazing resources from this land, the high rate of unemployment of youth, the continuing plague of the rise of alcoholism and the slow emergence of crack cocaine, the disenfranchised people left to accelerating poverty because agriculture on this precious island has been abandoned due to the political ramifications of it all, on how the cost of living on this island is exhorbitantly expensive. The economy is virtually non-existent  -except for the small  Chinese community, who dominiate the majority of business in Roseau and the environs , In addition  a recently voted administration who have constantly been accused of corruption and other negative deeds within the land  - check Dominica News Online, which gives some indication of how people feel about Dominica, and some who are attempting to advocate for change. I won't go too much into the political aspect however, suffice to say, it does not look too good for democracy. But hey...

I remember, as a  young girl, just reaching the milestone of my puberty, that I did not want to live in the UK when I got older. It wasn't due to any conscious thoughts at all, I just felt that I did not really belong there. Since that time, I have had paradoxical notions about my 'Britishness, and how my identity ties within all of this. I just knew that I wanted to marry somebody who did not live in the UK. I wanted to be with a man who was either from Africa or the Caribbean and who would mirror my thoughts. It took a long, long time. But I guess, when you have that belief, that nagging intuition, it finally manifests. Well, it did for me, albeit, it took me two children, studying for two degrees, stress, heartache and then joy to finally manifest into my reality.

I was briefly chatting to a brother on Facebook earlier on today. I think, in his own way, inspired me to write this blog post. He told me that what I did was an inspiration for others to follow my lead; and to also bridge the gap between the diaspora and  the motherland. I know that fear sometimes takes us out of the equation to literally step out on faith. Fear, I know, has kept me back from my dreams. But as I sit here,with the brillant sunshine pouring truimphantly  through my mosquito screen, and when I stand up, I can actuallysee the Caribbean Sea, sparkling like jewels, I give thanks to the fierce Goddess within me, that never gave up on my dreams - even when there were negative forces against my husband and myself to abandon them. I give thanks to my ancestors, to whose shoulders I balance on a daily basis, who keep me humbled.

I do not see myself as a pioneer. I just listened to my growing intuition  -which has grown even sharper whilst living in Waitukubuli. I know its the spirit of my ancestors, who are gently guiding me towards the direction that I was meant to live. My late mama was born in Nigeria, I was born in London, and I am now living in the Caribbean. Make of that what you will.

In Transition: Getting Used to my Tightly Fitted Jacket

Well, my dream has  manifested. So many times over. Regardless of the envy and begrudging attitudes of some folk ( from some sectors of my family), I am here, in the land of plenty, beautiful scenery, fresh fruit literally at my fingertips, a steady stream of sunshine, and most importantly, with my darling husband. I will always be blessed, regardless of the obstacles that some folk want to continuously  place on our positive paths!

They call Dominica the 'Nature Island', and truly, the scenic views of the landscape are amazingly awesome and breathtaking - I will touch on this in another blog post. Where we live we have the wonderful image of the Caribbean Sea just within our eyesights. Can you imagine, as I open the wooden blinds of our bedroom, gently rub my weary eyes,  stretch and rise in the early, quiet, warm morning of my newly adopted country, I can see the dazzling deep blue shimmer of the Caribbean Sea. Can you imagine the blessings that I ultimately feel living in this small island of paradise?

 



I've been in Dominica for the past month, and I was saying to my husband the other day, that  sometimes I feel that I am wearing a  tightly fitted jacket; trying to get used to its size to make sure it fits me perfectly and I am comfortable wearing it. I see this analogy as how I am adapting to this beautiful country. Sometimes there is discomfort, sometimes there's a tightness, and sometimes there's a restricted comfortableness! This is because I am still adapting to my surreal (in a sense) surroundings. I have to get used to the chilled attitudes of folk here. Eliminate my notions of efficiency, and definitely get rid of my British stiff upper lip. I mean, I was born in the UK, and as much as I have never consciously embraced my 'britishness', its still imbued deeply within me. I can't escape it. But I can eliminate the attitude and embrace my buried deep new one, my 'Caribbeaness' as such - even if my people are not from here originally.

So, over the next few months I know that my tightly fitted jacket will become much looser and will fit me so much better. Thus making  my comfort in living here relaxed, as I get used to my new surroundings. In the interim, I will be drinking in all of Dominica, like a baby being breastfed for the first time.  Still writing and being creative. Still working on my novel. Still daydreaming. Still loving. Still being positive and optimistic. Still blogging on my new experiences of living in Waitukubuli - pronounced Wa-it-tuku-buli (tall is her body) the original Kalingo name for Dominica.

As I mentioned in a previous blog, once I have settled over here I will be migrating my blog onto my own domain. I am still trying to come up with an inventive and memorable name. Any suggestions?

Watch out for my carnival tinged post soon. Carnival season is alive over here and I am excited to be a part of it as an appreciated spectator.

The Knowing: True Realisation

When I looked into his eyes, I saw my past, present and future.

We had such a bond, that I was fearful that the baggage I might have unconsciously carried from past relationships may tip my harmonious feelings into imbalance.

See, it started six years ago. I was at an apex in my life where I knew what I wanted in a relationship. I knew that I wasn’t going to find a spiritual or humble man in the domains of a social setting, where nicotine and alcohol induced fumes were mandatory. Where the pretentious ones gathered like a winding mass of uncertainty and insecure beings, looking for their next fix for one up man ship. I also knew that I had outgrown that scene. I was like a caterpillar who was seeking my own personal metamorphosis, and most importantly, I hadn't sought desperation in a long time solution of finding a man who could complete me. I was already completed. I just wanted to find my other half. Paradoxical, I know, but I felt that something was truly missing in my life. I wasn't looking to compromise at all. I just knew deep within the alcove of my mind what I wanted in a man. A strong man. I am not only talking about strength, but one where we could go the extra mile together, instead of pursuing separate agendas. Somebody who would not feel intimidated about me. Somebody who I could just be ME with; to liberate the mask that I have kept on for so many years in past relationships.

No, I was sure of what I wanted. But how was I to get to the crucial point of manifestation of a stable, spiritual, humble and honest counterpart?

Meditation and prayer sustained me in my elusive search. However, this in the long run did not keep me company - especially when I needed somebody to be my own cheerleading section. Yes, the responses I got from prayer and meditation were satisfying, but I was impatient for the manifestation to take place. I was weary of the hollow echoes that were filling my space. When would it happen? How would it happen? Would it take me by surprise? Or would it be something that be staring at me, right in the pupils of my complacent gaze?

I looked to modern technology, where I decided to become one of the millions of people out there, who utilised the cyber community to elicit a meeting of minds. Ha! Who did I think I was kidding? But I thought I’d give it a try.

Initially, I was fearful, but I kept on telling myself that fear would just leave me in the same position as before; lonely and continually searching for that elusive mate and counterpart Nonetheless, I decided to take the ultimate chance and put myself out there. I felt like the lone woman, you know, who is hanging on the ledge, waiting to take that drop and not knowing what I would see or how I would feel after I took that leap. I was stepping into the realms of the unknown. I had no idea of what type of responses I would elicit, but I decided to embrace my fears and do it anyway.

I was so glad I did.

Our meeting was inevitable. It wasn't even planned. He was my destiny and I was his. As soon as we started communicating together we spoke at union; in one voice. His struggles and challenges became my struggles and challenges. His future and what he wanted became twinned with mine. His lyrical accent reminded me of natural landscapes and his laugh was like a cool bubbling stream; it cleansed away all of the negative baggage that I carried in the past when it came to relationships. It was  around this time that I finally forgave my father for abandoning me. I was able to see the link on how I used to carry around this anger, like the well worn piece of cloth I used to carry as a young child for comfort; my security blanket. The tapestry that I embroidered with my hurt and disappointment with my father started to gradually fade away, and the colours of my threads became brighter and clearer.

His presence was so on. We meshed together like rice and peas. Egusi soup and pounded yam. He is my yin and I am his yan. We balance each other out like well oiled scales. Sometimes the scales tip more towards him and sometimes they tip towards me. We can have misunderstandings and sometimes our communication can be perplexing like a scientist trying out his first formula. But in the end, we are harmony and unity.



Now, six years later, after a lot of struggles, challenges, upheavals, envy from external forces, we will be joining in matrimony. Soon. Very soon. The whisper of our unification will come from spirit; it's gotten louder and our ears have pricked up eagerly to this whisper - but all in good time. We knew when our time would near. We knew to be patient and ask spirit to continually guide us and protect us on this sometimes tumultuous journey. However, the most vital in all of this knowing, he knows, I know, and our celebration will be a joyous occasion, shared with only folk who were there with us, unconditionally. Together with new and wondrous people that I have met recently.
I could say that our love was written in the stars, but that sounds a bit trite. So, let me just say that our evolving status, our undeniable oneness is scribed from the ancients. We knew each other before we even knew each other.



Here's to both of us, when we will be rocking in our identical rocking chairs; hands entwined so that the deep brown lines on our palms match up; soft smiles glowing on our upturned faces; caused by the splendid heat; sipping on our homemade sorrel; on our porch; in our promised land.



That's the knowing; that's the true realisation of what we have been through and how we have gathered strength, like moss on a stone, through all of this we have purified what it means to be with L*O*V*E.

Warm Memories of Commonwealth of Dominica 2009 :An Excerpt

In 2009, I had the immense pleasure of visiting Dominica, the homeland of my darling love, Enson.
I had such a wonderful time in Dominica, and looking back on some of my writings when I was there, gives me such wonderful memories and beautiful recollections of this nature island, sandwiched delicately between Guadeloupe and Martinique.

Below is an excerpt from my first week in Dominica. I may share other excerpts in my blog.

Thursday 30^th July 2009

Well, today I am writing after spending one idyllic week in Dominica. Enson, Racheal, Mario and myself are spending it in Salisbury, the village that Enson knows like a worn cardigan. Shouts of ‘Moggy’  - my King's  nickname - usually precede him everywhere he goes… it seems that he knows the entire village and they are very familiar towards him.

There are so much positive superlatives to spout about Dominica. It is a land of beauty, but abject poverty resides by the beauty. I mean that’s the reality unfortunately. However, the land and the people are extremely friendly. There are so many things to write, but permit me first to say that the sheer brilliance of the man built houses, which are literally stuck on the side of this volcanic island is a sight to see… From winding, long narrow roads, with customary potholes, large enough to accommodate a small household cat, to shacks and palatial colonial style, houses squeezed together, like rancid lemon slices, Dominica has it all.

We have washed in the pure sea – sea baths to heal our selves, redeem our souls and wash away our Eurocentric stresses. Dominica’s sea is a brilliant blue and is as clear as a freshly washed windowpane. Pebbles and the dark volcanic sand vie for attention. I must add, it’s a great exfoliater for my weary hardened European soles, and I’ve noticed that my soles, which were very dark, crusty and dry, have now started to look like a newly born baby’s bottom. Thus, to me, it’s a code, an indication telling me that I am slowly healing. I am now detoxing the dead cells that have accumulated since the year of my birth.This land has truly revitalised me. If Enson said to me that we’d be living here for good in a couple of week’s time, I would not reject the notion at all. I have fallen in love with this land. My heart and soul is of this land. I have taken on the mantle of being a Dominican by proxy.

Now off to enjoy this wonderful and brilliant sun as it deepens the melanin content of my skin!

Political Thoughts on the Nature Island, aka Commonwealth of Dominica

"Oui Papa!" "Malaway!"



My husband is a proud Dominican. He lives for Dominica. He inhales and exhales for Dominica. His roots in so many variations are attached to Dominica. He simply loves Dominica. Period. He wants to return like tomorrow to his beloved country. Wherever he goes, I will follow. For his footsteps and mine are the same. Different shoe size, but I guess you know what I mean. I love Dominca. Its the place where my husband and I will be returning to very, very soon by the Grace of Spirit.

It's a small island, populated by approx 70,000, bordered by nature, hemmed in by verdant shades of green, tropical rainforests and stunning scenery. However, the current political climate is rotten, like the fallen mangoes found on the long and winding roads and steep precipes in the Nature Island.

The above italic words, translated in French and in creole French respectively means 'Yes Father!' and 'Poor People!' These are the words that are currently being muttered in complete frustration and weary exasperation by Dominicans - at home or abroad whenever confronted about the continual lies and all out blatant lack of transparency and governance within Dominican politics.

I am presently listening to Q95FM, which is a popular radio station in Dominica, and the voices that have been calling for Roosevelt Skerrit's resignation is getting louder and louder. The voices are rising to a cacaphony due to the allegations that he was not truthful to the citizens of Dominica about his dual citizenship of French and Dominica. Basically, to give a brief overview (click on the title of this blog for further information), according to an investigative journalist, Lennox Linton, the PM has caused a constitutional dilemma, where he had dual citizenship and only denounced it in February 2010 - he was still PM in 2009 and in fact, has been the heralded, youthful Prime Minister from 2005. Did you know that Skerrit is the youngest PM in the world? I guess that is where is lack of insight and wisdom comes from. Now, I'm not suggesting that his youth leaves him without these qualities, but surely, knowing full well what the Constitution stipulates, was he not even aware of this issue? Or was he being invincible?
According to the Dominican constitution, one is not allowed to serve two countries (and correct me if I'm wrong, this is indicative everywhere else when becoming a prime minister of a country). However, Roosevelt Skerrit was re-elected in December 2009 and stated that 'no constition, no law' can stop him from becoming a prime minister.
This is the latest controversy to stick to Roosevelt Skerrit, hence the rising chorus of getting him to resign. Check the below youtube clip regarding his illegal purchasing of villas:




Since these allegations, there has been no public statement from him. I wonder how he and his cronies will spin this ONE.