Dominica's Presents - Alison's reflections

When I was six I planned my own birthday party. It was going to be magnificent – magic show at ten, swimming at eleven and hot dogs at noon. I’m sure there were specific minutes attached to the hours just to appeal to my sense of order. There was only one problem. My guests didn’t follow my schedule. They wanted to swim before the magic show. They wanted me to open gifts immediately. “You guys aren’t getting it!” I protested. The heat came up from my heart and into my cheeks. For the next two hours I cajoled my friends back to my plan. I was not smiling. As the magic show wrapped up, I burst into tears, unable to hold back the dam of frustration any longer. I never got to open my presents.

We arrive in Dominica and I do not feel ready for the sensory assault. The garbage, the potholes, the inability to get email. I feel frustration grabbing hold of me. Each year the events of the winter offer something different that I take on this journey. Last year, it was Switzerland. This year, there are many convergences. I am packed but not ready to be here. My schedule isn’t aligning with the plane tickets. I should connect with a few more clients. I need to see Sara. I want a little more time on the phone. “Your rental car was in an accident so we’ll have to give you this truck,” we are told on arrival. I sit in the front seat and feel our bags jostle in the truck bed behind, fully expecting them to bounce off the back with the bumps. “The Layou River has washed out the road. We need to drive around it. It will take some extra time.” I am six years old. I want the magic show first. The heat is rising. Wilson drives on, talking calmly.

“It wasn’t even a tropical storm that created this wreckage,” he informs me. “I have lived here my whole life and I have never seen anything like it…it was just ordinary showers.” His face is without emotion as he tells me 7 cars washed into the river when the dam burst. “Houses that survived Hurricane David were wiped out and everything in them swept away.” I look around at the solidness of Dominica: the thick vegetation, the strong bodies, rich soil. It was unimaginable. “But that’s nature,” Wilson concludes.

That’s nature? That’s it? You sit back and just let things get washed away? By ordinary showers, no less? I am a fierce protector of what I hold close: friendships, kid snuggles, beach rocks, words that resonate. I do not let anything precious get washed away. The magic show has to come first. It has to. “The dam burst,” says Wilson. “The river washed the bridge away.” So now what? I ask as we bump along the road. “We rebuild,” he tells me with no dramatic effect. “That’s nature. You need to move with it.”

Ah, I get it. Dominica’s first lesson. It’s primary lesson. My schedule doesn’t matter. Dams burst. Parents die. Friends get sick. People come into your life at unexpected times. “That’s nature.” I feel the heat leave my cheeks. I look around and see the garbage piles by the side of the road as the vestiges of Carnival instead of merely the disrespectful marring of beauty. Rebuild. It’s OK to swim before the magic show. “That’s nature.” If I practice moving with it, maybe this time I’ll actually get to open my presents.