Photo: Landscape of Memory by monkeyinfez

Once more my vision is warped
By an invisible force which does not exist.
No bars
No walls
No gaping chasms
To separate me from my dream.
Yet I am still separated from my dream.
Distanced from myself
Walled into myself
Afraid.

Afraid to step beyond what I can perceive.
Afraid to step beyond that I am deceived.
Afraid to step beyond what I think others think
Of me.

So I am boxed in
In a cage of film
Just watching the world go by.
How it ought to be
In my mind.
I rewind
I start over
I change what I want
To suit what I think others think I need.

Oh if I could only break through
This film strip in front me eyes!
The lies
The tales
My story
Their story.
And see for real
And live for real
What I know I need to do.

If only I could rip apart
This thin
Invisible
Non-existent barrier
That separates me from my dream.
I’ve seen it so many times
On this film strip
Played over
And over
And over again.
Until I sigh
For to me it’s just a movie.

__________________

Marcus King
Born and raised in Barbados, Marcus King began writing at an early age and has found joy in developing thoughts and ideas into works of art. He has written frequently in The Edit magazine as a student at Glasgow Caledonian University and holds a BSc in Mathematics. He is currently pursuing an MSc in Risk Management. Blogs: The Silver Chair & From The Journal. Twitter: @gsucram

The best cure for spiritual exile is to go home. And so that’s what I did this spring break. Well, sort of. Instead of traveling to my ancestral home of Brooklyn, I went to California with two missions in mind: eat well and chill hard. My first stop was Oakland and Miss Ollie’s, a pan-Caribbean restaurant in that city’s slowly but surely gentrifying downtown corridor.

Growing up, eating out wasn’t a thing my family did. My parents cooked every night from a menu my father painstakingly typed and posted on the fridge each week. Saturday nights, my stepmother declared her kitchen closed for business. Those nights, we ate out from one of four places – the Chinese spot around the corner, the best pizza parlor this side of Nostrand Avenue where you could buy a slice with a subway token, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Danny & Pepper, the rightfully famous jerk chicken spot on Flatbush Avenue. Put simply, eating out was something that white people did, and something we did sparingly. Even then, eating out meant buying food and bringing it home to eat it together.

Sarah Kirnon chef/owner

The result of this relationship to home cooking is that I came to think (and still do) that my parents’ food was the best. And even though my assimilation has meant that I now enjoy eating out, I still look sideways at Caribbean restaurants. I make a few exceptions – Allan’s Bakery, the dueling Ali’s roti shops in Bed-Stuy and Flatbush. So when I heard about Sarah Kirnon’s experiments in Caribbean cooking in Oakland,from her partner (a dear friend of mine), I was both excited and suspicious. Given that Oakland is not exactly known for a bustling Caribbean community with a discerning palate to crown or refute champions of their cuisine, I wondered how this would go.

That said, my experience at Miss Ollie’s, named after Kirnon’s Bajan grandmother, did not disappoint. The first night, I ate pepperpot (oxtails included) and the most incredibly prepared ground provisions. I thought I’d been transported to the upper room when I bit into the fried chicken – perfectly crispy, piping hot, and with a burst of herbs cooked right into its flesh. It wouldn’t be saying too much to write that this was the best fried chicken I’ve ever had.

The next evening was an entirely different spread – perfectly sweetened bakes and saltfish (a take on the Trini staple buljol), fried plantains with garlic aioli, greens with just the right amount of bitterness and texture to make eating them seem the opposite of a chore, and the piece de resistance, rice and peas with freshly grated coconut.

The creole doughnuts at Miss Ollie’s I think, are something everyone should eat before they die. They had me wanting to kiss the cook. With the role of cook’s kisser taken, I decided to just take one more bite to solidify my gastric memory, and vow to never, ever forget the way I got to taste home so far away from my parents’ kitchen.

All Photographs, taken at Miss Ollie’s by Eric Wolfinger

 __________________

A. Naomi Jackson was born and raised in Brooklyn by West Indian parents. She is currently studying fiction at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She traveled to South Africa on a Fulbright scholarship, where she received an M.A. in Creative Writing from the University of Cape Town. She is currently working on her first novel, Star Side of Bird Hill.

..~~~..

After viewing the short film, Shadeism, and using it in a body image workshop at Camp Glow last summer, I was very excited to meet up with the creator Nayani Vathsaladevi-Thiyagarajah this morning. We shared our stories over much needed hot drinks at Rachel’s Coffee House on Yonge St. Nayani’s parents immigrated from Sri Lanka as refugees in the 80′s. Growing up in a city as culturally diverse as Toronto she describes her reality as one that is filled with many second mothers hailing from Jamaica to Somalia. Her own mom has spoken to this blessing by saying, ”You guys have come here and now you have family all over the world.” Nayani takes her love and responsibility to this global family seriously and has worked as part of a number of collective creation projects with youth, using art to make her communities stronger. She is a part of T-Dot Renaissance a collective of emerging and interdisciplinary artists, working and rooted in Toronto, hailing from all over the global south. In fact, the founder Amanda Parris is of Grenadian background (and is featured in Shadeism).

Artists of T-Dot Renaissance

Nayani pursing a Masters in Interdisciplinary Studies at York University but has no ambition of being bogged down in academia. She is hands on and all about being the ground level and making an impact from there. I spoke about my work as a yoga teacher and the way I see it as a small act of revolution. This lead us to discuss the necessity of nurturing and healing on both individual and collective levels. Then she dug into her bag and pulled out a book that looked incredible, The Radical Doula Guide by Miriam Zoila Pérez. Whether through film, community art projects, potentially becoming a doula or a combination of these modalities, Nayani’s desire is to support women of color in honing their voices and trusting both their voices and their bodies again.

Support Nayani’s vision by donation and/or spreading the word about her campaign to make Shadeism into a feature length documentary. ONLY 5 DAYS LEFT!

Follow Shadeism

__________________

Malaika Brooks-Smith-Lowe
Co-Founder Groundation Grenada
Malaika Brooks-Smith-Lowe is a Grenadian contemporary artist and activist. She is director of public Relations at The Grenada Goat Dairy Project. She is also co-founder of Spice Harmony Yoga Studio in Calivigny St.George, Grenada. Malaika is a certified yoga teacher, holds a BA in Studio Art from Smith College and is pursuing her MA in Cultural Studies through University of the West Indies.

Happy International Women’s Day!

 P.S. International Women’s Day Mixtape?!

International Women’s Day is an important day for many of us. It provides each of us with an opportunity to reflect on all the critical contributions women around the world have made. Acknowledging these contributions, and in the spirit of sisterhood and solidarity DJ Afifa and Amina Doherty, two other incredible women making waves in the Caribbean, have once again come together to co-create a compilation of music that honours the voices of some truly brilliant womyn artists. Get the FREE DOWNLOAD of the SO((U))LHERVERE mixtape at Follow Her Footsteps.

__________________

Malaika Brooks-Smith-Lowe
Co-Founder Groundation Grenada
Malaika Brooks-Smith-Lowe is a Grenadian contemporary artist and activist. She is director of public Relations at The Grenada Goat Dairy Project. She is also co-founder of Spice Harmony Yoga Studio in Calivigny St.George, Grenada. Malaika is a certified yoga teacher, holds a BA in Studio Art from Smith College and is pursuing her MA in Cultural Studies through University of the West Indies.

Human Rights Panel Discussion on Marginalized and Vulnerable Populations

DPHPM Conference Room

St. George’s University

Friday March 8, 2013

 2:00pm – 4:00pm

Error of Repetition (Where are You?), 2011 by Titus Kaphar

 

This inaugural discussion will focus on lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender (LGBT) health, stigma, rights, and violations in Grenada and around the world.
This event is open to the public and refreshments will be served.

Dr. Peter Gamache, a Visiting Professor from the Turnaround Achievement Network located in New Orleans, Louisiana, USA will facilitate the discussion. In terms of the format for the event, the first part of the discussion will focus on understanding the needs of the LGBT community, and the second would center on discussing the feasibility of next steps for research, advocacy, and policy by using structural change objectives.

We look forward to seeing you there on Friday!  In the meantime, take in this music video for ”Minority” by award-winning Namibian acoustic soul artist, Shishani. Its smooth melody and straight forward lyrics are a call for justice and equality of all people regardless of differences.

Labour Day – New York
by amataiclaudius (flickr)

You would be hard pressed to find a Caribbean person who doesn’t have family or friends who have migrated to another country or who hasn’t migrated themselves. So when we got word about this year’s United Nations (UN) World Youth Report (WYR) on Youth Migration and Development we chose to spread the word. There is a unique way for YOU to be involved! Keep reading to find out about this fresh opportunity to do small creative project that will actually make a big impact. This is also a great idea for teachers to consider sharing with their students. Comment & let us what you think and also tell us if you participate!

The World Youth Report seeks to offer a multidimensional account and/or perspective of the life experiences of young migrants and young people affected by migration. To learn more about it click here.

According to a UN report, young people represent a major proportion of those migrating annually given that in many cases, the age range 18 to 29 accounts for between 36 per cent and 57 per cent of international migrants.

The Report aims to highlight some of the concerns, challenges and successes experienced by young migrants and other young people affected by migration (i.e. including sons and daughters of migrants (second generation), young people left behind by migrant parents in countries of origin, return migrants,etc.), from their own perspectives, based on their own experience, and in their own voice.

Airport by marcovdz (flickr)

The survey is closed BUT the UN is inviting young people to contribute paintings, animations and photographs to the Report!

Submissions should highlight:

• The positive and negative impacts of international or internal migration, in a sending or a receiving country and how his has affected your family, your community, or, your country.

• You can address these through: a social and economic perspective (for instance, increased opportunities for young people, brain gain and remittances versus mass youth migration, brain drain and undocumented migration).

• What young people and youth organizations are doing to address the negative impacts of migration and also to enhance the benefits of youth migration in their communities or countries.

Send us your media contents to youth@un.org no later than 10 March 2013.

Photos

Photos submitted by participants should capture youth in migration or youth-left behind by migrant parents (in different places and under various conditions) in a creative and original manner. Young photographers are invited to focus specifically on migrant conditions, gender issues, discrimination, irregular migration processes, migration to cities, poverty and its linkages with migration, among other issues. You can also send us photos that illustrate young people taking action on migration and development issues. Please email your photos to youth@un.org with the subject line: UN World Youth Report – Photos.

Illustrated Front Cover

This is a challenge for a great young artist or illustrator: we are looking for a really striking image that reflects the theme of youth migration; use your imagination to create an image that will make others understand how young people are affected by migration and why migration is an issue of concern for young people. Please email your submissions to youth@un.org with the subject line: UN World Youth Report – Illustrated Front Cover

Source: Get Animated – UN World Youth Report

Malaika & Mimi Chiq talking about Maroon Retreats on Chit Chat talk show.

After a trial run last year we are excited to officially announce and offer you Maroon Retreats, Groundation’s collaboration with Chiq Haven!  These retreats are designed to bring people together in a spirit of collective growth. Our vision is to  create spaces for the people of our beautiful country to nurture themselves and  connect with others that, perhaps, they may not have connected with otherwise. Everyone is welcome so we already have a variety of visitors and primarily local residents registered.

Mimi Chiq, the founder of Chiq Haven, is a certified massage therapist and our co-founder, Malaika Brooks-Smith-Lowe, is a certified yoga instructor. Together they, and the teams that they gather for each retreat, will offer a rich experience that is affordable and full of positive  vibrations. It is a movement of positivity really. 

Nuff said for now because we only have 7 spots left for this Sunday’s Maroon Retreat at Mango Bay Cottages in Woodford, St.John! We are so thrilled to be linked up with Mango Bay for this, owners Syisha & Peggy Williams have a holistic vision that is in sync with what we are aiming for. For little more than the cost of a full body massage, see what  you get at Maroon Retreat below. Consider joining us this Sunday. We would love to connect with you.

P.S. Why “Maroon”? Well Maroons were people who ran away from enslavement and created self-sufficient societies particularly in places like Jamaica and Guyana, which had the vast mountains to secure them. In Grenada, the concept of Maroon evolved to refer to a spirit of people coming together in a village effort to get things done. So for instance, someone might hold a maroon to build a fence around there house inviting people to lend their time to the effort. In situations like this there is often a communal pot being cooked and drinks to share so it is both productive and social. It is in this spirit of community that we bring you Maroon Retreats.

Photography by Sandra&herWeirdness♥

On a recent cold February day, I found myself jamming to Burning Flames “Workie” while a pot of oxtail cooked down on the stove. This would not under any other circumstances be an event of any note except for a few key facts.

I live in Iowa City where I am in my last semester of a two-year bid at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. I moved here from the West Indian section of Brooklyn, Flatbush. To say that moving to Iowa has been a process of cultural disorientation would be an understatement.

For nine years before I moved here, I was a vegetarian. My descent into meat eating began on a trip to Chicago when I was offered a plate of fried whiting and white rice I couldn’t refuse. And despite my best efforts to regain my meatless status, backsliding has had me eating bacon and all other manner of meats ever since.

Third, before Iowa, I never cooked. My mom will proudly tell anyone that I make a mean curry goat. But this statement is both overly generous and possibly false. She taught me how to brown, pepper and cook curry goat when I was twelve. I haven’t made it again since that home-economics induced cooking fervor during the spring of seventh grade, which she still looks back fondly upon.

So, all that is to say that a serious case of nostalgia and transformed life circumstances led me to the Saturday afternoon when I was singing Burning Flames’ hits from my summer trips home to Antigua for carnival and cooking oxtail stew. As I browned the meat, chopped the vegetables, and then poured red wine and beef broth into the pot before I set it to simmer, I was making Saturday lunch. But more importantly, I was conjuring home, specifically the Brooklyn kitchen where my Antiguan father and Jamaican stepmother regularly make the best souse, macaroni and cheese pie, homemade bread, and black cake this side of the Atlantic, according to this decidedly biased observer.

Going home is another three months away for me. But after conferring with a couple writer friends, West Indians similarly marooned in this Midwest outpost, about the best places to buy oxtail and plantains, lamenting the fact that I’ve yet to find the Bajan veg staple, okra, I felt less alone knowing that just a few blocks away, other children of the same sea were, each in their own way, summoning home into their kitchens and onto the page.

Results

Ahhh, so you want to know how this thing tasted? Well, it didn’t turn out as planned. I’m hardheaded and so I didn’t cook down the stew for the three hours the Internet recipe suggested or the five-six hours my mom recommended. But I ate it. More importantly, when I came home that night, my house smelled like my parents’ house in Brooklyn. And that scent alone was worth the effort.

 __________________

A. Naomi Jackson was born and raised in Brooklyn by West Indian parents. She is currently studying fiction at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She traveled to South Africa on a Fulbright scholarship, where she received an M.A. in Creative Writing from the University of Cape Town. She is currently working on her first novel, Star Side of Bird Hill.

I began writing Sola and Judith’s story in November 2012 as part of the nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge. I wrote 50,000 words in 30 days and gave birth to an evolving first draft that explores the complicated lives of two soul spirit women. Sola and Judith discover the cost of love through the deep conditioned assumptions, attitudes, beliefs and behaviors they and the world around them hold. It is a story of unraveling  universal isms within all of us. I am honoured to share a small piece of their story with you. Please send any comments and/or feedback below!

Sola gets tired of Judith but not too tired and never for long. Like the time Judith came to the house with a stack of pictures in a plastic bag looped around her wrist, photos of the island to show her mom. As if Dolma didn’t know what the island looked like after fifteen years. Judith doesn’t bring the photos out right away but places them on the couch with her. She places them like a purse but her purse is on the ground and the photos cradled to her side. Sola guesses Judith wants them close in case her mother needs proof that Judith too is an island girl even though she doesn’t speak nor look like an island girl, well not the island girls her mother is used to. Dolma takes to her right away as Sola predicted. She is bothered that her mother seems to like her white friends more than her black friends even though Judith isn’t white not like the white girls Sola goes to school with. Judith is the color of honey, the kind of honey made by the fairer set of bees. As soon as Sola brings anyone home darker than milk tea Dolma chases them in circles with questions like, “Who’s your favorite player for West Indies? Dolma assumes these friends darker than light know cricket even if their third and fourth generation ancestors rose from the same Big Island Dolma and Sola temporary occupy. “Ok then name me any favorite player on any world cricket team?” And then last chance “Who’s the no. one cricket team in the world?” By this time Sola’s non-white friends are so fearful of getting it wrong again they freeze. Dolma’s dismay is worn in a long stupes and flip of the eyes before leaving the room.

When Judith and Sola first step onto the elevator, Sola is convinced the smell from the apartment will greet them on the first floor, a mixture of fried fish and raw tobacco. Shy liked to mix tobacco with his weed and always more tobacco than weed. Sola feels she is incased in the smells of their small airless apartment. She wears an array of incense oils to cover up the smells, the same oils Judith complains about incessantly.

“I always get a headache when you wear too much oil. It’s too much Sola. You only need a little. It’s not creme you rubbing your skin with you know.”

Sola wants to wipe the island dialect clean from Judith’s tongue, tell Judith to mind her own fucking business. Instead, Sola ignores her like she ignores the cat next door. Sola would rather smell like an incense stick burning then the stink of Shy’s tobacco, the tobacco he insists on smoking knowing Dolma has trouble breathing even on her good days. She is embarrassed by the smell even before they reach the third floor, even before Dolma’s head pokes out the apartment door and fires the first question, “So where you was? You never say anything about staying out all night!”

“Dolma this is Judith. Judith Dolma. And yes I told Shy I was out for the night!”

Dolma doesn’t hear Sola. She has transformed from a worried mother to a woman who wishes she had time to wrap her hair and brush her teeth. “So this is Judith. You never tell me Judith different from the rest of your friends?” Sola has forgotten the smell of fish and tobacco and now worries about her mother revealing her true white obsessed people loving self.

“Mom. What the ass you talking about!”

With her own blush of embarrassment Dolma turns to Sola, “Watch your mouth girl!”

Sola knows this is for Judith because Sola can talk to Dolma any way she wants as long as she doesn’t dis the West Indies team or her mothers’ island politics.

Sola is conscious of the crampness of the flat. Wouldn’t be so cramped she thinks if Dolma didn’t insist on keeping every knick knack bought or given to them over the years this combined with Christmas decorations still up even though it’s mid-August. The bright red chili light strewn over the thickly draped windows and the holiday cards floating on a string strung from one shelf to the next provokes feelings of last year’s Christmas, a holiday one would rather forget. In the blend are pictures of King Selassie, African lions, fists of black power, and outlines of African maps and Queens. The Ethiopian flag on one side the Island’s flag on the next; red, green, gold cloth pinned to the wall; a variety of indigenous masks and tokens scattered throughout the main room. Woven in between Africa is Jesus. Pictures of a white man holding a lamb in his arms, another picture of a black man on a crucifix with blood falling from nails and thorns; proverbs laced in flowers “the LORD is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear?” Collaged on top of this are small statues of domestic animals like dogs and cats, horses and rabbits and a larger statue of pretty white kids, girls and boys with balloons in their hands. Just when you think the colors of the house would cease neon pink and green flowers poke their heads from various corners of the room begging for attention. And in the middle of it all a glass bowl full of red, green and silver Hershey kisses.

Judith doesn’t notice any of it. She is sitting on the couch with her photos tight by her side and Dolma watching her, noticing her, noticing something different but can’t seem to pin it. One thing for certain Dolma does not like the dreadlocks on this white girl’s head and she can’t help but stare at every wild piece of loose hair gathering like branches after a storm. But she is willing to let go because this is the only white friend Sola has ever brought home.

Dolma can’t think of what to ask Judith so she offers her a drink,

“You want to taste some mauby?”

“Oh yes please I love mauby!” Judith says a little too fast a little too excited.

Dolma loves the politeness falling out of Judith’s mouth and she loves that this is the first white person she knows who likes mauby. Judith asks for a second glass and this may mean Judith will never have to take the photos out. And this may mean Dolma will forgive the unkept dreads on Judith’s head.

Sola never mentioned to Dolma that Judith was also from the island and in fact lived there full time when not at school on Big Island.

“Sola I can’t believe you never tell me about Judith oui! Whose your folks? What part of the island you living?”

But before Judith has a chance to answer, Dolma is talking again,

“What happened to you Sola? Out of all your friends this is the one I want to meet. And yes I can see now that you is mixed. Look at your nose that’s a real African nose. And now I see the hair. I thought you fix your hair to look wild so but seems as though you have the African hair too! And I thought you one of those folks who like to sit in the sun but I see now that aint no tan but your natural color!”

Sola waits for Judith to say something. Judith is sitting on the couch, a darker shade of fair honey and an expression that says, what do I say now. Judith knows too well how fragile acceptance can be when it comes to both Big Island and Small Island friends.

“Come on child, tell me where your people from.” Dolma sings

“Well my mom is from here and dad is from the north part of the island, Top Village.”

“Eh eh! What d hell is this. My daddy’s people from up there too you know. What’s your father’s name?”

“Mitchel.”

“So why you so white? Sorry but yous not black that’s for sure. Is your dad red skin? He coolie? Mixed?”

“Nah he black like you. Same color.”

The look on Dolma’s face, from sunshine to grey,

“I aint black child, I more brown than black. Sola is the black one of the family.” Dolma’s eyes roll and a small stupes falls from under her tongue.

“Anyways never mind that. You real come out fair oui! Eh Eh! Well your Daddy’s genes weak!”

Dolma’s belly is shaking with delight when the last comment pops out,

“Eh Eh! Well Your daddy make a white nigga!

Sola grabs two hershey kisses and heads to the door,

“I am gone. You coming Judith?”

“Why don’t we catch the late movie and hang out with your mom a little longer.”

“Well you can stay if you want but I out of here.”

Dolma reassures Judith that she doesn’t need Sola to stay.

Sola knows by the way Judith moves slowly, lazily that she is annoyed. Judith knows too that if she doesn’t follow her there will be conflict and Judith avoids conflict like she avoids her own mother.

“Ok Ms. Dolma. So nice meeting you. Thanks for the mauby. Hope to see you again soon.”

Ya well don’t be a stranger. And you don’t need Sola to come and visit!”

On the way to the theatre Sola decides she wants to go home.

“How you mean?” Judith says.

“What do you mean how you mean?” Sola says hard like candy.

“Why do you do that Sola?” Judith asks in a loud whisper.

“Do what?”

“Make fun of the way I talk.”

“I aint making fun. I am not making fun!”

“Just because you work hard at maintaining the Queen’s English Sola you don’t have to put that shit on me.”

“What shit you talking about?”

“As if our Small Island tongue is inappropriate. Less then. Deserving of jokes and critique.”

“What the fuck are you talking about Judith? You always talking about something in your complicated way and then you want to use words that don’t fit!”

“Fit what Sola?”

“You!”

A few blocks pass before Judith breaks the silence,

“What happened Sola? Ever since we walked into your home you’ve been pissed off.”

“Ya well you damn irritating. ‘Thank you Ms. Dolma’, ‘I love mauby Ms. Dolma’, ‘Yes my Daddy’s people come from the village Ms. Dolma’, ‘Yes I love fish cakes Ms. Dolma.’ My ass you love fish cakes. You told me the other day fish cakes make you sick!”

“Well sorry I irritate you. I want your mom to like me that’s all. What’s wrong with that?”

“Well she going to like you regardless Judith. You is white and she like white folks.”

Sola watches Judith’s shoulders fold in slightly as they walk down the road to the movie theatre. Let her feel shrunk, Sola thinks, it’s not my problem. She always feel she have everything just right. Well she don’t. They walk closer and closer to the theatre. The night air cool and crisp. The wind shaking up the trees. Leaves falling even though they have another month to go before autumn arrives. Sola feels like walking for the rest of the evening. She wants to be alone without the burden of Judith’s shrunken mood. People watch the two of them walking. Always someone is watching them. One white with her hair wrapped in bright African cloth and the other black with hair pulled back tight and orderly.

 __________________

Maureen St.Clair is an artist, peace educator, and social activist. She holds a Master’s degree in Adult Education with a focus on women’s self and community empowerment through participatory education. St. Clair began painting shortly after completing her thesis, inspired by the strength, courage, and power witnessed daily by women world-wide and in particular Caribbean women. St. Clair has lived in Grenada for the past 20 years and planted her own Grenadian roots with the birth of her daughter, Maya in 2001 with Grenadian partner, Theo St. Clair. St. Clair has always had a passion for writing and in November 2012 she began writing her first novel. You can check her peace and artwork out at www.maureenstclair.com and her writing at www.maureenstclair.blogspot.com

Photography by Sabriya Simon

Groundation is excited to announce our collaboration with Spice Harmony Yoga Studio as part of a global call to action, One Billion Rising! Tomorrow is V-day, 14th February, and it also marks to day that one billion people will RISE up! St. Lucia, Guyana, UWI Cave Hill, Bahamas, London Diaspora, Antigua & Barbuda, and SGU are RISING (just to name a few)!

AND at 4:30pm we will RISE too!

We are RISING because One Billion women will be raped or beaten in their lifetime. That is 1 in 3 of our mothers, friends, co-workers, girlfriends, sisters, wives, aunties and grandmothers.

Source: One Billion Rising Barbados’ Page

We are RISING because our men are also suffering in this culture of violence.

Source: One Billion Rising Barbados’

We are RISING because our generation has the power to break the cycle.

Join Us!

Spread the Word!

4:30pm Camerhogne Park

Wear Red or Pink

(no previous yoga experience required, promise!)