The Other Side of Hope: Film Reviews from the Curaçao Film Festival #ciffr

The Other Side of Hope, a film from Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki about a Syrian immigrant in Finland and officially labeled a comedy (more on that below), was the opening film for the Curaçao film festival on Wednesday April 5th. When we were making our selections for the festival, I marked this one as a must-see: immigration, especially from Syria, has taken a prominent role in news and debates worldwide, and after my dushi spewed a few anti-immigration sentiments (on which I swooped down like a rapacious bird of prey, no mercy, no quarter, until I saw a dawning light of reason in his eyes), I thought a story such as this one might help elucidate some of the finer points in the refugee-crisis dispute.

The #WATWB June Edition: Celebrating Diversity

Love rules!!!!

June 30th, was a landmark day for Europe. The German parliament voted to legalize same-sex marriage after an emotional, if brief, debate that resulted in a 393-vs.-226 vote in favor. After three decades of the struggle for equality, and especially given the present rise of conservative policies worldwide, this victory for equality comes as a beautiful, and much-needed, source of hope for a more inclusive climate everywhere. As one member of the German parliament put it during the opening debate, with the legalization of gay marriage "many will receive something, but nobody will have something taken away.” (Thomas Oppermann, parliamentary leader of the Social Democrats)

June 30th also brought cause for celebration on a more personal, but still related, note: my dushi celebrated 20 years since coming to live in Curaçao. He never imagined, back then, that he'd stay on this rock so long; like most financial services employees, he came to the island with a three-year contract, and he hadn't given much thought to what he'd do after. But Curaçao won him over rather quickly. People who had arrived around the same time he did began leaving: to other financial centers, back to Holland, or changing career tacks, marrying and moving away... And, year after year, farewell party after farewell party, Cor stayed. He was offered a couple of good opportunities elsewhere, but—for one reason or another—he ended up turning them down. (Which was a good thing; otherwise we might never have met.)

Curaçao does that to some people. Not to everyone, maybe not even to the majority of expats and immigrants who come here. Lots of people have a hard time with the island; many never adapt, several can't wait for their contract to be up so they can leave. The smallness, the endemic limitations, the heat, you name it: there are plenty of reasons to dislike living here. But, for some of us, the cons can't hold a candle to the pros.

The pros might seem obvious; we're a Caribbean island, after all. Sun, sea, flip-flops and shorts, seafood and ice-cold beer, feet in the sand, cocktails with umbrellas in them. Not to undervalue these, but... well, pretty much any seaside destination offers variations thereof. No, what makes Curaçao special—truly special—has to do with diversity. Over 50 nationalities live here; all religions are present, all cultures, all colors. Just imagine the variety of delicious cuisine we have! And food becomes a metaphor for all sorts of wonderful things. No, Curaçao is no melting pot; that would imply a homogeneity of flavor and texture that would become antithesis to diversity. Food, however, says it best: flavors meet in combinations that build on each other, that borrow from each other not just to improve but to broaden the experience. Our experience. Our selves.

Today, July 2nd, the island is celebrating Dia di Bandera (Flag Day), and our new Prime Minister—a man who stands for diversity and inclusivity—posted this message on his Facebook page:

TRANSLATION FROM PAPIAMENTU (mine): "Our island is very diverse. People from different origins, cultures, and religions, together forming a nation which is unique. Which lives from union, united in our diversity. We are proud to live together with each other, here in our dushi Curaçao. Let's keep caring for and supporting each other, so that we can all continue prospering, together under one flag. Happy Flag Day."

And this year it's an especially happy celebration for Kòrsou: our soccer team won the Caribbean Cup last week—for the first time! EVER! It was the first time they even made it to the final. That footage in Mr. Prime Minister's video above showing the crowds waving little flags are from the welcome the team got at the airport Tuesday evening. Yes, we're very, very proud of them. 

Celebrations at Brionplein last Tuesday, when the Curaçao soccer team returned to the island after winning the Caribbean Cup — for the first time in history!

But I digress. The point I'm trying to make here is about diversity, and about how sharing space—a city, a nation, a life—with others, with very different others, is no impossible dream. Curaçao is living proof of that. This island is far from perfect—same-sex marriage, for instance, is still not legal here—and there's certainly room for improvement on all sorts of areas (corruption is a big, big problem; illegal immigration is, too, and there's still a lot of unresolved conflict with Holland), but the thing that makes Curaçao different from other diverse places is the attitude. In Curaçao, difference is normal. No one expects anyone else to be the same as they are. Diversity in background and religion is a given; people take it in stride, take it even for granted: everyone is different. It's not just how it is, but how it should be. And people here do, mostly, get the enormous benefits of a diverse society. 

I have hope that the world will, one day, not too far away, take the hint and follow the example.

Curaçao's national anthem (original Papiamentu, with the English translation—mine, don't quote me—in italics):

Lantá nos bos ban kanta
     Raise our voices to sing
grandesa di Kòrsou;
     the greatness of Curaçao
Kòrsou, isla chikitu,
     Curaçao, small island,
baranka den laman!
     cliffs at arm's reach
Kòrsou, nos ta stima bo
      Curaçao, we love you
ariba tur nashon.
      above all nations.
Bo gloria nos ta kanta
      Your glory we sing
di henter nos kurason.
      with our whole heart.
Nos pueblo tin su lucha,
      Our people have our struggles,
ma semper nos tin fé
      but always we have faith
di logra den tur tempu
      we'll achieve every time
viktoria ku trabou!
      victory with our toils!
Ban duna di nos parti
     Let's do our part
p'e isla prosperá.
     so the island may prosper.
Laga nos uni forsa
     Let us join forces
p'asina triunfá.
     in order to triumph.
Nos patria nos ta demostrá
     To our homeland we show
Honor i lealtat,
     honor and loyalry,
meskos na e bandera
     same as we do to our flag
union di nos nashon.
     union of our nation.
Nos bida lo ta poko
      Our life is a small thing
pa duna nos pais,
     to give to our country,
luchando uní pa libertat,
     fighting together for freedom,
amor i komprenshon.
     love, and understanding.
I ora nos ta leu fo'i kas
     And when we are far from home
nos tur ta rekordá
     we all remember
Kòrsou, su solo i playanan,
     Curaçao, its sun and beaches,
orguyo di nos tur.
     pride of us all.
Laga nos gloria Kreador
     Let us give glory to the Creator
tur tempu i sin fin,
     always and endlessly,
k'El a hasi nos digno
     that He has made us worthy
DI TA YU DI KÒRSOU!
     OF BEING CHILDREN OF CURAÇAO!

This post is part of the We Are The World monthly blog hop, an effort to change the focus of our ill-riddled world to hope and positivity, hosted by the most excellent Damyanti Biswas, of Daily Write fame, and co-hosted this month by Belinda Witzenhausen,  Lynn Hallbrooks, Michelle Wallace, Sylvia McGrath, Sylvia Stein

The Drawbacks of Paradise

I do love Curaçao. I love living here, I love its 'prickly kind of beauty', its contrasts, its contradictions. To me, this tiny island that so few people have heard of -- and of those who have, most relate it to a blue orangey-tasting liquor -- is paradise.

But paradise, any paradise, comes with drawbacks. And, depending on who you are and what you love, the drawbacks and their relevance to you may vary:

#Cherished: If This Teddy Could Talk...

On a bookshelf behind my desk, out of sight unless you know where to look, sits a toy koala bear. He's old, dusty, and faded. The hair on his ears is matted. His eyes are scratched, and the tan felt of one eyelid has peeled off. The plastic pear he wears as a nose needs to be glued back on. Again. And yet his grin remains. A tad sardonic maybe--not surprising, given the degree of abandonment he's put up with. But there's real bonhomie, too. Good-natured patience. I'm here, that grin seems to say. Whenever you remember.

Is there anything as sad as a forgotten once-beloved toy? These cast-offs speak of lost childhoods, changing priorities, the ephemeral nature of our attachments, even the ones that feel, at the time, forged in steel. Most of all, I suppose, these little personalities -- for who can deny them that bit of humanity? -- remind us of the selves we've left behind.

X + Y + Z -- Three (Last) Quirks of #Curaçao (#AtoZChallenge 2015)

X-ing

In Curaçao, crossings are one of the many quirks used to trap us foreigners into hilarious clueless entertainment for locals.

Roundabout in Otrobanda

There's your normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill roundabout or traffic circle. We all know the rules for that: if you're in the circle, you have preference. If you're outside the circle, you yield.

And then there's the plénchi di tráfiko.

Part of the reason this post is so late is because I couldn't
get a good image of a plénchi di tráfiko. Sorry. But this sign
is just before one of the island's most well-transited plénchi di tráfiko:
the one on the way to Banda Abou and Westpunt and the most gorgeous
beaches you've seen in your life.

To me, it looks for all the world like a roundabout -- sure, a bit irregular, like not the perfect circle roundabouts tend to be, but a roundabout nonetheless. A circular intersection. And so, as I enter into one, I yield.

And get honked all the way to Banda Abou.

In a plénchi di tráfiko it's traffic from the right that has preference. So as I enter I have preference, but then I must yield to the next intersecting road -- because it's coming from my right.

(It took me a good two years to learn that, because there are no signs.)

Yu di Kòrsou

[YOU-dee-course-OW]

Literally: young (as in "child") of Curaçao

Yu di Kòrsou, shortened to YDK, has become ubiquitous.
"United we stand," reads the caption.

Yu di Kòrsou is what Curaçao natives call themselves -- not Curaçaoans, not Antilleans. But one can become a yu di Kòrsou, too, and not necessarily by a change in citizenship. When someone displays behavior that's unique to Curaçao -- using, for instance, the expressions in this A-to-Z series -- or when someone has lived in Curaçao for a long time, or even if they haven't but exhibit obvious and extreme love for the island and its food and customs... Yep. All of these are qualifications for being a yu di Kòrsou.

But the opposite is also true. If you're critical of the lifestyle, if you don't like Curaçao food, if you're no fan of Carnaval or Sèu or the tumba festival or if you don't like tambú, or if you just think differently -- what some would call out of the box -- then it doesn't matter if you were born in Curaçao and have lived all your life here. You'll still find yourself seldom being referred to as a yu di Kòrsou. Especially if you're white. And if your skin is dark, then you'll more often hear the pariah term of black macamba (wigger, but in reverse).


And last but certainly not least:

zjogoro

[zhoh-GOH-roh]

English: hangover

Perhaps the most important addition to your vocabulary if you ever visit Curaçao ;)

This is it, the end of the #AtoZChallenge. I've had a blast researching for these posts, and I hope you've enjoyed them -- and, besides learning some funky expressions, gained a bit of insight to this cultural melting-pot of an island I've chosen to call home. It's been a pleasure to share Curaçao with you.

Te aki ratu, dushi hende!

Okay, we'll use that phrase as the last bonus question of the series. No hints... well, just one. In English, the equivalent is often paired with alligator :)

(Find updates on the giveaway here, and come back on May 8th for the announcement of the three winners of THE MIRACLE OF SMALL THINGS, a collection of short stories set in Curaçao.)

Weg'i Domino & Wara Wara -- Quirks of #Curaçao (#AtoZChallenge 2015)

The sharp crack of tiles against wood -- domino tiles, that is -- is a trademark sound of Curaçao streets. At every bus stop and taxi depot, at every snék (when the bachata music isn't too loud--and sometimes even then). Crack! Crack! Crack-CRACK-crack! They follow one another at impossible speed, as if the game is about who slaps them down faster.

And, in a way, I suppose it is.

One of these taxi drivers at the Otrobanda depot gave me
a curt nod as I held up my camera in a non-verbal question.
I snapped away for a good three minutes, but none of them ever looked
my way again.

Viña! (but not Del Mar) -- Quirks of Language in #Curaçao (#AtoZChallenge 2015)

viña

[VEE-njah]

Literally: vine

Yep. As in the vine that gives vineyards their name. In context, however, it does not mean vine -- it means wine.

Unda Punda -- Quirks of Language in #Curaçao (#AtoZChallenge 2015)

I'm running behind, I know... It's been a hectic month. Besides the A-to-Z, my publisher and I are busy wrapping up THE MIRACLE OF SMALL THINGS for the NYC launch in September -- final edits and tweaks, illustrations (my idea, not so great in retrospect), planning, drumming up support from official sources... Anyway, more on all that later. The point is I apologize for the lack of consistency in these posts. And my unending gratitude to all you who keep coming back in spite of it :)

"Hey, Cor. Unda Punda?"
"Right here, swa!"

Truk'i Pan -- Quirks of Language in #Curaçao (#AtoZChallenge 2015)

It's actually

truk di pan

[TROOK - dee - PAHN]

but -- go on, say that fast five times. Uh-huh, that K and D don't really jibe, do they?

So, at the speed of speech (especially Papiamentu speech--speed, I mean), it becomes

truk'i pan

[TROOK-ee-PAHN]

Ahhh... So much easier on the tongue :D

This is a quirk of language and custom, but let's start with the language part. Truk is, of course, truck. And pan is the Spanish word for bread. Thus: bread truck -- but the last thing you'll find on one is bread.

Swa -- #Curaçao Expressions on the #AtoZChallenge 2015

swa

[swAH]

(just like the swa in swap or swatch or swan)
Literally: brother-in-law (from the Dutch zwager)
In context: man, bro

Swa is to Papiamentu what man (or bro) is to English.

Watch out for that lamppost, swa.

Redu! -- Quirks of Language in #Curaçao (#AtoZChallenge 2015)

Redu

[RED-doo]

Literally: gossip (n.)

(the verb is, officially at least, redashi)

Origin: I think it comes from the Spanish enredo, though the Dutch (roddel) is also close. 

(No More) Queen's Day -- Quirks of #Curacao in the #AtoZChallenge 2015

Okay, so this isn't really language-related, and it's not exclusive to Curaçao. But, this island being part of the Dutch kingdom, I think it qualifies as a quirk I can expound on for my Q post. (And, also, there are no Q words in Papiamentu.)

On April 30, 2013, Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands abdicated in favor of her son, Willem Alexander, thereby giving the Dutch kingdom its first king in over a century -- and putting an end to one hundred and twenty-plus years of celebrating Queen's Day.

Otrobanda & Punda -- Quirks of #Curaçao (#AtoZChallenge 2015)

Seeing as I missed yesterday's O post, you're entitled to a two-for-one today. And Curaçao has a unique feature for that.

Downtown Willemstad, the capital (and only) city of Curaçao, is divided--quite literally, and quite conveniently for this post--in two by the Sint Annabaai (Bay of Saint Anna). It's more of a channel than a bay--part of the natural harbor that made Curaçao so valuable to Spanish and Portuguese and Dutch merchant ships (or pirates, depending on which side you're on) back in the days when transatlantic voyaging was a novelty.

Nèchi -- #Curacao expressions on the #AtoZChallenge 2015

Nèchi

[NEH-chee]
Origin: the Dutch netjes [NET-yes]

Literally: Nice, neat (cute, beautiful, good-looking)

Yep. That simple. Nice.

The Handelskade in Curaçao is probably the most nèchi waterfront in all the Caribbean.
(But maybe I'm a tad biased.)

Master! (#AtoZChallenge 2015)

Master!

/MAHS-tehrr/

In Curaçao, anything good is dushi--food, people, good times. But if it's beyond good, approaching the extraordinary, then it's master.

(Give that E a full second, and roll the R. Yes. Ei ta palu!)

Laf! -- #Curaçao expressions on the #AtoZChallenge 2015

Remember that post about ferfelu and how it differs from its (probable) Dutch root of vervelend? Same case today... but worse. (Well, funnier.)

laf

[lahf]

(yep... just like "laugh")

but it's not "laugh".

Konpolaga! -- #Curaçao expressions on the #AtoZChallenge 2015

It's actually

kon por laga

[kohn-pohr-LAH-gah]

but at the speed of speech the R tends to disappear--yes, also from the spelling. You'll find it (and hear it) more often as

konpolaga

[kohn-poh-LAH-gah]

J is a blank -- #Curacao expressions on #AtoZChallenge 2015

There are no words that start with J in Papiamentu.

I knew you wouldn't believe me, so here's a screenshot of the dictionary.
Last word in the I section is italiano. Then comes the J section. Then comes the K.

No words with J. None.

How cool is that?

(Not that I have anything against J; it's just I find these quirks of Papiamentu fascinating.)

Infrou -- #Curaçao vocabulary (#AtoZChallenge 2015)

If there is one thing that Curaçao has a lot of, it's cacti. (Kadushi, in Papiamentu.)

Hopi kadushi, no? ;)

Hesusé! (& Hopi, & Hodé) -- #Curaçao Expressions on the #AtoZChallenge 2015)

Because in Papiamentu the J is pronounced the Dutch way (as Y), any J words sourced from Spanish or Portuguese are spelled with H. Which makes H a popular section in a Papiamentu dictionary. (And my life difficult for J day.)

Hesusé!

[heh-soo-SAY]

Literally: Jesus-eh

In context: Oh, god (negative), Wow (positive).