Ira's Commentaries

I live on an island, but my feet had not touched the sand for three years. I had not allowed the sea water to swirl me about. I had not driven to Maracas at midnight to watch the moon reflected in the moving inky slate of water, or wanting to possess the swell of the green hills. The hold-ups, murders, reckless drivers and a punishing degree, kept me away.

With an unemployment figure of over two million people, a sinking pound, a crumbling property market and crashing banks, I expected some kind of post-war depression when I arrived in London, last week.

A month in America was more than enough. The longer I stayed, the more layers of sheen peeled off to reveal the rot.

All Ira's commentaries are gathered and arranged in alphabetical order.

It’s amazing what stress can do to your body. For some six months I have had the taste of apple cider in my mouth. Doesn’t sound bad for a few minutes, but on a prolonged basis it can drive you crazy.

Fourth in a series of columns on the daily life of citizens in this county:  "My life is here. My husband runs our family business, which we have built up over a lifetime, but I am preparing to leave this country with my children.

This is the third in a series highlighting daily life of ordinary citizens. Whenever it rains, a 14-year-old feels the steel plate in her thigh expand, dig into her flesh, throb painfully. She can no longer run or jump.

This is the second in a series highlighting daily life of ordinary citizens in this country: “My sister was murdered. She was stabbed in her neck and set on fire. She was 42, the mother of two teenagers.

This is the first in a series of vignettes of life in Trinidad, starting with an account by a kidnapped man.