9.11.2001, from Trinidad and Tobago

by Travis Boyette,

Guyana, 2000-2002     

     My only visitor during my whole Peace Corps stint. And she wouldn't even come to Guyana based on all the horrific stories I had parleyed to her. Why would she? Mini-buses of death, machete wielding cane farmers. After convincing her that I just wanted to share some of this experience with her, she finally agreed to come visit me ... but only if we met up in Trinidad and Tobago.

     I had arrived a day early to the Caribbean island complex of Trinidad and Tobago to secure us a hotel away from the hustle near the capital of Trinidad. It was quite nice I have to say. And since she was paying for it, I splurged just a little ... 25 bucks a night! With A/C! 

     That evening, I taxi'd to the airport where I met her - the woman who has loved me like no other person in this world and who would give her life for me. I hadn't seen her in over a year, and now here she was, running towards me, arms open, tears streaming down her face. 

     "You are so skinny! And why is your hair so long? What is going on with this beard thing? Your clothes look like a beggar. Oh my dear son, give your mom a hug!"

     It was, after all, my birthday, September 8th. My brother was scheduled to meet us 3 days later where we would continue our adventures in Tobago, an absolutely gorgeous sliver of a turquoise blue water island just a short plane jump from Trinidad. Mom and I spent the next few days gallivanting around the island. I introduced her to shark and bake, a Trinidadian specialty sandwich, and drinking coconut water right out of the coconut. She reintroduced me to Benjamin Franklin and few new shirts and pants and a proper hair cut.

     I took her on one of my favorite jungle hikes on the outskirts of Trinidad, to a jungle beach with a waterfall. We ate wild mangos, watched parrots and had the whole trail to ourselves ... minus a machete wielding cane farmer who followed us the last hour of our hike. I was convinced he was going to kill me and my mother, but my mother, rest her dear soul, wound up talking to him the whole time. When we parted ways, he climbed a tree, cut a coconut for her and went on his merry way. 

     On our walk back up the trail to the bus stop, we passed several roadside stalls selling water and biscuits. A hunched up old man saddled up to us and started in about how much he loved America and how sad he was that our monument had been set on fire. There are lots of crazy people in the Caribbean. We entertained him for a minute. I attempted to delve further into his story. From what we gathered, someone had set fire to the Washington Monument and it crashed to the ground, killing a thousand people. Weird, yes ... until we bought a water from one of the road side stalls. The woman also was saying how much she loved America and that she had an aunt that lived in New York. I found it highly unlikely that her aunt would have been crushed under a crumbling, burning Washington Monument. 

     Eventually, we arrived at our hotel. Instinctively, I turned on the television. To this day, I cannot bear to even watch video of the tragedy that was unfolding on every single television station. Loop images of planes barreling and bursting into flames at the World Trade Center. I was confused, horrified. What the hell was going on? 

     The remainder of the day was spent watching TV and planning on getting my brother later that evening at the airport. When we arrived at the airport, as everyone already knew, all flights into and out of the United States had been halted. Luckily, we were able to phone my brother, who was stuck in Miami. He would remain there for the remainder of our trip in Trinidad and Tobago, until a bus was able to move him from Miami back to Atlanta. The funny thing was, he would've made it. Except that he missed his flight because he forgot his passport. During his attempt to secure a replacement at the US Embassy in Miami, the Towers and Pentagon had been attacked. 

     We could do nothing. My mother and I continued our trip to Tobago. We ate delicious creole food, scuba dived, hiked, and all that fun stuff a Peace Corps volunteer can do when their parent with cash visits them. Ultimately, I had to return to Guyana. But my mother's plans would not go so smoothly. Of course, no one has any interest in attacking Guyana, so my flight was scheduled as planned. Unfortunately, my mother wound up being stuck at a hotel near the Trinidad airport for 2 more days ...which she described as "nice, but the pool is green and has some kind of animals swimming in it." 

     The rest is kind of history. Our outlets of TIME international magazine (the internet was not as readily available in 2001) and some debriefing by our country director were the only sources of information we would receive concerning the events of 9/11. It would be another year before I would be on American soil and realize the true impact of what occurred during what was supposed to be a well-deserved family reunion on the beaches of the Caribbean.