By Johnny Coomansingh
I have heard it said that “… he gyul lef him and it look like he have ah bad tabanca, and yuh see she, the man lef she high and dry and now she rel suffering with ah serious tabanca.” I know of people in Trinidad who attempted suicide because of tabanca. Some drank kerosene, bleach and other liquids. Others drank potions and cocktails of life-taking poisons. Some cried. Some suffered. Some died.
It is necessary to define tabanca to put in context why some men and women seem to be so tootoolbay (Trini colloquialism which means stupidly confused and senseless beyond repair). Tabanca is a Trini Word representative of the forlorn, wretched, abandoned feeling that comes with the end of a love affair. Here’s an example of the use of the word in a sentence: ‘Since Lallo’s wife left him, he’s having serious tabanca.’ Likened to a disease, tabanca is a painful feeling of unrequited love. It is a disease in the truest sense of the word, more so, a self-imposed curse.
Robert Elias (The Mighty Trini) a popular calypsonian, sang about tabanca in his song titled: Curry Tabanca. Here are a few lines:
She pack up all her curry and she runaway
Leaving me to worry, myself sick each day
I went and roam, from dust to dawn
Come back home to find the curry gone
I don’t know why, she broke our vows
And so I now feeling ah how.
Chorus
I have ah tabanca ha, ah curry tabanca
I have ah tabanca ha, ah curry tabanca
For her sweet pulourie, dhal and kuchela
Biaganee, kaloungie, saffron, masala
I have ah tabanca ha, ah curry tabanca
I have ah tabanca ha, ah curry tabanca
Tabanca like gobar
Burning like amchar
In mih ghar
Love or just being in love with love is the root cause of tabanca. It attacks when the person you love and absolutely adore is so out of reach, when the traffic and noise between alleged sweethearts is so dense; like the thick undergrowth of the rainforest, the lastrajo, where the lianas intertwine as a trap for the unwary.
My calypso that I constructed in Ontario, Canada titled: Phoolbassiya – Guyana Tabanca somewhat illustrates how a tabanca stricken man feels:
Phoolbassiya yuh gone Trinidad
Yuh gone and leave mih, everyday ah sad
Yuh pick up with ah nedder Chaguanas man
Now everyday with tears ah washing mih hand.
Phoolbassiya, ah does mis yuh smile
Look yesterday ah walk more than fifty mile
Ah sit dong dotish under ah mango tree
Studying yuh roti and yuh talkaree.
Chorus
Yuh living in ah dut house by the Caroni
Sonah in the hammick only smoking weed
He calling fuh dhal, bhat, and saheena
And I over hyah with tabanca in Guyana.
Tabanca is like stepping on ‘lost vine’ in an enchanted forest with no hope of return. In Trinidadian folklore, there is a belief that lost vine exists in the rainforest. Stepping on lost vine could have dire consequences; search parties may never find a person who stepped on the mythical lost vine.
In the throes of tabanca, the besieged person longs for a moment to catch a breath of the very breath of his or her love. The afflicted will act as though chasing an elusive butterfly; left only with a dream of sweet, but heart-wrenching memories, and the soft flutter of fragile wings. The true story about Lalsingh and Dolly is told.
They were both in love but had very little chance of meeting one another in person; parental guardrails were in position. Dolly’s parents would never allow her to entertain a relationship with Lalsingh. Lalsingh lived in the big, tall house on the crest of the hill while Dolly lived at the bottom of the hill. Lalsingh would wait on mornings in the verandah just to get a glimpse of Dolly on her way to school. They made ‘love’ with their eyes, just quick furtive glances, when she passed in the minibus. Lalsingh couldn’t handle it anymore. He became sick, depressed and morose until one great day. They eloped and got married.
Tabanca is a crippling discomfort yet it exudes sweetness in the soul that the sufferer is powerless to eliminate. This psychological upheaval generates sleeplessness as it thrives on misery; it hovers in the valley of melancholy. It is a type of restlessness, the lack of drive and utter listlessness that no physician could treat. Some people become anorexic even pyrexic. Some cry for no apparent reason. Some sit mentally deranged, depressed under some mango tree just staring at the sky. Others walk aimlessly up and down any given beach hoping for an answer to their dilemma.
Staying inebriated does not drown out the torment. Despite this, all that is in focus is the one that they love, that unmistakable deep and enduring never-ending longing to be caressed with gentle hands; to sense the sheer purity of a sweet embrace; to field a juicy, mouthwatering kiss; ah yes, to embrace a lover.
This condition called tabanca is baffling. To describe how such people feel is difficult; the phenomenon has no true definition, but what it boils down to is that tabanca is a good thing because it reminds us all that we are still human and we realize that it is better to love than to have not loved at all. Tabanca is an inescapable natural feeling. Tabanca is, as some Trinidadians say, is ‘ah sweet piece of meat,’ referring of course, to the impeccable quality of a beautiful and sexy, irresistible woman or man who is so out of reach.
While I was camping at the seaside village of Grande Riviere, Trinidad, I saw him that early morning when he walked up and down the beach. I stood there with the waves crashing before me and wondered what was his plan. He looked lost, depressed and totally out of it. Looking eastwards, I saw an individual standing adjacent to the boathouse.
I walked to the boathouse and said “good morning” to the gentleman. I asked him if he knew about the man who was walking up and down the beach. He replied: “Dat man is mih pardner boi…ah come tuh see him kill heself. Yuh know how long he walking on dat beach? We came up here with the four o’clock bus from Sangre Grande and it is now almost 6:30 am. He must be still thinking how tuh kill heself…dem waves rel heavy out dey breds.”
He then broke the silence of the morning with loud laughter while simultaneously trying to explain to me that the ‘beach walker’s’ gyul (girl) friend left him: “She was a school teacher and he was a nuts man (seller of peanuts)…I eh know wuh happen, buh like she geh fed up ah he or she must be feel dat he not in she class nah.” He continued: “Yuh see wuh tabanca could do tuh somebody…dat man want tuh kill heself jes so, jes so! And he come quite up hyah tuh kill heself.” I couldn’t be jovial at that moment. This beach-walking nuts man wanted to die.
To me this was no laughing matter so I went back to my campsite. The ladies were already up and around preparing a breakfast of fried bakes, fried mahi-mahi and chocolate tea. I called out to the ‘beach walker’ and asked him if he would like some fried bake and fried fish. He answered in the affirmative. He came and sat down on an almond root with us and was served a hot hearty breakfast. He even asked for another bake. It’s amazing, but after breakfast we exchanged ideas with a few laughs at intervals and now he did not want to take his life. He did not go back to walking the beach. I guess he saw that life was worth living. I felt a sense of joy. I was relieved.
I must reflect here on what Stephen Covey said in his book titled: The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, ‘The way we see problem, is the problem.’ Our beach walker friend probably had a serious tabanca and he thought that the only way to cure or solve the problem was to consider taking his life. Having a good breakfast with us, inhaling the salt-filled air, hearing the waves crashing on the shore, talking about our world and laughing at times did good for his spirit. He was renewed, and this renewal made him switch gears midstream to think positively about life. Sometimes we win some and sometimes we lose some. Nevertheless, what I know is that we were right there at that specific moment for him, to help him realize that there is a community that prefers life. All we have to do is care a little. That’s the reality.
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