The following post is a mostly true story that happened several years ago. Some of the names have been changed as I plan to return to George Town again next year.
John motored over in his fine dingy just as I was climbing into my C&C 41, White Pepper. "Are you coming over to the benefit for Tabu on Sand Dollar Beach tonight? Remember we discussed it earlier." I did remember vaguely. Jan was back in the USA, and I was at loose ends. I made an extra strong rum drink and headed our trusty dink, Habenero, to the beach. The party was the usual pot luck beach rum bust that happens often in George Town, Exuma, Bahamas. This one was different in that it had a guest of honor--Tabu. John introduced me. Tabu was a slight, gentle, pale, blue-eyed young man with a gentle French-Canadian lilt. However, the body language and syntax instantly communicated "whoa, different planet here."
I knew who Tabu was. His home was a derelict 26 foot yacht anchored 200 yards south of Volley Ball Beach, the epicenter of cruiser life in George Town. I had passed it numerous times. At the sound of a motor a curly head would usually pop up, look around, wave, and then disappear. He had occupied the same spot for two years.
Later my friend, John, filled me in on the details. Tabu liver alone and supported himself by doing commissioned art. Commissions being few, Tabu had become intensely interested in trash. While he never actually begged hand outs were graciously accepted. Rusty cans were welcome. Left over lemons, limes, indeed any spices were actively solicited. Over dinner one night John showed me some of Tabu's art. It was exquisite. The small oils had a precision and vividness that were astonishing. The colors were "too bright." Overall they reminded me of art created by autistic artists. Later I saw some very abstract paintings that contradicted my initial impression. Regardless, with his overall appearance and his reduced circumstances there seemed to be something very chromosomal about Tabu.
To understand why 40 sailors were toasting Tabu that lovely March evening while hundreds watched in stony silence from their yachts, I have to describe George Town. The Bahamian George Town is a lovely settlement of 1700 gentle souls and is the regional capital of Exuma, a province of the Bahamas. The George Town known to the boating community is an evanescent gathering of 300 to 400 yachts that arrive every winter season in the large roadstead called Elizabeth Harbor between Great Exuma Island and Stocking Island. They start arriving every November to anchor and enjoy each other's company. We number 600 to 1000 sailors and become the second largest village in Exuma. This community brings with it all of the strengths and foibles of small town America. There is a mayor (by acclamation), a town council (volunteers), a town hall (the St Francis Hotel), a rec center (the volley ball courts on Volley Ball Beach), a bonding festival (the Cruiser's Regatta) and beach church. I have come to thoroughly enjoy my visits to George Town. There are also many explicit rules and implicit mores. Tabu lived on the fringes of this community and had committed outrage.
Let me count the ways. First of all Tabu was being expelled from the choir of beach church. Tabu could not sing a lick. None of the other choristers could either. The only one who could sing at all was the choir leader who was also the mayor's wife. She could sing like an angel but tolerated no nonsense. Tabu had announced that he could not attend mandatory practice sessions because of the wind. The winter had been especially breezy, and Tabu had to row everywhere. Tabu also had a sweet tooth. After beach church he would eat ALL of the pastries offered during the social hour and, of course, never bring any of his own. This gauche had earned a stinging rebuke from one of the ersatz vestry. What had brought this simmering pot to a boil was that Tabu fished for sharks. Without refrigeration he needed to catch a shark about every three days to supply his protein needs. In order to catch sharks he would chum the water, presumably with the remains of his previous catch.
Now no one likes to have sharks about, especially 200 yards from where children are playing in the water. An emergency meeting of the town council was called. A new rule was announced--no fishing in the harbor and especially no chumming allowed. Never mind that this new rule was contrary to current Bahamian law. (In 2013 the Bahamian authorities did declare Elizabeth Harbor a no-take zone.)
Every community has a bully, and Wanderer was ours. Wanderer was a loud and large man with bulky boat parked too close to the beach. He claimed to have two shot guns. Tabu and Wanderer had a confrontation on Volley Ball Beach. Curses and shoves were exchanged. In this crises John and some friends (not me) went to speak to Wanderer. He was unrepentant and aggressively asserted that he would indeed fire on Tabu if he continued to fish for sharks. To be fair a few strong souls spoke up for Tabu at next Sunday's beach church and also at "open mike" on the 8:30 am cruiser's net on the VHF radio. Later in the week John organized his "benefit" for Tabu on the beach.
Back at the party Tabu had brought for his contribution--a series of dips for the chips. These were flavored with the rinds and left overs I mentioned previously. He also used the rinds for pigments in his paints. I suspected that the chief use of these condiments was to mask the flavor of rotten shark. Naively and politely I sampled each one. They were very tasty, but they were also unrefrigerated. Later I paid for my indiscretion with two days of fever, vomiting and copious diarrhea. After a bit there were some heart felt speeches and the hat was passed around. I threw in a twenty. Tabu was sincerely touched He announced that "you are my family, and I will live here forever." Someone made a bonfire, someone else broke out a guitar, Tabu played the tambourine. We sang and drank the night away.
I wish this story had a happy ending. I wish it had an ending at all. You see, Tabu had aggravated the Bahamian authorities as much as the cruising community. They refused to extend his visa. He had to leave and soon. One day Tabu came up on the net and plaintively asked if anyone had a courtesy flag for the Turks and Caicos that he could "borrow." The next day he again came on the net to sincerely thank all of the friends he had met in George Town. The next morning he was gone.
The weeks passed by. After Easter the mayor departed with great fanfare on the VHF radio. Later most of the town council left for Florida. The anchorage thinned out. The best Christian I have ever met, John, left for somewhere "south." Net Control, the heart beat of the community, faltered and failed. Beach church had one last service. The community was dying to be reborn next November. Finally on one brilliant morning in late April with a steady, fair wind from the south and with Jan back on board White Pepper headed out. As we cleared the opening, Conch Cut, I looked out to the east. It had seemed criminal to force Tabu out to sea in his derelict junker of a sailboat. However, the weather had been fair for weeks. I hoped that he had made it to the Turks and Caicos. He would not fit in there either.
John motored over in his fine dingy just as I was climbing into my C&C 41, White Pepper. "Are you coming over to the benefit for Tabu on Sand Dollar Beach tonight? Remember we discussed it earlier." I did remember vaguely. Jan was back in the USA, and I was at loose ends. I made an extra strong rum drink and headed our trusty dink, Habenero, to the beach. The party was the usual pot luck beach rum bust that happens often in George Town, Exuma, Bahamas. This one was different in that it had a guest of honor--Tabu. John introduced me. Tabu was a slight, gentle, pale, blue-eyed young man with a gentle French-Canadian lilt. However, the body language and syntax instantly communicated "whoa, different planet here."
I knew who Tabu was. His home was a derelict 26 foot yacht anchored 200 yards south of Volley Ball Beach, the epicenter of cruiser life in George Town. I had passed it numerous times. At the sound of a motor a curly head would usually pop up, look around, wave, and then disappear. He had occupied the same spot for two years.
Later my friend, John, filled me in on the details. Tabu liver alone and supported himself by doing commissioned art. Commissions being few, Tabu had become intensely interested in trash. While he never actually begged hand outs were graciously accepted. Rusty cans were welcome. Left over lemons, limes, indeed any spices were actively solicited. Over dinner one night John showed me some of Tabu's art. It was exquisite. The small oils had a precision and vividness that were astonishing. The colors were "too bright." Overall they reminded me of art created by autistic artists. Later I saw some very abstract paintings that contradicted my initial impression. Regardless, with his overall appearance and his reduced circumstances there seemed to be something very chromosomal about Tabu.
To understand why 40 sailors were toasting Tabu that lovely March evening while hundreds watched in stony silence from their yachts, I have to describe George Town. The Bahamian George Town is a lovely settlement of 1700 gentle souls and is the regional capital of Exuma, a province of the Bahamas. The George Town known to the boating community is an evanescent gathering of 300 to 400 yachts that arrive every winter season in the large roadstead called Elizabeth Harbor between Great Exuma Island and Stocking Island. They start arriving every November to anchor and enjoy each other's company. We number 600 to 1000 sailors and become the second largest village in Exuma. This community brings with it all of the strengths and foibles of small town America. There is a mayor (by acclamation), a town council (volunteers), a town hall (the St Francis Hotel), a rec center (the volley ball courts on Volley Ball Beach), a bonding festival (the Cruiser's Regatta) and beach church. I have come to thoroughly enjoy my visits to George Town. There are also many explicit rules and implicit mores. Tabu lived on the fringes of this community and had committed outrage.
Let me count the ways. First of all Tabu was being expelled from the choir of beach church. Tabu could not sing a lick. None of the other choristers could either. The only one who could sing at all was the choir leader who was also the mayor's wife. She could sing like an angel but tolerated no nonsense. Tabu had announced that he could not attend mandatory practice sessions because of the wind. The winter had been especially breezy, and Tabu had to row everywhere. Tabu also had a sweet tooth. After beach church he would eat ALL of the pastries offered during the social hour and, of course, never bring any of his own. This gauche had earned a stinging rebuke from one of the ersatz vestry. What had brought this simmering pot to a boil was that Tabu fished for sharks. Without refrigeration he needed to catch a shark about every three days to supply his protein needs. In order to catch sharks he would chum the water, presumably with the remains of his previous catch.
Now no one likes to have sharks about, especially 200 yards from where children are playing in the water. An emergency meeting of the town council was called. A new rule was announced--no fishing in the harbor and especially no chumming allowed. Never mind that this new rule was contrary to current Bahamian law. (In 2013 the Bahamian authorities did declare Elizabeth Harbor a no-take zone.)
Every community has a bully, and Wanderer was ours. Wanderer was a loud and large man with bulky boat parked too close to the beach. He claimed to have two shot guns. Tabu and Wanderer had a confrontation on Volley Ball Beach. Curses and shoves were exchanged. In this crises John and some friends (not me) went to speak to Wanderer. He was unrepentant and aggressively asserted that he would indeed fire on Tabu if he continued to fish for sharks. To be fair a few strong souls spoke up for Tabu at next Sunday's beach church and also at "open mike" on the 8:30 am cruiser's net on the VHF radio. Later in the week John organized his "benefit" for Tabu on the beach.
Back at the party Tabu had brought for his contribution--a series of dips for the chips. These were flavored with the rinds and left overs I mentioned previously. He also used the rinds for pigments in his paints. I suspected that the chief use of these condiments was to mask the flavor of rotten shark. Naively and politely I sampled each one. They were very tasty, but they were also unrefrigerated. Later I paid for my indiscretion with two days of fever, vomiting and copious diarrhea. After a bit there were some heart felt speeches and the hat was passed around. I threw in a twenty. Tabu was sincerely touched He announced that "you are my family, and I will live here forever." Someone made a bonfire, someone else broke out a guitar, Tabu played the tambourine. We sang and drank the night away.
I wish this story had a happy ending. I wish it had an ending at all. You see, Tabu had aggravated the Bahamian authorities as much as the cruising community. They refused to extend his visa. He had to leave and soon. One day Tabu came up on the net and plaintively asked if anyone had a courtesy flag for the Turks and Caicos that he could "borrow." The next day he again came on the net to sincerely thank all of the friends he had met in George Town. The next morning he was gone.
The weeks passed by. After Easter the mayor departed with great fanfare on the VHF radio. Later most of the town council left for Florida. The anchorage thinned out. The best Christian I have ever met, John, left for somewhere "south." Net Control, the heart beat of the community, faltered and failed. Beach church had one last service. The community was dying to be reborn next November. Finally on one brilliant morning in late April with a steady, fair wind from the south and with Jan back on board White Pepper headed out. As we cleared the opening, Conch Cut, I looked out to the east. It had seemed criminal to force Tabu out to sea in his derelict junker of a sailboat. However, the weather had been fair for weeks. I hoped that he had made it to the Turks and Caicos. He would not fit in there either.
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