Stevenson

He saw us long before we saw him.

None of him, but then all at once… the intensity in his eyes and authority in his voice at our car window inquiring about the length of our stay in Dominica and our interests in touring the Indian River.

I suppose that is typical of Caribbean people to know a tourist from a local, even when they have the same hue and sensibility; two girls from Barbados on a weekend getaway to the unfairly beautiful island of Dominica.

The unclear instructions given by Google Maps, resulting in a slight slamming of the car brake with finger pointing by both driver and passenger, desperately looking for the right right turn, was the dead giveaway.

Making the deal quickly, we followed his precise instructions to buy the weekly pass at the gas station that we were forced to turn into by missing the right right turn.

Not even ten minutes later, the pace at which we had transformed—from clueless and adrift to being seated comfortably on his boat—surprised me. Turning back wasn’t an option that existed anymore, as if the possibility had dissolved in the humid air. Grounded in an inexplicable feeling of safety, a confidence that had no logical source, we began our journey at the mouth of Indian River in Portsmouth, Dominica.

Stevenson, captain and sentinel, has guided and guarded the waters of the Caribbean, traversing around the islands dotting this Sea for the last twenty years.

Though fluid, the river has kept record of the ebb and flow of Stevenson’s life from despair to triumph; survival to flourishing and exile to belonging when he left home at the age of fourteen.

‘I know how to survive,’ Stevenson would admit later as he recounted his life.

Guadeloupe would serve as the first of five Caribbean bases for the young boy who left the land of 365 rivers in search of something better. By the time Stevenson grew into a young man, he had lived on four other Caribbean islands, including Antigua, Martinique, Venezuela, and The Bahamas, mostly plying his trade on the sea.

Time spent in these diverse Caribbean islands allowed him to develop his multi-lingual abilities after meeting and working with several people.

‘I speak French, Creole, Spanish and German,’ he revealed.

During his time in exile, he learned one of the hardest truths about life.

‘Foreigner treat you well. Your own treat you like s*!t.’

Indian River, Dominica

On the serene water of the Indian River, Stevenson taught and shared with us its secrets from the flora and fauna to its wildlife and even an abandoned movie set from the Hollywood blockbuster movie, Pirates of the Caribbean.

Water, like people’s trust, is fluid, but for Stevenson it has been a dependable friend and steady ally, I would later learn.

In the years that he went from island to island, people and their help were necessary to survive, but their anchoring support became weights that, instead of providing a secure footing to take the next step, limited and restricted his growth. A fate he fought every time.

His resilience evident as he rowed the boat for almost one hour, not missing a beat as he distinguished roots, birds, flowers, and river life on its banks.

How many times has he had to rely on this same resilience to survive?

Making it in a world that seemed insurmountable does not come easily, without risk or quickly.

‘I have seen death and come back already.’

‘My friend tried to kill me,’ he said matter-of-factly.

Falling into that darkness, Stevenson had to negotiate the cruel realities of the underworld before coming to terms with himself, with what he would and wouldn’t become.

‘I had to leave that life behind,’ he further explained. ‘When I had my daughter, I went the legal way.’

In doing so, Stevenson became the jack of all trades—tiling, carpentry, masonry—but remained always the master of the seas.

As he reflected on his life, his words became an echo of my soul’s purpose.

‘At this point, I want to grow and continue to invest in myself,’ said the 41-year-old dive master. ‘It is so important to invest yourself.’

‘I had to go to Iraq and back,’ he said, acknowledging his tumultuous journey of self-actualization from teenager to man. His metaphor, my truth.

Funny, isn’t it? We share the same ‘truth’. That journey across many rivers, seas, oceans, and lands that we only dare to take when we desire escape and ‘more’.

I Am Petra Marie.