The Folklore Impact

EACH CULTURE has its own share of legends and folklores, and the Caribbean is no different. We were all told scary folklore stories by the elderly.

Growing up in Trinidad W.I. in the early ’70s folklore tales were told as a means of entertainment. In those days technology was limited. Radio, television and rotary phones were owned by the government and a privileged few. Though, I think those scary tales were really told to keep us in line.

Our house, was located near the foothills of the Borough of Arima, on a large estate called Torrecilla. Torrecilla was pregnant with cocoa, coffee, grapefruit and orange trees. The streets were gravel, and in some areas they narrowed to a winding track framed by bush. This estate was located approximately one and a half miles from the Arima Dial which stood at the centre of the borough. Taxis were unheard of, therefore, walking or P2 was the means of transport.

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A journey to my home meant walking downhill past a horse farm, owned by old Zephy, a stocky old Syrian with a round belly, the smelly Arawak chicken factory, across a spacy wooden bridge, under which angry water flowed. Everytime I got to that point, I ran across for dear life. Then up the narrow winding dismal track where the bush towered over me at times, before it opened onto a gravel road about a mile long. 

Houses in Torrecilla were few and far between. I recall Torrecilla having twelve houses, including the convent which was located to the right of the track, way down the hill. When the day closed, most of Torrecilla looked pitch dark for the streetlights were like the houses, few and far betweeen. One was at the convent, one at the Arawak chicken factory and another at the end of the track.

Our house was one of four houses located on a dark street near the north-eastern end of the estate. It was embraced by grapefruit, king-orange, coffee and cocoa trees which cast funny shadows as the sun took its rest. Shadows of bats were also seen flying aimlessly, giving competition to fireflies. While the roadway became known only to those familiar with it. To top it all off, the chior of frogs, crickets, bats and mosquitoes created a setting for folklore tales. 

My siblings, the neighbour’s children and I huddled together bright eyed, as we held on to the tales that fell from my mom’s mouth. Tales of folklore characters such as the Douens, were described as faceless young children with their feet turned backwards, children who died before they were baptized. It was said that Douens were known to play by the river in the forest, and at dusk, they called the names of living children who played outside at sundown, lead them into the forest and lost them. One such story is about Anna and the douens.

MOVIE SYNOPSIS: Anna was a stubborn nine year old girl. One day Anna‘s granny warned her and her friends to return from play before six o’clock before Douens take them. However, Anna did not believe in douens and tried to prove her granny wrong.