I wake to the crowing roosters

I wake up to the sound of roosters crowing and the feel of light dripping in through the windows. It fills my eyes, enticing me to rise. Morning has arrived. You can’t miss it here, it wakes you with it’s beauty and calling of a new day dawning. I go through to the modern kitchen with the granite work tops and silver appliances to make my morning cup of coffee. Looking towards the sliding doors I take in the lush green view of trees and bushes. As soon as I step outside I am hit by the heat and the brightness of the sun, it is only 7.30am but already it is near 30c. I step onto the road and walk to work. Although the housing developments are to a modern standard, there is no pavement and I have already been told that it is hard to get around without a vehicle. I stick to the left and walk relatively close to the traffic which comes quite quickly on the path into town. Most of the cars are State-size large and in a Jeep style. Some smaller cars pootle past. I hear Caribbean rhythms and dancehall beats pumping from vehicles. I get a few hand waves from cars by colleagues, which reminds me how small the island is. I am also frequently offered a lift in a cheery manner, especially by the mother of one of my students; ‘Good morning Miss Stephanie! Fancy a lift?’ I have accepted a few although my five-minute stroll down Prospect road is hardly a journey, let alone a commute so I am happy.

There is plenty of lush greenery, palm trees, coconuts, berries and bushes. When I look up I see telephone wires stretching from post to post. I pass a cemetery filled with what I initially thought was fresh flowers but later discovered are plastic. An apartment complex named ‘Ocean Breeze’ faces the sea. I take in the salty-sea air as I stride and glance to my left to soak in the endless blue blanket. I walk past the sea every day to school. One night, when the sea was pretty rough on the backlash of Irma, I could hear the sea crashing against the shore from my bed. One of my favourite passages is a green house to my right which has a sweet, cottage feel about it. I wonder who lives there? Apparently, it is in a typical Caymanian-cottage style. Many chickens croak ‘good morning’ and roam around free but quicken their pace when they hear the sound of human activity. The school is a charming sight. The main building is a bright yellow house with large windows. I am across the road teaching the older children in a separate long, rectangular-shaped, dark green building. My classroom is right on the beach, through the windows you can see the blue sea. The children play on the beach for ‘recess’. They don’t use toys and football doesn’t seem that popular. They are true, island, Montessori children; they gather wood and rocks on the beach, they build forts and play ‘capture the flag.’ What a childhood. What a school. My journey continues.