The legend of Papa Bois

A white-fronted capuchin at the El Socorro Centre. (MNO)

Trinidadian forests are sacred places. Their animals are not meant for needless slaughter, their trees are not the fodder of the axe, their sacred calm is not to be butchered. If you dare to disrespect the natural splendor, be sure to watch your back for the rest of your life…Papa Bois does not forgive.

You may see a stag thundering through the forest. You may witness an even more incredible site: a pan-like figure, head and torso of a man, hoofed legs of an animal. Whether he strands you deep in the forest or merely scares your wits back into your muddled head, Papa Bois will protect his natural domain.

Papa Bois (pronounced: bwah) was the mythical guardian of Trinidadian forests. His legend was passed down as oral tradition, and children knew to be terrified of him from a young age. “They’re not afraid of Papa Bois anymore. There’s enough other stuff out there to be afraid of,” one of our sources explained as we made the 45-minute drive from Wa Samaki Permaculture, an environmentalist’s paradise in central Trinidad, back to Port of Spain where the ocean is near but good luck finding a beach.

As we drive past protected environments bordered by leaking garbage dumps toward dirty ports full of international freighters, it seems that fearing Papa Bois might just be the best antidote to all that “other stuff to be afraid of.”

Erle Noronha (center) founded Wa Samaki in 1997. (FTB)

Wa Samaki—“from the fish” in Swahili—is the brainchild of Erle Noronha, an environmentalist who staked out 30 small acres of the world to protect. There, Fritz and I saw the workings of a sustainable environment. Five “zones” from a compost pile to an orchard to wilderness compose the farm. An untouched alley of green along the farm’s main waterway allows safe movement for wildlife. Erle is not an NGO and therefore cannot gain funding from the government, but even that is not a problem as he simply sells assorted flora to fund his projects.

In a laughable twist that seems—at least to me—to be indicative of this whole country, we learned that Erle’s environmental business often was buffeted by politics. At first it was international when 9/11 made it extremely difficult for him to transport the fish he once raised and sold. Three years ago it was national when the People’s National Movement (PNM) lost majority control to the rival United National Congress (UNC). While the UNC’s symbol is the rising sun over the Trinity Hills, the PNM’s symbol is the heliconia, a flower that is abundant on Erle’s farm. With the UNC in power, the contracts for flowers at government events dried up. Politics are everywhere in this country.

The El Socorro staff provide classes about the problems facing Trinidad's wildlife. (MNO)

While our conversation was turning from the positives of his work to the negatives of industry’s and government’s environmental policy, our faith would be restored by the end of our time on the farm. Another NGO is nestled inside Wa Samaki, seemingly as a child protected by its mother until it is big enough to look after itself. Although it’s been extant since 2005, El Socorro Centre for Wildlife Conservation is run, funded, managed—everything—by its founders, Ricardo Meade (who spent some years in New York and made fun of Northwestern sports when he discovered that Fritz and I go here) and Gia Narinesingh, along with a few faithful volunteers. We again happened upon what the future of environmentalism could be like. A single building that appears through the trees, animals all around, some waiting for attention in their often-temporary cages, some climbing around. Ricardo fed one oddly well-behaved Red Howler monkey named Zoy gummy bears so we could meet him. From this base, the team rescues wildlife, rehabs and releases them. When release isn’t possible, the animals find a new vocation as teachers for Trinidadian school children who stop by on field trips.

But back to Erle’s house on the edge of the farm, things are not so serene when he describes hunters coming through (which is especially dangerous as rare species have made their way onto his farm), neighbors recklessly burning the edges of their crops, and locals dumping everything from refrigerators to dead sheep in a local stream that ends up feeding into his land.

On that drive back to Port of Spain and the East-West Corridor where half of the country’s population resides, we faced the country’s reality that Wa Samaki and El Socorro are facing.

While that reality obviously is not 100 percent clear to us, it certainly looks like a future in which environmental progress is secondary in a country enraptured by oil, natural gas, and progress. Without business, government, and community cooperation—at an international level—countries like Trinidad and Tobago have no immediate reason to hug a tree or protect Zoy the monkey.

Maybe this is the time for Papa Bois to finally come home.

--MO