A Leper Never Changes His Spot....
February
25th, 2002
Five miles
west of Trinidad and 6 miles east of Venezuela lies a small island named
Chacachacare.
Earlier this century, when there was an outbreak
of leprosy in Trinidad, Chacachacare was established as a leper colony.
It flourished as a colony and had enough people to warrant two doctors’ houses,
a cinema and one stoplight.
With
the development of antibiotics leprosy became a treatable disease. In
1973 after a failed attempt by the hospital workers to convince the
Trinidadian government to keep the island operating as a general medical
facility, the colony was shut down and the island abandoned. In the
thirty
intervening years nature has reclaimed most of the manmade structures
on the
island. Vines crawl into the hospital windows, the nuns’ quarters
are
crumbling, and the lepers' houses that line the seaside offer only the
slightest protection from the elements.
Miranda
and I sailed over to Chacachacare a few days after Carnival was over
and found it a nice break from the excitement of Trinidad. The island
is a
large semi-circle with the southeastern side forming a large bay around
which are scattered the old houses, hospitals, the nuns’ quarters,
two
churches, and a cinema.
The
first night ashore we found ourselves wandering through the dilapidated
nuns’ quarters around sunset. The long light that struck the old
masonry,
crooked shutters, and broken windows gave the building a very dramatic
feel.
As the light dimmed, we explored the large house room by room, freaking
ourselves out more than once when we stumbled into completely dark
corridors
and rooms.
As
we headed down the hill toward the little dock where we had left our
dinghy, we noticed that in one of the old houses there was washing hanging
out the front. Then we saw movement and people inside. Squatters had set
up
house inside the ruins and we met a few of them once we got down to the
dock. They had been spear fishing all day and on the dock there was a
large
pile of queen angel fish that one of the men was scaling.
We
returned to Baggywrinkle for a nights rest and awoke the next morning
anxious to explore the rest of the island. We took the boat to the other
side of the bay where we met an Aussie boat named Billaroo. It was a 50-foot
boat with a family of four aboard. The children were ashore camping in
one
of the old houses. They had set up camp there two days ago and their parents
said they were having a hard time convincing them to return to the boat.
The
Aussie couple had explored the day before and pointed us in the direction
of
the old church, the hospital and dispensary, and the cinema.
Once
ashore, we said hello to the kids who were in the process of making a
baked beans on toast lunch, over an open fire. We hiked up into the bush,
which was quite thick, and came upon a large empty building that was
recognizable as the church only by the raised altar at the far end. A
little
further back into the growth we came across a smaller building with its
roof
mostly collapsed. It turned out to be the records room. Papers lay
scattered everywhere, making a second floor on which to walk. Stop walking
anywhere and you could stoop down and find the medical record of a specific
patient. Little yellow cards noted vital information such as what body
parts had tested positive for the disease, and some of the cards recorded
the date the patient had died. The records were not that old, much of
it
had been recorded in the 60's. It was eerie seeing the remnants intact
of
what had so recently been considered a forbidden and dangerous place.
Next
we ventured into the hospital where old beds still lay lined up in an
open, airy ward. An operating table rusted in what must have been an
examining room, and old x-ray equipment lay broken apart in another corner.
Up a flight of rickety stairs, we found the dispensary. Shelves and shelves
of salves, pills, and potions looked as if they had been abandoned a few
weeks ago. Open jars and broken vials lay scattered around the tables
and
floor. The sense of foreboding was only increased by the presence of at
least 20 bald black vultures sitting in a large tree just outside the
window...
A
short walk up what must have once been a road, but was now an overgrown
and hardly visible path, was a large hanger like building with an old
projector sitting at one end. A projection booth was built into the back
wall and at the front end there was a space for a large screen. It was
interesting to imagine what kind of newsreels and films must have been
viewed here, and how the isolated audience must have enjoyed one of their
few links to the outside world.
We
spent the afternoon visiting the one spot on the island still officially
inhabited and working; the lighthouse. It was a long hot walk up to the
top
of the island, and when we arrived we found no one home in the lighthouse.
But, the view was quite fantastic. Venezuela was close enough that it
felt
as if we could reach out and touch it. The frigate birds soared over the
green hills that led down to the ocean. And a few scrawny puppies greeted
us
with fierce barks and wagging tails.
We
returned to Trinidad feeling as if we had visited a unique place. Walking
around the island was like walking through recent history and some
mysterious ancient city at the same time. Both Miranda and I figured it
would not be long before someone opened a resort on the island and removed
the old buildings. So, we felt lucky to have caught Chacachacare in its
current state of limbo, not completely in the past nor in the present.
Ben
Shaw
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