In St. Lucia we made our way into the city, walking through the crowded streets, far away from the roads with all that tourism… As we read in the German foreign office that st. Lucia has one of the highest rates for criminality, HIV/Aids and you shouldn’t walk around in less crowded regions of the city and in the dark, i was strangely alert all the time…
The people seemed hopeless, the ship offered no excursions into the city of castries, which was somehow weird, because they did it on any other island and as we walked on our own we saw the abyss between hopelessness and faith, poverty and wealth, tourism and native culture.
We walked into a church, you can see it as soon as you enter castries, it is beautiful but torn and as we were greeted on the inside an old woman started shouting at the man who tried to show us the church. She shouted about theft and lies, about exploitation and the greater good.
“The church is for everyone. You don’t own this house. This is a house of the Lord. (To us) You don’t have anything to give him. You have no money for this man!”
And this seems to be what keeps all of them together. The faith in God above, the prayer… A man sat in that church, only three teeth left, the skin carved with heavy wrinkles, marked by age… He seemed like a man who had done hard work all his life but judging from his appearance there was not much left for him to live by, now in age and now as he was too old to work.
that is what st. lucia seems to be: A paradise for those who are wealthy or tourists and a purgatory for those who are not but anyways: Gods words are written on walls- so whatever happens to you, if you are capable of reading, they might give you hope.