From the Tunapuna Market to a Snowstorm: A Journey Through Coffee and Memories

It’s a cold Saturday morning here in the United States. Snow blankets the streets, muffling the world outside, while a biting chill seeps through the air. As I sit at my window, sipping a warm cup of coffee, my mind drifts far from this wintry scene, back to the lively vibrancy of the Tunapuna market in Trinidad.

Decades ago, as a high schooler, Saturdays meant early mornings—not for cartoons or late sleeping, but for the market hustle. At 4 a.m., I’d be up, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the promise of a long but fulfilling day ahead. By the time I reached the market, Tunapuna would be buzzing, alive with energy and color, even in the predawn hours.

My nickname at the market changed as often as the items on my table. One week, I was the “Pepper Boy,” the next, the “Bodi Boy,” and sometimes the “Cucumber Boy.” Each name was a badge of honor, a token of the camaraderie between sellers and customers. These names reflected the mutual respect and familiarity that transformed casual transactions into warm, human interactions.

The market wasn’t just a place—it was an experience. The air was thick with the smells of fresh produce, ripe fruits, and Trinidad’s iconic spices. The chatter of bargaining voices blended with laughter, creating a symphony unique to those bustling mornings. Even now, I can almost hear it—the clinking of scales, the hum of nearby vendors setting up, and the occasional call from the cascadoo vendor under the samman tree.

Speaking of doubles—no market morning was complete without that early breakfast indulgence; spicy channa and fluffy bara, with everything on it followed by a sweet, creamy cup of Nescafe coffee made with condensed milk and sugar. That pairing alone could propel anyone through the busiest of market days.

It wasn’t just about the selling; it was about the people. Regular customers became familiar faces, and fellow vendors turned into lifelong friends. Advice was shared, jokes were exchanged, and each person contributed to the unspoken bond that made market life so fulfilling.

Now, as I watch the snowflakes coat the ground in quiet monotony, I see something else in my mind’s eye. I see the bright yellows of ripe mangoes, the fiery reds of Scotch bonnet peppers, and the earthy greens of Bodi, Dasheen bush and Watercress. I hear the rustle of money being exchanged and the warm “Good mornings” shared between buyers and sellers. I taste the warmth of coffee and doubles on my lips, and for a moment, I’m there again; in Tunapuna, in a bustling market where life overflowed with vibrancy and connection.

This coffee I hold isn’t just a drink; it’s a link to my past. Each sip transports me to a simpler time when life was all about community, hard work, and the joy of the small, shared moments. Though I may be thousands of miles away, that connection remains, tethered by memories and the familiar comfort of a warm cup.

While the market days are behind me, they shaped the person I am today. The values of resilience, connection, and finding joy in the ordinary remain with me. On mornings like these, as snow falls outside, I’m reminded that no matter where I go or what I do, a part of me will always belong to those bustling market mornings in Trinidad.

So, as I sip my coffee and watch the winter world pass by, I am grateful for the warmth of memories that rise with every breath of steam. Here’s to the markets we remember, the lives we touch, and the connections that stay with us, no matter where life takes us.