What I've Learned From...Colorful Characters

Whenever Colin Channer enters a room, he always brings with him a promise that something remarkable is about to happen. And he rarely disappoints. I’ve seen him work his magic in intimate one-on-one settings with ex-prime ministers or with 3000+ people at the Calabash International Literary Festival. For no matter the occasion, Colin’s charisma comes shining through.

I first met Colin after the publication of my first collection of short stories, Uncle Obadiah and the Alien. Colin was in Miami and he gave me a phone call. He said he wanted to meet me because he had been following my work in The Caribbean Writer and he liked the stories in Uncle Obadiah. We had lunch at a quayside restaurant in Miami and we became instant friends. We talked about writing and Colin told me about a novel, Waiting in Vain, that he was writing and I agreed to read the manuscript.

As I read the manuscript, I became convinced that the novel was a new departure in Caribbean writing. Colin’s choice of characters, point of view, and tone were much different from the work of more established Caribbean writers whose work sometimes took the stance of noblesse oblige. Waiting in Vain sought to engage the reader from the first sentence and Colin carried that energy to the end of the novel. After I read the manuscript, I thanked him for allowing me to read what I thought was going to be a new trend in Caribbean writing.

A few months later, just before the final proofs of Waiting in Vain were to be delivered to Colin’s publisher, Random House, I stayed with Colin at his home in Brooklyn. For the first half of week, Colin showed me a side of Brooklyn that I’d never seen and he invited me to listen to his band, Pipecock Jaxxon, in small restaurant in Flatbush.

On the big day for Colin to take the manuscript to his publisher, when he learned that I’d only known the Brooklyn Bridge from the poems of Hart Crane, he invited me to walk the bridge with him as a rite of passage. I jumped at the invitation and he and I walked the bridge—all the while talking, arguing about art, politics, and writing.

As soon as we set foot in Manhattan, we went to Colin’s agent, the legendary Marie Brown and then, we walked over to Random House. I’ll never forget standing on the umpteenth floor of the Random House and looking down on New York. It was an honor to bear witness to his moment of his triumph with a big time publisher. It felt great. The rest, as they say, is publishing history.

Since then, Colin and I have read in Jamaica and in the States and it is always a pleasure to see him and share war stories. And over the years, as he has grown from merely being a best-selling author to the founder of the Calabash International Literary Festival, he has remained as grounded and confident as the first time I met him. Whenever we see each other, he usually greets me with raucous laughter and the salutation, “Veteran, wha gwaan?” Or some other Channeresque term of endearment.

And this is what I’ve always admired about Colin—his ability to connect and praise in one breath. Everyone feels special in his presence and his confidence is contagious. But more than anything else, Colin has taught me to embrace life no matter what the circumstances.

The only way to describe level of skill and dedication that Colin brings to life and work is to say he is aware of his`ashe, the divine power to make things happen, which according to the Yoruba religion we all possess--an almost universal belief among the religions of the Black Atlantic. But believing and doing are two different things. By his actions, Colin, manifests`ashe and in so doing calls on us to do the same. We may not all answer in the same way as he does which is a function of his`ashe iwa (character), but still the call is made.

I am listening, my brother. I am listening: `Ashe.

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This post is part of a group write project @ Middle Zone Musings/