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Sharon Philogene
Sharon Philogene

Oh, how I miss the curfew! Swear at me if you must, but I am the only one who knows what's boiling in my pot. The curfew brought me good nights of sleep. My bed did not rock on a Friday or Saturday night for weeks; my head did not throb; I was not a walking zombie during the day; my head was clear; I could think! You are selfish, you say, so what about me? I want my freedom; I want to go back to life as normal; I miss my jam sessions, my time on the block with my partners late into the night "shooting the breeze'; I need to go check my woman or my man, and all of that I understand and want you to enjoy too. But, while you are enjoying that, I want to travel to faraway places by whatever mode of conveyance my mind deems appropriate. I want to know nothing about what is going on around me for at least 8 hours, and I also want to get involved in things and wake up and say, 'boy, I had one foolish dream' and laugh. Maybe I might fear the interpretation of what I dream, but I have the right to dream, so I want to sleep so I can dream.

However, it appears that the planning division is my enemy. I wish I knew what I had done to say, 'mea culpa" and try to make amends. I have lived where I live for most of my life. In my youth, I enjoyed the emptiness of the space. Two factories, operational in the day when everyone was awake and closed at night, perfect!! Very few homes, estate lands filled with nature's bounty and the sound of nature to compliment. Today, both factories are closed; One closed in the 1990s and the other after Marie, but that's a different story. Operations had puttered off at that factory even before Maria to the point that one could hardly smell its existence. The factories were tolerable; I had met them there, and we were able to coexist. Then over the years, night entertainment reared its ugly head in the area.

First came 'Green Grasshopper". It was not ecologically friendly, but a bit tolerable. Then came "Krazy Coconut' and the name tells the story. There were days when 'Krazy' seemed an understatement for the description of the ruckus going on in that place. During the days of knocking and drilling prior to its doors being open to the public, the talk on the road was that it was going to be soundproof! It was proof that sound exist! Today, we have "Klassified Club". The new owners like the last have deviated from the original spelling of the words and have spelt Krazy and Klassified with a K-call it artistic license. The name has changed; the ruckus has remained the same. It may well be called the 'Klassified Krazy Club', and I am forced again to wonder why in Dominica we are unable to establish and ensure a level of civility in the standards necessary for the establishment of certain businesses in residential communities.

Why would a planning division in a country grant permission for a night club to be established in a residential community and right alongside a gas station? The gas station but a stone's throw from that club; one of its storage tanks running alongside the property. It is apparent that much consideration was not given to the residents of the area who complained repeatedly via call in programmes when 'Krazy Coconut" existed. It is apparent that the safety of the patrons has also not been considered considering the location of the club. It is apparent that the only requirement to the establishing of business especially in areas which are obviously not suitable is a string. I wish I knew what string to pull to get planning to do a thorough review before saying yeah or nay to such establishments in residential areas.


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