Prophesied by Sparrow

AS TOLD TO BC PIRES

My name is Kennedy Swaratsingh and I have a CV as long as my arm.

In 30 years in public life, I have served as a priest, a soldier, a politician and a Cabinet minister.

I have an MBA in tourism, a post-graduate in HR, and a doctorate in business administration, besides my degree in theology.

I have never looked back and asked myself, “Boy, why did I do that?”

I was born in Tunapuna, but my parents separated when I was very, very small and I grew up with my grandparents in St Joseph.

Hardly any houses there, then.

My mother and grandmother, my three siblings and my aunt, Germaine, “Men-Men,” lived there, too.

Denise is my wife and my daughters are Kaitlyn, going on 14, and Kelsey, 12.

I was in the church almost from birth. I was an acolyte and choir member from small. We went to church every single day during the week and both days on the weekend.

From 5 am Mass, we went straight to St Joseph Boys’ RC School.

Breakfast was a vial of coffee – my grandmother, from Martinique, used to parch her own that she grew – very French.

You can’t grow up in St Joseph in the days of Gloria Alcazar and Wayne and Lennox Flores and Curtis Leslie and not love music.

Nobody ever taught me but I play guitar, cuatro, piano, any instrument.

I love Rudder and old-time calypso, Sparrow to Kitchener.

I remember preaching on Stalin’s song Wait, Dorothy, Wait.

The church played a major role in our lives and St Joseph was the village that raised the child. You genuinely didn’t miss not having parents because you had so many people who genuinely cared about you.

My father, a Hindu from South, used to go around selling cloth for (legendary textiles merchant) Jimmy Aboud.

He met my mother when he passed by selling pants lengths. The second time he passed, my grandfather asked him what was his intentions to his daughter.

By age 18, they were married in the Catholic church.

In a paradoxical way, you were kind of lucky.

One of the pluses of not having a father is you knew from the first that you didn’t have a second chance.

And you made every opportunity count. And you counted your blessings, not your misfortunes.

I had made up my mind at age 13 to become a priest.

My mother’s brother was a monk. We used to walk from St Joseph to the Abbey at Mt St Benedict for Sunday Mass and to see Uncle Fred.

So I had that example from a very early age. I joined the seminary on Republic Day, September 24, 1984. I spent 20 years in religious life.

That whole faith orientation is part of who I am. You serve as a priest.

But when you leave, everything you do afterwards reflects that value system and philosophical underpinning.

Archbishop Pantin appointed me as chaplain to the Defence Force.

For my very first “padre hour,” 7 am Wednesday mornings, at Teteron Bay, I took out my guitar and started to sing.

Instant bond with the soldiers. They said, “Sir, you cyar come down here and not be one of us!”

There was an opening for a short-service commissioned officer for welfare. I applied to join the Defence Force. In ’94, ’95, I was promoted to major and became a full-time soldier and a part-time priest.

I lived in the parish of Morvant-Laventille, that little church by the flyover.

I put on army kit and went to work at Teteron every day.

Priests were paid $1,200 a month. My mom was living with me and I had a mortgage to pay.

I asked Archbishop Gilbert for permission to apply for another job.

So I became a human resource director at the Neal & Massy Group. And the chief operations officer for Hi-Lo.

Even though I left the priesthood, I did not leave either God or my life of service.

In the 2007 candidate screening, Patrick Manning asked, “Why should we pick you to stand for the PNM in St Joseph?”

I said, “Prime Minister, the (calypsonian) Mighty Sparrow predicted my coming years ago, when he sang, ‘Kennedy is the man for them!’”

Patrick laughed.

I was selected. I became Minister of Public Administration.

When we lost the election, on May 25, 2010, you suddenly lost your job!

On the 24th, you were a Cabinet minister, on the 25th, you were nothing.

My children were two and four. I couldn’t get a job in Trinidad. The 2010 election was very acrimonious and people weren’t sure what it would cost them to speak to me.

Until then, I had never contemplated life outside of Trinidad.

All my family lives in the States, but I gave up my green card because I’d committed my life to serving TT.

For the first time, I looked outside Trinidad. A friend recommended me for the job of CEO of the Crane Hotel.

When I told my wife, “We’re going to Barbados,” she replied, “You’re going alone!” What she was really saying was, “You go and see if it is worthwhile.” Rather than us uprooting everything.

To say that God didn’t let me down would be too airy-fairy, but I would say my faith was strong.

Barbados has been especially good for my family.

We came when my daughters were three and five and so my children don’t know me as a priest, a politician or a soldier. They just know me as Daddy.

When they walk with me in the mall in Trinidad, every two people, one person stopping me. Who didn’t know the politician knew the soldier. Who I didn’t baptise, I married.

So Barbados has been a real blessing for us as a family.

But I don’t know how Trinis make out without proper doubles. I would go to Trinidad just for doubles!

For me, a Trini is somebody who lives life with a passion.

To me, Trinidad and Tobago is where I can live my passion with infinite possibilities and without limitations.

I miss Trinidad. There, I could be whatever I wanted to be. And I wanted to be a lot!

The person I am today is because Trinidad allowed it.

Read the full version of this feature on Saturday at www.BCPires.com