#nifca

[caribbeanartexpress]

The 2021 edition of the National Independence Festival of Creative Arts (NIFCA) takes on a new and exciting look with nifcaonline.com!

[spokenwordajcp]

NEGUS - NIFCA Theater Tribute to Andrea Gollop-Greenidge ! If you missed the show you missed a big one #nifca #theater #negus #kamau #kamaubrathwaite #writer #poet #writing #ethiopia #rasta #rastafari #rastafarian #ruler #warrior #africa #sword #stonedwithcupid #barbados #performanceart (at Daphne Joseph Hackett Theater) https://www.instagram.com/p/B6ExG-TgrJL/?igshid=4efkclld58ae

[ablaqmajic]

Received an epic surprise yesterday at the Goddard Enterprises Limited #NIFCA #LiteraryArts Gala: A special award for the most promising manuscript. Pressure is on. Challenge accepted! #publishedAuthor #poet #blackPoet #blackAuthor *About the author* Awards: - 2011 NIFCA Bronze Award (in Spoken Word Category, for piece entitled "Music used to be.") - 2013 NIFCA Silver Award (in Literary Art Category, for piece entitled "GreenHeart Valentine.") - 2013 NIFCA Bronze Award (in Literary Art Category, for piece entitled "There once was a BlackBird.") - 2013 NIFCA Bronze Award (in Literary Art Category, for piece entitled "Return to Sender.") - 2015 NIFCA Bronze Award (in Literary Art Category, for piece entitled "If I Could Have My Way.") - 2015 NIFCA Silver Award (in Literary Art Category, for piece entitled "High.") 2016 NIFCA Bronze Award (in Literary Art Category, for piece entitled "Were I...") 2016 NIFCA Bronze Award (in Literary Art - Published Books Category, for book entitled "A trickle of Sunlight over de Sea.") - 2018 NIFCA Silver Award (Literary Art Category, for piece entitled "Jade".) - 2018 NIFCA Silver Award (Literary Art Category - unpublished manuscripts: "Other People Woman"). Books Published: "Like a Sunset over de Gully." (2013) "A Trickle of Sunlight Over de Sea." (2015)'' "Fragments." (2016) Additionally Published in: "The Arts Etc Winning Words Anthology." (2017) - Foundation Publishing. "Better Health Magazine." (2012) - The Nation Newspaper. Tracks Released: "Pitch Black." (2014) "Fit for Crop Ova" - Scandulous ft Narq (2015) "Chapter One." (2015) "Wish you were here." (2016) - https://soundcloud.com/narq-1/wish-you-were-here-narq-ft- "Fantasy." (2017) https://soundcloud.com/narq-1/fantasy (at Apollo Fitness Barbados) https://www.instagram.com/p/BqQCQniA8pG/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1upeevc8gqxix

[the246connect]

From @thencfbarbados - You're invited to a night of interpretations at an Evening of the Arts on November 15th at the Lloyd Erskine Sandiford Centre from 6.30pm! . Celebrate our writers, artists and craftsmen at the National Independence Festival of Creative Arts. . Come and experience incredible Bajan talent as NIFCA celebrates 45 years of excellence! 🇧🇧 #NCFBarbados #NIFCA #Photography #Literature #VisualArts #culture #savethedate #the246connect #connectingbarbados #barbados #bajan #bim #246 https://www.instagram.com/p/BoJZ6ObA3FE/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=uhosurjpi5oy

[ellereneart]

Whistlers(short story)

Alexander stepped out of the old furniture store pulling his coat tightly around him as he let the rickety door of the shop creak to a close.  He turned, sliding the slightly rusted key into the keyhole and locking it before dropping it into his top pocket.

 The wind howled unmercifully past as he crouched, picking up the old gas lantern off the porch and lighting it with the box of matches from his pocket, before beginning his trek.  He kept his gaze fixed to the ground as he walked; only daring to look up once he’d reached the relative safety of the forest’s edge.  The town was dangerous at night; best to keep to your eyes down than find yourself witness to an unpleasant scene.  He knew that from experience.

 The withered old trees creaked as the fog suddenly began to roll in; the white mist settling over the hill in a matter of minutes.  Alexander lifted the lantern, its dull light showing only about a few feet ahead of him before being swallowed by the unnatural fog.  He shivered slightly as he buried himself into his patched trench coat.  He’d always hated this part of the day when he had to make the long trek to his grandfather’s house at the bottom of Windy Hill.  

 Every time he made the trip he’d find himself wondering why the old man had built his place in the middle of the forest.  It was a rickety old hut with more problems than there were solutions.  The paint on the walls was peeling and there were so many holes that every time the wind blew it sounded like whistling; it also meant that at night it was deathly cold.  When he was younger his grandfather used to tell him that it was the sound of ghosts whistling as they went about their merry way; of course now he knew that to be folly.  There were no such things as ghosts after all, but the old man was adamant.  Whenever he heard the whistling he’d look up at the roof and say, “Well goodnight to you too”, and tip his dusty hat, which was so worn that it had nearly as many holes as the house itself.  He’d tried to convince Alexander on many occasions to do the same but he had refused since the last thing he wanted was to look like a fool tipping his hat to imaginary people.

 On many occasions Alexander had tried to convince his grandfather to move from the house, but being as stubborn as he was old he would refuse, smacking his walking stick on the ground and proclaiming loudly that it was his home and that he had no intention of leaving.  This of course meant that Alexander had no choice but to stay as well.  Being his only family he couldn’t exactly leave the old man by himself, and though he was reluctant to admit it, he would be extremely lonely not having his grandfather by his side.

 Alexander sighed to himself as he continued to stumble along the weather-beaten path down the hill and into the trees.  Somehow he’d have to convince his grandfather to move from the place; maybe he could bribe him with the prospect of a new cane.  The old one was little more than a varnished twig and the end had become chipped and dented from the constant banging on the floor.

 He held the lantern a little higher as he walked along so that he could see the roots and branches of the trees more clearly.  No, it would never work. The old man would find something clever to say and then state that his old cane was fine.  He would therefore be back to the same begging and pleading routine again. He sighed once more.

 Although their motives were entirely different, Alexander wasn’t the only one attempting to convince his grandfather to move from the house.  Every week they came with their crisply tailored suits and expensive leather cases. They’d spend hours arguing, pulling file after file, and placing offer after offer in order to purchase the land.  Precious stones and minerals had been found, or so they claimed.  Alexander never trusted them; something about them had always seemed ‘off’ to him, their type always did.  Perhaps it was their eyes, always studying and calculating, never actually showing what they really felt.

 His grandfather, of course, vehemently refused to sell and Alexander understood completely.  The old man’s father had been buried there along with his son…Alexander’s father, who had died several years prior in an accident, leaving himself and his grandfather alone.  They never really spoke about Alexander’s father and over time the subject had become taboo.  It was generally too painful to think about.

 Alexander’s grip on the lantern tightened. Yes, he constantly pestered his grandfather to move, but he never actually considered selling the land. The move he was suggesting was only temporary at any rate, a short time away from the place until it could be made habitable again.

 He looked up from the path as he approached the house, but even from the outside he could tell that something was wrong.

 “Grandfather ...?”  Alexander called worriedly.

 All of the lights in the house were out and had been extinguished not long before, he judged, by the slight smell of smoke in the air.  The smell always lingered for a few minutes after the candles were blown out, which was the reason his grandfather absolutely hated when it was time to turn out the lights.  He’d complain to no end about having to deal with the smell and not being able to sleep without his candle lit. The last part, of course, was a lie that he told so that Alexander wouldn’t extinguish the candle, but every night after the old man had fallen asleep he would creep back in to blow it out anyway.  

 So the fact that all of the lights were out worried him since it was unlike his grandfather’s usual habit.  Slowly Alexander crept towards the door and pushed it open with his free hand, the floorboards creaking under his feet as he walked.

 “Grandfather ...?” Alexander called again.

 There was no response, which worried him further.  He let the door creak to a close behind him as he stepped inside, depositing his shoes at the entrance.  Wind blew through the house sending a familiar whistling tune sailing through the air and causing him to shiver.

 “Well goodnight to you too,” he murmured and then shook his head; it would seem that his grandfather was rubbing off on him after all.  He stood a little straighter, clenching his jaw as he started to silently make his way about the house.  A flash of movement in the corner of his eye caused him to start, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

 Alexander spun towards the window, relaxing only a fraction upon realising that no one was there.  In the near darkness every shadow seemed to symbolize movement and every sound his fear.  There was still no sign of his grandfather anywhere.

 “Grandfather!” He yelled worriedly.

 CRASH!  The window at the back of the house shattered inwards, the glass shards littering the floor around the object that had come smashing through it…his grandfather’s cane.

 Alexander rushed out of the back door, the rotting wood splintering from the force with which he’d thrown it open.  He stumbled on the back steps, just in time to see the gun being pointed towards his grandfather’s head.  He rushed forward, tackling the nearest of the two men to the dirt.  The gun slipped from the man’s hand as they tumbled, so did the lantern from Alexander’s.  The glass lantern smashed onto the grass, its flame catching the grass as the oil from inside spilled, feeding the flames even more.

 Alexander drew his arm back ready to fix the man beneath him with a hard fist, but froze at the sight of his face; twisted, deformed masses of flesh with nothing but empty black holes for eyes.  A sudden chill ran down his spine as he was forced off, the flames rearing up around them as he collided painfully with the dirt.

 “We gave you a chance,” the eerie screeching voice said.  

 He scuttled backwards, stopping only when he could go no further due to the flames that so perfectly surrounded them.  The other man, no not man… creature, approached him.  Each slow movement terrifyingly accentuated by the flickering light of the flames.

 “We simply needed the land.  There was no reason to uselessly spill blood.”

 Alexander felt his stomach lurch.  He was going to die here, all because of this stupid land with its silly superstitions.  He squeezed his eyes shut lifting a hand protectively across his face to protect from the attack he knew was coming.

 A few seconds passed, then a few more, and when he realised that he was in fact not dead he forced himself to open his eyes.  What he saw shocked him.  The flames which had been surrounding them and separating him from his grandfather had receded, all of the fire contracting to a single point in an impressive tower of flame that slowly constricted around the two men. Their dark eyes seemed to glow with rage.

 “What sorcery is this!” They roared.

 And then the whistling started.  It was soft at first, barely more than a whisper, but by the time the flames had begun burning blue with an unnatural heat the whistling had grown exponentially.

 Alexander stared at the spectacle in front of him, his breath caught tightly in his chest.  He did not even notice when his grandfather’s cane came floating daintily from the house and planted itself firmly in the old man’s hand.

 The two creatures stared out at him from within the swirling vortex, the screams that erupted from their malformed features sending chills running up and down his spine as their bodies crumbled to ash.  The wind began to die down and with it the tower of fire that had lit up the night sky like a beacon.  The whistling started to fade, each note becoming softer than the next.  Alexander stared into the flames, his eyes wide with wonder and as the final notes of the tune played through the air he saw within it a familiar face.

 “Father?” He called wonderingly.

 And the flames were gone.

 His grandfather ambled over to him with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. Wordlessly he rested a hand on his grandson’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.

 “Grandfather,” Alexander said without turning to look at the old man.

 “Yes son” he replied in an awestruck tone.

 Alexander paused for a moment to catch his breath before speaking. “May we please move?”

 The old man laughed and patted his grandson’s shoulder lightly.

 “Yes son,” he chuckled and leaned on his old worn out cane.

                                                   ... 

Entered this story in NIFCA (National independence festival of creative arts) where I live. Its a national competition. Received a gold medal and the most outstanding junior entry for it. The ending.....I don’t like. It’s cliche and lame but the deadline was coming up and I was at the word limit. That doesn’t make it any better but I at least acknowledge that it needed work.