The house leaned a little to the left, like it had grown tired of standing straight. One shutter hung loose, knocking softly against the wall whenever the breeze came through. The roof had been patched so many times with bits of tin that it looked like a quilt sewn by different hands, none of them matching. But the house was still standing, and that counted for something.
Inside lived the Rolle family.
Marcia Rolle woke before the sun most mornings, not because she wanted to but because worry didn’t allow sleep to linger. That morning was no different. She lay still for a few minutes on the thin mattress she shared with her youngest daughter, Leila, listening to the sounds of Over-the-Hill coming to life. A potcake barked somewhere down Gully Wash Road. A truck rattled past, its engine coughing like it needed medicine. The roosters that belonged to nobody in particular crowed as if they owned the place.
Marcia swung her feet to the floor and felt the cool concrete beneath her toes. The house had no tiles, just bare cement worn smooth from years of sweeping. She stood quietly so she wouldn’t wake Leila and padded into the kitchen, which was really just one corner of the living room separated by a sagging curtain.
She opened the fridge and stared.
Social media is where we speak in public, but often without the checks that used to come with publishing on paper or on live broadcast. In The Bahamas — as in many countries — that matters because what you publish online can have real legal and personal consequences for you and for the people you write about. This introduction sets out why responsible posting matters, what “libel” and “slander” mean in plain terms, whether social-media authors can be arrested in The Bahamas, how other jurisdictions (notably the UK) have treated social-media speech, and how Bahamians should tailor posts to balance safety and free expression.
A social post can spread faster and farther than a whispered rumor. It can damage reputations, stoke panic, incite harassment, or expose private information. Because social media posts are public (and easily archived and copied), an offhand claim or a nasty meme can follow a person indefinitely and be relied on by others as if it were fact. That permanence + public reach is why many countries treat defamatory publications seriously — and why you should be careful about what you say and how you say it online.
It is the invisible thread that binds,
The quiet peace a worried spirit finds,
A bridge of glass across a canyon deep,
A promise that the soul intends to keep.
It is not built of stone or steel or wood,
But forged in moments generally understood
To be the small, unnoticed, fleeting things—
The safety that a simple silence brings.
It is the hand you hold within the dark,
The kindling waiting for the crucial spark,
The knowledge that you need not check the lock,
The solid ground beneath the trembling rock.
Abstract - The cultural relationship between Jamaica and The Bahamas is one of profound intimacy and stark imbalance. For decades, the sonic landscape of The Bahamas has been dominated not by the indigenous rhythms of Rake 'n' Scrape or Goombay, but by the thumping basslines of Jamaican Roots Reggae and Dancehall. While the former provided a shared language of black empowerment and Pan-Africanism, the latter has introduced a set of behavioral norms, linguistic shifts, and social values that arguably threaten the distinct cultural fabric of The Bahamas. This essay examines the mechanisms of this cultural transfer, arguing that the dominance of Jamaican popular culture acts as a form of "soft imperialism" that displaces local identity, fosters imported social pathologies, and relegates authentic Bahamian artistic expression to the margins of its own society.
My son Christopher Catalano brought me back some of those World Famous Cat Island Flour Cakes from his visit to Cat Island. Never had them before. So delicious. The perfect blend of flour, cinnamon and nutmeg. 😊
Derek
Research on the wider Caribbean (including The Bahamas) suggests a mix of social, cultural, pedagogical and systemic factors that help explain why boys often lag behind girls in reading and writing. Here’s a breakdown of the main explanations researchers identify.
In the Bahamas specifically, reports show that girls consistently outperform boys in English-language (reading/writing) subjects in the BGCSE exams. Bahamas Local
More generally across the Caribbean, studies find that though access to education is roughly equal for boys and girls, girls tend to do better academically — especially in language, reading and writing — while boys underperform, repeat grades more, drop out more often, or enrol less in secondary and tertiary levels. Inter-American Development Bank
International evidence shows this is not unique to the Caribbean: globally, in many education systems, boys tend to lag behind girls in reading and literacy. UNESCO
So the phenomenon is well-documented. The big question is why.
No motion starts without a force,
No river runs a straight-line course,
For every step that you intend,
The universe will make you bend.
It is the law, ancient and deep,
That promises no easy sleep;
From atoms spinning in the void
To empires built and then destroyed,
In every breath and every plan,
In every heart of every man,
The truth remains, distinct and clear:
The Opposition is always here.
I. The Physical Weight
Observe the stone upon the hill,
It sits in silence, cold and still.
To move it requires strain and sweat,
A physical and heavy debt.
For Gravity, that jealous king,
Lays claim to every living thing.
It pulls us down, it holds us tight,
It creates the heavy, weary night.
To stand upright is to defy
The very earth, the very sky.
The friction on the moving wheel,
The rust that eats the strongest steel,
The wind that beats against the face—
Resistance fills all time and space.
There is no vacuum perfect, pure,
Where unstopped motion can endure.
The air itself is like a wall,
Waiting for the weak to fall.
But mark this truth within the gale:
Without the wind, no ship can sail.
The very force that stops the way
Is what allows the bird of prey
To catch the draft and soar on high,
To pin its wings against the sky.
The plane requires the drag to lift,
The opposition is the gift.
Dr. Reisha Albury had spent half her life studying the ocean around Andros, and the water still surprised her. Some days it felt like a patient teacher. Other days it acted like a trickster that waited until she felt confident, then swept the board clean. Then the earthquake hit—a soft, almost polite tremor felt from the Berry Islands to the Exumas. She never experienced a quake in The Bahamas before and knew of none on record.
But a week later, when fishermen radioed in saying a new island had appeared twenty miles off Andros, Reisha closed her notebook and took the report seriously.
Boaters could be dramatic. A patch of sandbar could feel like an island if you wanted a story to tell at the bar. Still, the way two separate crews described it caught her attention: “A real island. Big enough to stand on. Smells like wet stone.”
That last part stuck with her. Sand doesn’t smell like wet stone.
By noon she’d arranged transport, packed her diving gear, and loaded the small research skiff with enough equipment to satisfy the most skeptical funding board. She didn’t invite anyone to join her. She wanted first sight for herself.
In the complex landscape of transnational crime, few offenses are as frequently conflated yet fundamentally distinct as human trafficking and human smuggling. While both involve the movement of people and the illicit crossing of borders, they differ sharply in their means, their ends, and their victims. For the Commonwealth of The Bahamas, an archipelagic nation strategically positioned between the Caribbean, South America, and the United States, these distinctions are not merely academic—they are matters of urgent national security and human rights.
The Bahamas serves as a critical transit point in the Western Hemisphere’s migration corridors. Its porous borders and proximity to the United States make it a prime target for smuggling networks moving economic migrants. Simultaneously, its tourism-driven economy and reliance on migrant labor create vulnerabilities ripe for human trafficking. Understanding the nuance between these two crimes—trafficking as a crime against the individual involving exploitation, and smuggling as a crime against the state involving illegal entry—is essential to evaluating the nation’s legal responses, including the landmark Trafficking in Persons (Prevention and Suppression) Act of 2008 and the recently introduced Smuggling of Migrants Bill 2025.
Hate is often framed as power. People use it to stand firm, to guard themselves, or to strike back when they feel wronged. It feels active instead of passive, sharp instead of soft. Yet hate is one of the most counterproductive forces in human behavior. It weakens judgment, drains energy, narrows perception, and harms both personal relationships and large communities. When examined closely, hate does far more damage to the person who holds it than to the target it aims for.
To understand why hate works against us, it helps to see what it does to our thinking. Hate simplifies. It reduces complex realities into rigid categories. A person becomes the worst thing they ever said. A group becomes a single stereotype. A situation loses all nuance and turns into a personal threat. This kind of thinking feels satisfying in the moment because it removes uncertainty, but it also shuts down learning. Once hate takes hold, it is nearly impossible to listen fairly, question assumptions, or notice changing facts. Progress depends on the flexibility to adjust when new information arrives. Hate removes that flexibility and replaces it with stubbornness.
Hate also distorts priorities. It makes people focus more on hurting an opponent than improving their own lives. This is easy to see in personal arguments. Someone who is angry often tries to make the other person feel worse rather than trying to solve the problem. On a larger scale, groups caught in hateful conflicts pour time, money, and attention into fighting the other side instead of improving their own communities. Resources that could strengthen education, health care, safety, or innovation get lost in cycles of retaliation.
In the land where whispers roam and tales unfold,
Where the winds of nonsense scatter, wild and bold,
There came a cry, a call to arms, a plea so loud,
To shake the chains, and lift the foggy shroud.
No more mumbo jumbo, the people said,
No more the twisted lies, the truth misled.
For ages now, we’ve danced in circles tight,
Chasing shadows, turning day to night.
The mystics spoke in riddles, wrapped in smoke,
Their words were clouds, their promises a joke.
They promised answers, but their tongues were veiled,
Leaving us to wander, lost and frail.
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The Bahamian archipelago, comprising over 700 islands and cays scattered across the western Atlantic, is inherently a maritime nation. From its earliest Lucayan inhabitants to the modern global shipping hub of today, the sea has dictated life, commerce, and communication. Central to this enduring relationship is the craft of boat building, a tradition that evolved from dugout canoes into sophisticated sailing vessels, serving as the economic engine and cultural backbone of the Out Islands for centuries. The history of Bahamian boat building is a chronicle of adaptation, resilience, and masterful use of indigenous materials, leading to a modern industry that balances tradition with global demand.
Pit bulls carry one of the most complicated reputations in the dog world. Some people see them as loyal family pets. Others see them as unpredictable animals capable of serious harm. Both views exist for a reason, and both are tied to decades of culture, media coverage, and selective breeding. Understanding the danger and the reputation requires looking at history, behavior, statistics, and the environment in which these dogs are raised.
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