The History of East Indian Indentureship.

Here in Trinidad and Tobago, searching for stories and images about Indian indentureship often feels like walking through a fog, knowing something is there, just beyond reach, but not quite being able to grasp it. For years, I combed through libraries and bookshops, hoping to find reflections of that part of T&T's history, our mosaic stories.

Most times, I found the same pages with different faces and worlds. Studies have repeatedly demonstrated this imbalance: children's books are overwhelmingly focused on Caucasian experiences, while those featuring characters from racial minorities are scarce.

But something is shifting. Recently, a friend sent me one of the few children’s books about indentureship, and holding it in my hands felt almost sacred. It wasn’t just a book; it was a bridge, carrying across generations the voices and memories that have too often been silenced.

Authors and educators are stepping forward to change this, to weave storytelling into a way of reclaiming history. Through tender, age-appropriate narratives, they are introducing children to the complex legacy of migration, indentureship, resilience, and identity. These stories do not lecture; they invite. They help young readers understand that history is not something that exists far away in textbooks; it’s in the rhythms of our speech, the foods on our tables, and the songs our grandparents hummed while stirring a pot or sweeping a yard.

In one heritage series written for children six to twelve years old, the lives of Indians who came to the Caribbean are told through vibrant tales of how they dressed, what they sang, and how they celebrated life in a new world. The books blend fact and fiction, preserving real names and incidents. In their pages appear unforgettable figures: the man who brought the first Indian film to Trinidad, the festive chaos of night weddings slowly giving way to daytime ceremonies, and the "mic men" driving through villages with music spilling out of their battered vans.

One story describes life on sugarcane estates, where payday brought hawkers selling everything imaginable, even empty flour and sugar bags. In the 1940s and 50s, ex-indentured labourers bought those flour bags to sew shirts, trousers, and school bags. One author remembers, “I grew up wearing flour bag clothes as a boy in the village.” His words echo with quiet pride; what was once seen as necessity has become an emblem of resilience. During hard times, those simple clothes were stitched from survival, love, and ingenuity, the same way people built their lives from the scraps left to them.

There are stories tinged with sorrow too. Like that of Mahal, a bus driver who, after retirement, was so haunted by his memories that he would walk from village to village pretending to drive his imaginary bus, waving to unseen passengers. Behind each of these tales lies the deep emotional truth of indentureship, not only the struggle and displacement, but also the endurance, humour, and humanity that carried people through.

Yet, despite these bright sparks, children’s books about indentureship remain few. That absence is heavy; it threatens to erase a history that should be lived, not lost. When young readers can see themselves and their ancestors reflected in stories, they begin to understand that their heritage matters, that their roots run deep, and that their voices belong in the world’s chorus.

Children’s literature has the power to hold history gently in its hands, to bridge past and future. If we want our children, and their children, to know where they come from, we must keep telling these stories, over and over, until the fog clears and we can all see ourselves, at last, fully and beautifully, in the pages of our own books.

Sarge

Reference:

Nandi Village. An East Indian Village in Central Trinidad by Dr Primnath Gooptar.