by Kyle Saadeh (Roger Williams)
IRELAND SEEMS TO BE an island surrounded by a sea of uncertainty, reflected by the history and culture of its people. Roughly a decade deep into well-deserved period of peace, Northern Ireland has seemed to finally been able to enter the modern world at full swing. However, my first day here was misleading; it was a Sunday and the desolate streets reminded me of the stories I had read and pictures I remembered seeing in the American media during the “troubles” with abandoned store windows in Belfast and close-ups of bereaved children under deteriorating stucco buildings. However, the people did remain friendly (up to expectations) but with the unexpected charisma and confidence of a more prosperous nation. The next morning I saw why.
The summer Irish morning comes early, but arrives slow. The rolling Irish hills, under a fast moving sky and warm sun, are not quickly forgotten. The town was beaming with life and commerce. The ghost town that I had seen the day before was totally unrecognizable. Long lines waited outside ATMs and the rich aroma of fried bacon with toasted bagels filled the air; while clothing stores, cafes, and travel agencies ushered in clients. It became clear that Northern Ireland was finally reaping the spoils already well experienced by her western peers, the global market had found a nice untapped corner of the globe here (and thankfully without a McDonald’s or Wal-Mart in sight) and Irish seemed to be taking advantage – while making up for lost time.
Although prosperity is the ultimate remedy for social ills, the demons of the past are never too far behind. While on the way to a pub one night, a particular piece of a graffiti caught my eye: above the entrance to a housing complex, spray painted into the brick, was a mural of a masked gunman backed by orange, white, and green with the letters NRB written in large black letters. The two churches here symbolize the dilemma perfectly, perched upon their respective hills, they stare each other down like two world-class prizefighters – immobile in the stone, but with long reaching shadows.
Making Up for Lost Time
