I don't live in Flatbush, but I'm
frequently there to spend time with family who live in the mostly Caribbean
section of Brooklyn.
As I walk down Glenwood Road from
Albany Avenue to Flatbush Junction, the same background noises, or keynotes,
are present. Honks from frustrated drivers at 5pm, rush hour, echo throughout
the neighborhood. The engines of b6 buses roar when in motion, but the bus
screeches when the breaks are pressed at every stop. I hear the click-clack of
women with short heels stomping off the steps and onto the pavement. I hear the
scuff of rubber soles colliding with cement because many people, I noticed,
don't pick up their feet when they walk. As I'm paying attention to noise in
the neighborhood, these sounds I hear daily suddenly seem loud.
It's getting later and nearing
dinnertime. Parents and siblings call the names of little ones out playing to
come in and eat. "Shawnnnnnn," one woman coos and then later yells.
Her sound signal reminds me of my mother calling me in after hours outside
playing double-dutch in the street.
As I turn right on Flatbush Avenue, I
hear the startling sirens of a fire truck. The fire station is only a few blocks
away. Probably on their way to put out a fire; I hope no one is hurt.
Reggae, soca, calypso, and kompa
music proves to be the sound marks of the neighborhood. The music playing
accurately reflects the music from the islands people who live in the
neighborhood originate from like St. Vincent, Jamaica, St. Lucia, Trinidad, or
Haiti to name a few. I hear melodies from mellow Bob Marley tunes to upbeat
carnival music coming from inside the different shops on Flatbush. People mouth
the words as they walk, and sometimes I can hear them join in and sing every
word. The sound is full and sometimes staticky if it’s being played from an old
boom box.
The sounds of Flatbush, from kids playing to women
strutting down the sidewalk with killer heels to the screeching of the city
buses to the funky music, are both interesting and welcoming.
