Lilly receives me warmly, then launches into a veiled call for help. One of the oldest existing Jewish communities in the Americas, she tells me, today a dwindling diaspora of around 125 people, is becoming a historic relic.

To Lilly I seem to represent the Jewish world that barely recognizes Suriname's existence. She invites me to a Passover seder, where I can mingle with more of the community.

``They'll be nice girls there!'' she adds as I leave, proving that Jewish grandmothers are an international breed.

For all of its polyglot flavor, Paramaribo, surprisingly, lacks spice. By 5 p.m. weekdays and for much of the weekend, the greater downtown merely whispers. Sightseeing is practically limited to Fort Zeelandia, a 17th century brick fortress built by the British on the bank of the Suriname River that also houses a small cultural museum, and aging sugar cane plantation homes in the Commewijne district on the opposite side. Suriname may be one of the few countries in the world without a single movie theater.

SONG BIRDS

I discover some action early one Sunday morning at Independence Square, the country's administrative heart, which is flanked by 200-year-old brick ministry buildings and the white Presidential Palace.

A few dozen men holding bird cages are gathered in the grassy oval plaza. A tiny songbird is a Surinamese man's best friend, a tender bond rooted not in male sensitivity but in an economic reality -- a well-trained bird commands a street value of several hundred dollars.

Every morning, men across the country can be seen ritually hanging bird cages in front of their homes; many also take them to work. A few admit that their fidelity to these birds, upon which they shower both attention and wages, does cause some marital angst. Every Sunday, they hold competitions. It must say something about the temperament of a country when its men gather recreationally to encourage birds to out-chirp one another rather than, say, stage cockfights.

On the grass, cages hang from metal posts planted 10 feet apart; beside them stand judges, with strained looks on their faces and chalk poised, striking notches on chalkboards after every squeak or whistle a bird makes. Basically, the bird with the least stage fright wins.

To loosen any inhibitions, owners present their male competitor with an enticing female just before show time. This seems to work.

Two days later I am in the sanctuary of Neve Shalom, not a songbird in sight, but still singing. The floor is sandy, a feature typical of Caribbean synagogues that harks back to the Inquisition era when Jews had to pray furtively.

The 70 faces around me -- their skin dark brown to white -- reveal the story of Suriname's four-century-old Jewish heritage, as well centuries of intermarriage.

The legacy of the early Jewish settlers, though having a modest presence today, is deeply embedded into modern-day culture. Sranan Tongo includes words of Hebrew origin, like treef (forbidden food); the unofficial national dish, pom -- a baked casserole made with a local root -- was introduced by Jews.

We sing a few familiar Passover songs after the meal, and by 11 p.m. the crowd begins to thin. I walk into the humid night. Chandeliers from the synagogue's sanctuary next door still glow softly behind high windows.

A few stray cats cruise along the sidewalk and two night watchmen lounge at their posts, a faint hum of music drifting from the portable radios beside them.