Tuesday, February 02, 2016

I got my first racist slur hurled at me!

There me is, Thursday afternoon, at the roadside workshop, getting the car tyres full-up with air when I hear a car-cophany, horns blaring as if them drivers have diarrhea.

Actually, I didn't hear the noise at first because, as usual, I am lingering in another day-dream in me head. 

And too besides, I was busy digging up money from me handbag to give to Sam the air-in-tyre fuller-upper man who did tell me to park right where I was.

Gradually, a' furious voice protrude into me brain.

Slow like a sloth in a civil service office now waking up, I stop checking for money and look towards the street.  

The voice is coming from a mouth shouting and froffing with fury. It is behind a steering wheel in a dull-colour car, blocking a mighty long line o' traffic.

I don't understand what the voice is saying, the car-cophany is too loud.

Sam the air-in-tyre fuller-upper man haul away he hose and say, “Move back.”

Everything after that feel like five minutes o’ slow-motion, yet it musta happen in only 3 seconds.

I look at the voice in the car that is blocking traffic and...

...the voice let go a loud string o' epithet about “coolie” then more epithet. (The voice is not “coolie”, meaning East Indian people of Guyana).

“Oh, it want me to move!” I mentally scratch me head like the skinny chap in Laurel and Hardy.

I turn to my right to see why the voice want me to move...I am in the path to where it want to park.  I look behind me to check how much space I got to reverse, a police van is two car spaces away.

I guess I should be writing with outrage and all o' that but, the truth is, that voice must be a bully to everybody in its life, heaven help its modda, its woman or women and its children. I don’t know if the voice been thinking that I was deliberately, superiorly taking my time, and its puny ego couldn't bear the weight of it, of being ignored, so it froff and fume like a fool.

The policeman in the van ain't pick he teet, as we would say...the police ain't get involved.

I reverse.  The voice calm down and rush to where it want to go.

“Come forward,” Sam the air-in-tyre fuller-upper man say and fill the tyres.

Later, I think, if it was me, and I did want to go into the spot where the voice did want to go, I woulda drive to a place where I could turn, then I would park behind the car that I think is deliberately blocking me, and I would wait my turn.

But that is the problem with civilised people like me. I ain't got a voice that can froff and fume and I refuse to cultivate one. 


Sunday, January 31, 2016

Molasses in them pants.

Hello.

See me here!

Back home.

I am trying to blog from my mobile.

Does anyone do it?

Is it difficult?

If it's not, then I can blog quicker instead of having to boot up de pooter, etc etc.

And I can read your blogs and comment quicker.

But then...I forgot...

I AM HOME AND DE INTERNET GOT MOLASSES BETWEEN HE TEETH AND SEAT!

Sunday, January 17, 2016

Still in South Florida...

Birthdays, parties, cakes, a circus, rain, sun, workin' in de garden, a visit to relatives who took us to their home and taught me tons of gardening tricks...



...aaatichooooo...yes, I know, every time I come dis side, I ketch a cold...

Saturday, December 26, 2015

Whose moonlight...?


"Whose moon can it be? How can anyone stake claim when it was created for all? What drives us to always stake ownership, to grab, to clutch?"

Read more MOON STUFF here!

Thursday, December 17, 2015

Other blog....

Well, I hope y'all notice that Google got Beethoven out there today...?

Cos, y'know, yesterday was Beethoven bir'day.

And Noel Coward bir'day.

And my bir'day.

Ahem...!

But, anyway, de real story is...not dat it is a story-story, cos these days, I am saving them for books
ever since a certain writer read reams and reams of my blog to do research for a novel, using my word 'cocoon' and my idea of music and leaves, and trying to learn Creolese....and by the way, my Uncle from London say he did meet that writer in Guyana and he wasn't impressed with the writer or de book (which pleased my wicked little heart greatly)...

...de real story which is not a real story is that I start dis other blog to write about my travels to, and life in, other places, the people I meet from far-flung corners of the world (yes, de world is full o' corners)...

Thursday, December 10, 2015

No Ban.

Well, they let me in.

But I guess is because plenty people don’t know that this here place is a part of Merica.

At the airport, my mother greet me with wrap-around Ray-Ban dark glasses ‘cos she had eye surgery the day before.


Is delicious-sunny today. 

Soon, the whole place gon be so packed with tourists for the winter, it gon start leaning over (as my sister say).

Buenos dias, Florida!

 

Thursday, December 03, 2015

Sucking teeth at de world!!!

“Stchuuuup.”


That is the sound of a thousand and one expressions without you speaking a single word.

Is the wordless sound of vexation. But depending on the context, with amusement on you' lips, it can mean, “Ahh man, you joking, who you think you fooling?”


With one long “stchuuuuup” and you' eyes looking thin and mean, you can cut a big man down to li’l boy size.

With a short “stchup” and a snicker, you can tell a rival gyal that she is nothing.



In de Caribbean, whether you' ancestors wuz born in Africa,

China, India, Portugal or England or here, suck teeth is the 

cross-culture language without words. Li’l children do it; old 

people with only gums suck they teeth too; aunties, uncles, 

mothers, fathers and all the rest, do it.


To suck you' teeth, you got to: 

Pout you' lips in a li’l pout, clench you' top and bottom teeth 

close-close. 

Push the tip o’ you' tongue against you' teeth. 

Suck in air...stchuuuuu….when you want to finish, close you' 

lips…uuup.


When you become expert, you can even do a side-of-you-mouth 

suck teeth. This you do when you joking with you' friends and 

one o’ them say something nutty.


Stchuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.


S'all I want to say today, lookin' at de news today, at men 

warring, how men love to war...