Rice price going up, gone up, it might even affect we folklore. Villagers gon think twice about throwing precious raw…uncooked…rice on they floor at night to ketch Ole Higue when she invade they home. Ole Higue, the ole blood-sucker, ain’t gon feel compelled to count hundreds o’ rice grains whole damn night ‘til sunrise and villagers ketch she. She gon scrape up every grain, full she pocket and flee.
Rice is the new pearl. My second brother in Florider tell my mother on the phone how they rationing rice now over there. My mother say she read in the papers how in China it is becoming a delicacy.
I know who fault it is after I hear a protest march in town on Friday.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, them protestors tramp in the broiling hot sun. Somebody holler something about high cost of food. Somebody holler something about guvament.
I put two and two together and make ten. It is we guvament fault why food prices gone up. Rice is food. Rice price gone up. Guvament fault. Rice price gone up in the world. We guvament fault, damn them, why they couldn’t stop drought and flood?
As I watch them protestors I wonder if I shoulda join them and add me two cents. I try to calculate how much it musta cost to do this protest. Cost of getting people together. Cost of taking precious time off from work. Cost of cardboard, markers. Nah, nah, I decide; I better take me two cents and buy plant seeds. I better use me energy to work in we garden when the sun ain’t rise too high and hot.
And if the day come when I can’t afford rice, I gon eat even more green plantain, cassava, eddo, sweet potato, yam, bide me time and wait for rice price to drop. That is what me nanee do during World War Two; she plant and grow and dig and plant some more...yes, me short, short, li’l, li’l nanee.
I still want me dhal and roti though…so flour better don’t go running scarce.