Sugar tongue and oily lips.

He arrive in the Caribbean, oil-up and sugar-up. And he gain the people trust.

He wasn’t supposed to.

Because most Caribbean folks is a distrustful lot. Don’t trust strangers from Foreign Lands.

Nope, he wasn’t supposed to succeed, because we’s the expert story-weavers, not he. We’s the keepers of folk-tale hero Anancy, half-man, half-spider...before Anancy even done spinning he tale to you, he already convince you to give he anything. Yet we, guardians and students of Anancy, get trapped.

How this happen to we, masters of inducing people worldwide to fly all the way here, to spend time and money in we sun?

He succeed because he got the instincts of a seducer who know how to say exactly what people want to hear. Yes, what people want to hear. A seducer can only woo and win if the listener is willing.

And we was willing, ohhh yyyeah, we was willing and ready when he whisper about things we love and need. Cricket, we love and money, we greatest need.

He finance cricket, all hail the Stanford series. He open bank and business and induce people to invest. He flourish from Texas to Antigua and I ain’t know where else.

Then the shame break out.

Me childhood friend living in England tell me, you shoulda see how they used to fete he in England. She say, you should see how they shame now.

Shame? Why shame?

Two of he men blow whistle, phweeee phweeee, hold up, stop, wait a second, don’t listen to that man, fraudulent things he doing, very deceitful things, with other people money.

He getting investigated now, in he homeland, Merica. Every day in we papers we read updates.

“Is a funny thing, mamma,” I say. “The Merican tee vee news don’t say much about he. I wonder why?”

“Gyal, me nah know.”

“I wonder if he guilty for true? Hm, if he is guilty, they shouldn’t send he to jail.”

“What they should do?”

“Let he loose in the Caribbean. Every West Indian with a bat should wuk it on he batty...”

“Watch you language...”

“Awright...butt...wuk bat on he butt! Oh boy, look how he sweet-talk people by using cricket eh? Caribbean people shoulda hear what Ole Jack used to say.”

Ole Jack wasn’t ole, was just in he fifties, but I call he that to tease he. He was one of me two favourite drivers in me Caribbean Island, television days. He used to give me, producer, the privilege o’ sitting in the front passenger seat. He never want no cameraman or soundman sitting next to he. He would sing long-ago songs to me in a Nat King Cole voice, here I go, here I go, here I goooooo. And when we drive through dusty country-towns, he would say, in faux-Merican accent, like he been reading out loud from a Louis L’Amour book, the town was silent as a ghost, not a sound could be heard but the clanking of the cowboy’s spurs, dust rose dangerously as the cowboy treaded softly down the street...

One day, driving with he and the crew in the big city traffic, I say, “Woo woo, Ole Jack, look at that cute feller driving that car in front...”

First, Ole Jack protest in faux-Merican twang, “Hey kid, do I look old to you?” After I done laugh, he say, “Kid, you see that feller you’re admiring? I can tell just by looking at his expensive suit and car, he’s got sugar-tongue and oily lips. Kid, I’m warning you, beware of those with sugar-tongue and oily lips.”