Thursday pour down light the colour of yellow limes, and the breeze was like the drink you make with them limes, crisp ‘n’ cool. Warm sun toast me gentle-gentle as I tackle the yard, swooshing out the thin brown flim that the flood did leave.
Along the road, tradesmen and gardeners, all shades o’ coffee-complexion, pass on they way to work. ‘Morning, they greet.
Next door, the broom sing sweesh, sweeEEesh, swEEeeEesh as Yardman wash out that concrete, whistle-whistle he tuneless ditty but merry like a bird in a tree, then suddenly he fling out a song from the tip of he toes, from the pit of he belly, from the depths of he lungs.
Work-thoughts swish ‘round me head while I push and shove plant pots and splash bucketsful o’ water that turn to milk with Dettol, washing the brown flim towards the driveway, into the drain, with the rubber-wiper on the long stick. You can’t kill wuk, wuk does kill you, Guyanese does say, but I know a man who wuk so hard and fast that he finish wuk before wuk kill he, so people call he Kill-Wuk. Speedy is he other name. He is now past retirement age but he is still working, building a house up the road.
Speak of the…Kill-Wuk appear at we gate. “You get a lotta wuk here,” he say.
“Yeah,” I shrug. “We land sinking, water does come in as soon as rain fall too much.”
“No, the land nah sink! You’ yard more low than the road. And more rain falling nowadays.”
He limp away, going home early today, leave me with me work-thoughts, I know a’ older lady in a fine neighbourhood in this here poor country who would rather dead than get ketch doin’ this, she would feel mortally shame if people see she. And if she ever spy me, ohhh, what a scandal she would spread, but that is she problem, if she want to spend she life sitting on the Internet, whinging to all ears and eyes overseas, complaining about she misery…
I stand at we driveway, trimblin’ with weariness and hunger, under them trees, where the leaves and branches knit a lace of shadows and beads of light, covering me. At me feet, sunlight scatter a set o’ crystal sequins in a saucer-size pool o’ clear water. I look up the road, sea-breeze puff across me skin, cool and light. And it occur to me there and then, how happy I feel.