BIG BABIES....

STOP, BUT AH GO SHOOT ANYWAY....

Apparently we haviin’ ah little problem wit’ de police force dong on dis side.   Dey hate tuh see ah gun full up wit’ bullets, so before dey go back to de station dey have tuh try an’ use up some…… so far we have police charged wit’ gunnin’ dong suspects (he get off..) an’ ah nex’ one de odder day shoot ah PH driver for what, me eh know.. he say dat how de “gun went off” ..ah doh t’ink was de gun dat went off, brudder..   Why yuh pullin’ ah gun on ah unarmed man for ah traffic violation?  

Fortunately de fella eh dead, he get shoot in he neck an’ end up in hospital (wit’ de situation in dey now, ah eh too sure if he so lucky, nah….!).   But really man, is time we train we policemen tuh deal properly wit’ people… ah mean, learn tuh use arm locks, holds, throws, etc., on people.   Yuh doh have tuh gi’ dem lead poisonin’…. 

Ah speakin’ of trainin’ - could someone tell meh how ah man wit' more belly dan ah breadfruit, does get in an’ stay in de police force?  Dem fellas doh have fitness tests tuh pass?  Some ah dem have so much belly dey back shape like ah capital C……. Who dem runnin’ down….?   Ah man on crutches  go look like Flash Gordon tuh dem….. time tuh get serious wit’ de force man…leh meh go tuh sleep an’ say.. “Yeah, man, wit dem fellas on duty, ah go sleep sound tonight”… an’ doh give no policeman in yuh dreams any kinda backchat, because yuh mightn’t wake up in de mornin’!

LAST DANCE....

Yeah, ah realise ah go have tuh start ah obituary column.   Jus’  Thursday gone, as ah walk in meh house, is anodder one gone…Beryl  McBurnie (the real Big Mac) , dead at 86.   What tuh say, what tuh say…..more of de same?  

Ah woman for whom dance was more dan an profession or ah art form… dance was she life… she coulda make it big on de international stage, but she decide tuh come back home an’ drink from de well of de ancestors.   She make frens wit’ panmen, when panman was equivalent to ole t’ief, badjohn, jailbird… she bring dem into the hoity toity Woodbrook area.  

De back of she house was de start of de little Carib Theatre.  She travel all over de Caribbean researchin’ we dance forms…. she was fascinated by we movement an’ expression…. ah boy, de bele, de pique, de heel-an’-toe, jig, bongo, limbo dat we know so well (an’ dat is jus’ Trinidad, eh!).

She never become rich, government was suportin’ her in de las’ few months… she even get de Trinity Cross.. we good at dat, yuh know.  “Look ah award…..go an’ starve now!”  

Yuh t’ink de Ministry of Culture hire she tuh make videos, tuh teach de oral history of dance, as ah advisor, help de Carib Theatre to become a centre for dance …..? No, man,…why dey mus’ do dat?  But in spite of all dat, if is one t’ing ah remember about Beryl was she eyes… when yuh see she start tuh talk to yuh, she eyes used tuh light up, it remind meh of dat burnin’ passion she had for what she like, dey couldn’t extinguish dat spirit, boy.  

Dat was de kind of rock dem people was made from…. not dese soft candle artistes dey have nowadays, who want tuh sue everybody tuh make sure “dey get dey share”.. Beryl  was concerned wit’ more dan Beryl.. because she know dat what she had was bigger dan she…… she didn’t try to control de dance, she let it control she….

Well, is anodder one goin’ dong de road, an’ ah still lookin’ on de horizon for ah replacement…when we go learn de lesson?  We overrun wit’ odder people culture an’ we own literally dyin’….. we cyah feed we children on airport an’ desalination plant an’ LNG plant..  Someday dey go ask us “Wey we come from?”, an’ what yuh go tell dem den?   What dey soul go feed on..?  Wey dey go look for dey identity, tuh say  “dis is Trinidad, an’ look what we produce..”? 

If yuh doh secure yuh past, wey is yuh anchor, brudder?  Once ah man tie on to he ship, yuh could t’row him in de roughest sea, he go survive…… ah doh t’ink ah need tuh say more….

Well Beryl girl…. doh forget tuh tell dem….  De dance continues…. she on ah different stage now, but as de spotlight go up yuh go hear de chant  … “Ah ya yai…La Reine Rive!…ah ya yai…La Reine Rive…!”   T’anks Beryl, yuh was de star of  we own, personal, Trini “Swan Lake”!

BEYOND DE BOUNDARY....

Yuh know sometimes ah does lapse into “Queen’s English” when ah ketch ah vaps…usually is because somet’ing really shake meh up.. well dis is one of dem times…see if yuh make meh out…

There has been much talk over the past couple of  weeks about the “Brian Lara” issue, a subject which I think is more symptomatic of a underlying problem in West Indian society, rather than that involving an individual.   However for purposes of clarification, let us start with the person in question.

Brian Lara is without a doubt the most talented West Indian batsman these islands have seen since the era of Sir Garfield Sobers.  And his talent remains indisputable.   We have a situation where a genius (the words of the team pychologist, not mine),  whom to some became something of an idol, has been found on occasions to have feet of clay, i.e. character defects which apparently may be hampering his continued output.   In this way he is no different from any of us.  Geniuses or notable performers particularly in any field or endeavour tend to have character quirks which can be debilitating to social interaction; having spent so much time in perfecting their art, they sometimes leave the personality unattended. Notice that I use the words “apparently”, “may” and such, when discussing the individual.  

I do not claim psychic capabilities or intimate knowledge of his personality or his behaviour, an understanding which some apparently seem to have, in spite of never having met the young man.  Am I a Lara fan?  Yes, I am a Lara fan, and I am an Adams fan, and a Walsh fan, and an Ambrose fan.  I am the fan of any of the young men who don the West Indian colours and trot out to represent these islands, in spite of family and other commitments.  But I digress…….

Brian Lara came to a  West Indies team that was in decline and questions were being asked as to its competence, leadership etc…  In his first few outings, Lara produced a steady stream of runs, much to the delight of  the West Indian people.   His refusal to go to Australia engendered a change in the entire Board structure and composition of the West Indies Cricket Board.  Most people were happy with the change, but some questioned the manner in which attention was drawn to the defects in WI administration.  

When Lara produced and made us proud e.g. in the Australian tour, we dance, waved and chanted. When he failed, we ridiculed him, and pointed out his personal failings.  Success had many friends, failure was a lonely soul.  Now Jimmy Adams is captain and we have beaten the lowest rated side in Test cricket, Jimmy is the hero.  Any victory now will salve our bruised egos.  Pity him if he or the team fails against Pakistan.  His name will be added to the tombstone.  

We have been so taught to hate ourselves that we would willingly accept the trash from other nations; heroes whose language, behaviour and habits mock and scoff at human dignity, our cultural values, ways of life, decency and basic ethical or moral behaviour.  But we buy their albums, sit glued to their videos, imitate their dress, pay much of our hard money to see them perform.  

A son of the soil who represents us is treated as an outcast, a prodigal, an unredeemable spirit.  The colonialists and imperialists have been our educators and teachers.  Unfortunately we have learned too well from them.

APOLOGIES:

De Cobra was really busy over de las’ coupla weeks, so sometimes TNN was ah little late, an’ in de rush, ah forget to commend a few people, and point out some festivals; to de Muslims who was celebratin’ Eid-Al-Adha, to de Hindus, who was celebratin’ Phagwa, an’ to de Spiritual Shouter Baptists on dey holiday.   Is not dat alyuh eh important, but ah jus’ didn’t have de time tuh get round to it an’ do ah proper commentary or analysis…an’ when it come to we t’ing, is either ah do it right or I eh doin’ it atall….. doh hol’ meh in alyuh mind for de slip-up… de boy was under some pressah!