Barbadian Blogging About – a look at Bim’s bitter tragedy, Perve peeping at eemanee, Benn still loves WI (we), the joys of LIAT & Captain Clone?
Who is blogging things Barbadian? You’d be surprised… There are some cricket fans out there who are so diehard they make Bruce Willis look like a successful candidate for hair plugs! Such as Neil Benn who still wants to see a West Indies Victory, preferably before the turns 50?
I don?t plan to join the band of mourners who have dawned their sackcloth and ashes and are beating their breasts over the ?death? of West Indies cricket.
These people are quick to criticise WI (we) cricket but never come forward with real solutions. However, I would agree that the stillborn campaign should provoke some serious soul-searching at the highest levels.
I woke up to find a hand pulling back my bedroom curtains just as i rose to my feet. In a flash the hand was gone and i went to the bathroom then went right back to sleep without alerting anyone and without even closing the window (i have burglar bars).
Maybe i should have known better than to sleep with my windows open since nearly every night for a year while i was in secondary school we received visits from a peeping-tom followed by visits from the police. But maybe it was this constant harassment that let me sleep so easily after the peeping-tom made a comeback (or maybe this is a new up-and-coming pervert?).
Considering my location behind God’s back they could not have stalled a moment in coming to the rescue. The police first- silent and sensitive. The firemen next- outing the blaze in seconds. I stood there with sad gratitude- my synicism in ‘what if?‘ restored- but i didn’t look at the damage. It was too fresh. Too ugly.
When the sun came up and I’d had a chance to let it sink in, I took my ashen clothes off the line to be washed anew and peeked to my left, holding my hands over my face. The colour of hell. The colour of envy. The colour of Barbadian cowardice and evil.
Poor Ricky is in a state of utter dejection. How can a bad boy from the block ever lift himself up from the ashes? He secured a license. He worked hard for that car. Earned the eight grand by the strength of his hands. Every single day he was outside tuning it, servicing it, shining it. It seemed to run on pride-not gas.
But in Barbados, Pride is a threat worse than Fury. A man like him should never get ahead. His caste belongs in prison or in morgue. He is nothing- he should have nothing. And so, with a match lit by jealousy, his hope was completely incinerated and replaced by something unsettling.
….if your ticket said “Liat Flight 1864“, you were on your way to sunny Barbados.
If it said “Liat Flight 864” the only place you were going was back to your hard, plastic airline terminal seat.
864 was the placebo flight. 1864 was the real deal. We were missing that crucial digit “1” on our boarding pass.
Hours later another plane finally arrived. Oh how the people cheered!
After a mad dash to claim a seat (it’s lucky dip on every flight here and last one on is often straight back off, seatless) the flight attendant welcomed us on board and added that the flight wasn’t actually going to Barbados now.
“A short trip to St Lucia first.”
I think I know now why Kafka ended up the way he did and why he had such tales of optimism! Since it is all so weird? You need to glom “Captain and The Kid” they do a straight duplication of my stories and credit me but they run it exact… Photos and all, titles too! It is run by a JP and their blog was originally on things yachtie, sailing or maritime (what on Earth does my blog have do with theirs then? Not so many seafaring stories here… LOL!!) –
….the attitude of the tour guide and at least one of the others on the tour I found disquieting. Both mentioned skin colour as if that would or should be crucial in determining attitudes to the boat. “Why are you here, as a white person?” was a flavour of the questions.
I found this boggling to be honest. Slavery is a horror of humanities past, irrespective of what race you are. I don’t feel I should feel guilty for what was done centuries ago by someone else for the irrelevance that we share a skin colour.
Its not just that some white people opposed slavery, and that some black people were part of slave trading. We are all mongrels and it doesn’t feel right to define our identity or be defined from just one historical group.
So to a degree I switched off and started asking about the rigging, going to the rail and asking what each of the ropes were.
Ok, that’s some of what happens out there from a Barbadian perspective, as for tomorrow – we’ll have my view on inside the Kensington and its temporary “North” (it’s really north-east) stand…