Cocktails in Carriacou
Sarah Jane Weldon
Copyright © 2018 by Sarah Jane Weldon
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Printing, 2018
Isla Britannica Books
www.sarahweldon.co.uk
Tek kin teet kibba heart bun
Laughter is the best medicine
Contents
1. Betta belly buss dan good food waste
2. Laugh an cry does live in di same house
3. Di ola di moon di brighta di shine
4. Lessa fowl, lessa shit
5. Trouble nu set like rain
6. When cockroach mek dance e no invite fowl
7. Yu shake man han, yu nu shake him heart
8. Fowl gwine fat im begin fram him toe
9. Mischief come by di poun and go by di ounce
10. Moon run faas but day ketch im
11. Play stone kill bud
12. Dawg whe eat egg neva stop
13. When trouble ketch yu, pickny shut fit you
14. Belly full, pitata ave kin
15. Black bud say fi im pickny fus
16. Clear conscience sleep a tunda
17. Crab say im nu trus nu shadow afta dark
18. Day longa dan rope
19. Every mickle mek a muckle
20. Dutty han mek greasy mout
21. Hand go, hand come.
22. If yu want half a bread beg it, if yu want one, buy it yuself
23. Jackass say 'hill an gully yasso', 'hill and gully desso'
24. La salud es la mayor riqueza
25. Kay koule twompe soley soley men li pa twompe lapil.
26. Laugh an cry does live in di same house
27. Man nu dead, nu call dem duppy
28. Yuh caan stan in de road an sih de leak in somebody else house
29. A no wantin tongue mek cattle can't talk
30. A crab never forget he hole
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Sarah Jane Weldon
Chapter One
Betta belly buss dan good food waste
It is better to overeat than to waste great food.
“I hope you win mamoo”. Rynelle smiled.
It was carnival season on the island of Carriacou in the West Indies. Rynelle’s favourite time of the year. Family time.
“God willin’ Rynelle. God willing’” her uncle replied with a slow, confident nod. He was incredibly proud of his niece. She’d had a rough start in life, but she had grown up to become a fine young woman, with a good job, and a heart that was filled with love for the world around her. Rynelle was everything to her uncle, and he was the closest thing that she had to a father.
Rynelle picked up the cotton fabric and twisted it into a snake. She was a ‘full-figured lady’ with a larger than life personality to match. Sporty and active, with a passion for her family’s home cooked roti, callaloo, and oil down. ‘Betta belly buss dan good food waste’ her grandmother would say as she piled the food on Rynelle’s plate each meal, and there was certainly never a shortage, even when money was tight.
Rynelle coiled the elongated fabric into a disc, flattening it with her palms. She had dressed her uncle in the same way, every year, for as long as she could remember during carnival time. It had become a tradition, part of the close knit bond she and her uncle shared. He could read her emotions better than anyone, even her mother, and his heart filled with sadness as their hands met as they placed the material disc on his head. Though neither of them voiced it, they both understood that it would soon be just the two of them attending carnival, what with nana growing old, and his sister - Rynelle’s mother - terminally ill.
Rynelle picked up some brightly colored fabric and wrapped it securely around her mamoo’s head and under his chin. All being well, the wrap would hold the disc in place, and wouldn’t be called upon to protect mamoo’s head from a potential beating.
‘They’d better be ready for you mamoo’. Rynelle smiled as she lifted up a long, flowing cape and placed it on her uncle’s head. He looked like a warrior, his dark skin betraying his actual age.
Rynelle had grown up an only child, and as she studied the contours of her uncle’s face, she found herself wondering what it might have been like to grow up with a sister or brother who was like her mother or uncle. She loved the warm and friendly relationship that they shared. From the stories they told her, they must have had a lot of adventures together, constantly getting into trouble with neighbors and relatives for their daring and outrageous pranks and games.
Even with her mother so ill, there was still a lot of laughter and silliness in the house. Rynelle missed them both incredibly when she was away working as a Public Health Officer in Grenada. She felt sure that if it wasn’t for her job, then she would have happily never left home at all. Living on a different island, even one that was relatively close by, really sucked, but it did at least provide the large amounts of money required to cover the cost of her mother’s palliative care at the Princess Royal Hospital. Rynelle was immensely thankful for having funds for that. Not all families were so fortunate.
Rynelle’s uncle studied her face closely. He knew his niece hated to be away and that her heart was filled with sorrow about her mother, but he wanted her to remember today with fondness, especially if it turned out to be their last carnival together as a family unit.
He picked up the decorated mask and held it to his face as Rynelle secured it tightly with string around his broad boned head. He was sure that he looked menacing, and he held his head high with pride at Rynelle’s skill in creating this year’s costume. But he needn’t have worried, for his reputation alone would be enough to faze most of his opponents, and in twenty five years of dueling, he had not yet lost a single battle.
“Practice makes man perfect, eh mamoo? An’ you sure got a lot of practice in over the years. No wonder you ain’t been beat”. Rynelle did her best to big up her uncle’s confidence, sensing that he might need a bit of boost to his self esteem today. The responsibility to win weighed heavily upon him, and he would not have his mother or his sister see him lose on what might just be their last carnival together. The dual was much more than a bit of fun. It was a representation of hope, of battles to be fought and won. He had to win this fight for the sake of his sister’s spirit so that she would continue to fight and win her own daily battle against death. He knew he must not entertain the thought of losing, to do so was to waste value energy and to allow in weakness, he had to pick himself up.
Rynelle stood before her uncle and unfurled both of her palms before him, revealing a long stick-like object, bound in rope. The dried penis of a bull, known on the island as a ‘pistle’.
Rynelle put on a fake British accent and imagined herself as the Queen of England, presenting this important family heirloom to her uncle. “For you Sir”. Her uncle gracefully bowed his head as if he were a knight of the realm, and humbly accepted the gift as they both burst out laughing. Rynelle was shockingly bad at accents. She found great amusement in the knowledge that if the house ever burnt down, the one item that they would all rush through the flames for, would be this one. An utterly useless item, a leathery penis, that spent the rest of the year hanging in pride of place on the wall, carefully placed between two large, decorative picture frames, one of which was a photograph of Rynelle in her graduation gown, and the other her graduation certificate. But somehow the pistle seemed as normal and homely to the family as a China cup at afternoon tea and during ‘Shakespeare Mas’, Carriacou's Pierrot, part of the carnival festi
vities, the bull pistle was cleaned and polished for days and days before being waved around under the noses of the carnival attendees.
Rynelle helped her uncle up from the seat on which he was perched in the bedroom, and watched him as he took in the full impact of his costume in the long antique mirror with it’s walnut frame. The mirror had once belonged to an ancestor of Rynelle’s on her maternal side, a Scot’s man who had travelled from Glasgow to Carriacou in the 1790s, to seek his fortune. The poor man had been so seasick that he simply could not face the return journey to Scotland, and decided to settle on Carriacou, marrying a local girl. The result of so many Scots on the island, was that the modern day islanders had come to develop an uncanny hybrid dialect, a mixture of Scottish and patois, along with a red beard, red hair, or blue-green eyes against their West Indian skin and features.
Rynelle’s uncle was well aware of this heritage too, and proud of his roots, from the Arawaks, to the Caribs, and the Scots, their blood all ran through his veins. He had lived on the island all his life, and as he gazed at his reflection in the fading mirror he suddenly felt himself as strong and confident as he had been as a young man. You see, the Carriacou look was not the only thing that had been brought to the island, for somewhere along the line, a traveller from afar had brought Shakespeare and now, each year in February during carnival season, the complete works of Shakespeare were honoured in the annual ‘Shakespeare Mas’.
Rynelle’s uncle was usually stiff and aching from his years of hard graft as a labourer, picking cocoa beans, limes, and sugar from the plantations, but for one day only, the magic of Shakespeare Mas brought him back to life, and he was ready for his fight now. He spoke inwardly to himself, filling his courage with words of encouragement, much as a coach might spur on a boxer before the first round in a ring.
Rynelle followed her uncle out onto the porch, delighting in the presence he commanded with his long strides as they left behind the stuffy heat of the room. She had walked behind her uncle like this every year since since she was a toddler taking her first steps, and the familiarity felt like a comfort blanket around her. Every smell, every sound, every creak of the floorboard reminded her and told her that she was home.
Chapter Two
Laugh an cry does live in di same house
The thing that makes you happy may also hurt you
There was a cooling breeze blowing upwards over the island’s sandy slopes and hills from the Caribbean Sea, cutting through the wooden beams, as they walked through the mesh door onto the porch. It was the dry season, and the famous trade winds were tinged with a touch of salt from the turquoise waters surrounding the island, greeting them as their sweaty, flip flopped feet slapped hard against the floor.
Rynelle’s grandmother was sat in her favourite spot, a wooden rocking chair, her bare arms tucked under a shawl that was draped around her shoulders. It was funny how you adapted to the climate of the Caribbean with time. By most people’s standards, today was blisteringly hot, but the sea breeze had cooled the air enough to make them feel a chill.
Unlike Rynelle’s own apartment on the neighboring island of Grenada, the family home on Carriacou had the distinct advantage of being built by her great grandfather on the side of a hill, with the balcony opening out onto a sweeping view of the sea. It took full advantage of the vista and the cooling breeze, so there was no need for the great expense of a modern luxury like air conditioning. Besides, electricity was expensive and unreliable in the wet season when storms raged overhead, sometimes striking the brightly painted wooden shacks.
Rynelle’s grandmother clapped her hands to her face as she squealed with delight at her full grown son in his Shakespeare Mas costume. “Well doesn’t mehson look fine”. She had a wide, beaming grin on her face, only emphasized further by her lack of teeth and gummy expression.
“C’mon, give us a twirl man, let me be seeing you now son”. Her face was roughened from experiences in life, but her eyes were kind as they followed the movements of her son as he paraded his costume for his mother.
Rynelle’s vibrated momentarily in her chest as she saw the joy in her grandmother’s eyes. Her nana was in her 80s, large like Rynelle, physically strong, but her mind was starting to deteriorate and she had become more forgetful of late. Her son did what he could to keep her company since she couldn’t really be left home alone anymore, but for the most part, it was down to Rynelle’s mother to care for nana, a task that was becoming increasingly difficult as both women’s health began to decline.
A small and fragile hand found its way into Rynelle’s, squeezing it lovingly. “You did a great job Rynelle. What a handsome costume. So talented. I tell you, there is nothing me daughter couldn’t turn her hand to. Just look at it”.
“I get me talent from you muma, you know that. It was you who taught me well”. Rynelle pulled her mother’s hand close to her face, and kissed the back of her hand. It was icy cold, it’s once fatty pads now just skin and bone. Even if her nana lived to see another carnival year, Rynelle felt certain that her mother would not. Rynelle’s eye could not help but wander to the collection of bruises on her mother’s hand, scars from battles with hospital needles and nurses seeking out her tiny, scarred veins. She wasn’t ready to let her muma go anywhere just yet, she still needed her desperately. She would be utterly lost without her to turn to in any situation.
As if a higher power had read Rynelle’s thoughts, an iridescent green humming bird flew to the bird feeder hanging above the porch, hovering as it drank the sweet fruit nectar. If it wasn’t for her nana, there would be no humming birds on the porch at all, but nana was devout when it came to hanging up the feeders and ensuring that they were always topped up.
As a girl, nana would walk for hours in the rainforest and since she could no longer go off on her own for long walks, she instead did what she could to invite the wildlife to come her home instead. The presence of nature made the humble home feel alive somehow, and nana said that it was a reminder that no matter what happens, life goes on, that time never stops, even if we do. Rynelle wondered if that was why nana spent so much time in her rocking chair, watching the birds dance as they sought sustenance from the feeders.
As she watched the green bird flittering like a fairy in a tree, Rynelle felt like the bird had been sent by a celestial being at that very moment in time, to remind her of nana’s words of wisdom, telling her to focus on the here and now, and not to waste time worrying about the future. Rynelle made a decision right there and then, that if this was to be their last Shakespeare Mas together, then boy would they enjoy it together, to its fullest. With absolutely no regrets.
Rynelle dug deep within herself, summoning up as much cheeriness as she could muster “Come on, we don’t want to be late. Mamoo has a title to retain”.
Chapter Three
Di ola di moon di brighta di shine
Age brings widsom
The dusty streets were already crowded, filled to capacity with people of all ages clapping and cheering as they gathered around the Shakespeare Mas battles. Men in masks and cloaks paraded themselves up and down the street like peacocks, strutting in their brightly colored costumes. It was already hot, even though it was still early in the morning. Rynelle inhaled deeply, comforted by the familiar carnival aroma of painted masks and sweaty, oiled skin. The smell made her feel safe, at one with her surroundings.
A tall man in a garishly bright orange and red costume approached her uncle from nowhere. Rynelle was quite surprised at first, what a crazy fool to pick his first dual with a legend like her uncle. The challenger was either very brave, or very, very stupid.
Rynelle pulled her nana and muma as close to her as she could, their arms linked through hers, one on either side. She wasn’t certain whether she was supporting them, or whether they were supporting her, but she suddenly felt very afraid they might get knocked over in the rumbling loudness and excitement of a large crowd of carnival revelers.
The two men in their stiff capes
bumped chests in a kind of manly hug, a mark of respect for each other, and a sign to the crowd that a battle of wits was about to begin. Rynelle really hadn’t expected the battles to kick off so early in the day. And she was surprised to find herself a little irritated. Cheated out of her time with her family. She had wanted to spend a little longer, walking and soaking up the atmosphere first, but carnival season was always unpredictable, and there was no point going against the flow. What would be, would be. That was island life for you, especially during the carnival festivities.
The two men pulled down their masks, and like boxers in a ring, stepped away from each other momentarily, flexing their muscles as they hopped from foot to foot, all the time maintaining their posture and eye contact with their enemy. The stakes were high on both sides, and neither wanted to lose face, or to reveal any chink of vulnerability to the other. It was a psychological battle, each desperately trying to psyche out his opponent before battle had truly begun. Both men held strong, and both were mentally ready.
They paced around each other for a few moments, neither blinking, wondering who would cave in and begin. This was a contest of wills since neither wanted the be the first to break the silence and be the first to start. The young man was growing tense but he tried hard to look relaxed. He did a little dance with his neck, each ear touching a shoulder as he loosened off his muscles. But he could keep silent no more. The longer the wait, the more anxious he was becoming. He had to begin before his mind filled him with self doubts of his stupidity at taking on an opponent so early in the day, and not just any opponent, but the reigning champion of twenty five years.
All the Clues Page 1
