2010, a brute for a year. Poor Thompy cut down in his prime. Economy in trouble. Tomas. Miners escaping in Chile. Not so in New Zealand.
Never-ending lashes for Haiti. Disasters like bush.
No peace on earth for Iraq, Afghanistan. Outsiders preparing to remove disputed Ivory Coast leader by force if he doesn’t step down. How come no one even mentioned invading America when you-know-who claimed he “won” in strangely “dubyous” circumstances?
The white man remains large and in charge. He dictates what is right or wrong for us, what we shall wear, what we shall eat, what medicines we shall take, what sexual unorthodoxies we must not only tolerate, but actively promote. Most importantly, he dictates what we must believe. If we let him succeed, we shall be mere robots.
But 2010 saved the real knockout punch for the end, at least for me and many more. Call it the Terminator Death Flu from Planet Zog or simply the Come Back Whack, it isn’t nice. You feel weak, nauseous, awful. You feel like you’re dying.
But don’t pray to feel better. That is its meanest trick. For the Come Back Whack is only feeding you some cautious optimism before returning to pound you even worse. Some people have had it since October.
Your only hope is to lie in bed and keep quiet. And here let me join Carl Moore in promoting the magic of books. It never ceases to amaze how in this modern age a dose of Mark Twain or P.G.Wodehouse is still my most powerful restorative.
I might have survived the flu. But he had an equally dreadly accomplice – the Fire-Belly Seasoning Scorcher. This is a seasoning or spice – first noticed in the 1980s when old Bridgy used to cook for us – which makes food taste great, but nearly kills me after.
I have no problems with pepper sauce, hot souse, pepperpot, nothing so. But an hour or so after consuming the Fire Belly, my stomach lights up. It is as if a shovelful of glowing coals is moving through my intestines. And there is no relief until it reaches its final exit hours later.
In the hustle of Friday, the wife brought home a deli lamb stew and rice. Thank God the Death Flu stopped me from eating all, for it contained Fire Belly seasoning in good measure. And I nearly died!
By the way, I still don’t know what ingredient causes this problem.
2010 was also a bad year for sax. I got hardly any, but a few solid months of mandolin saved the day. I even made it to YouTube playing with Guataka at Lantern’s Mall.
It was rewarding to see the singers for the first time from in front. Not that I’m complaining – the view from behind isn’t half bad. But I now realise they’re kinda very pretty from in front too.
Ridley Greene came calling earlier this week with his Christmas CD which has some wicked banjo rolling. It is a wonderful Bajan talent which continues to elude me. Banjo players were celebrated for their ability to roll, something like tuk drummers. Let us hope Bajan banjo doesn’t die with Ridley.
2010 was rough on rich and poor. A fellow, so Wally tells me, was taking his well-wrapped dead dog for burial in the back of his pickup. He stopped for a quick drink at a shop with a friend. And when he came out the dog was gone.
And on Monday, my friend Bizzy got stuck in his expensive, high-maintenance pleasure craft. Experts think that in the exuberance of the season Bizz might also have been having a quick one below deck in the hold, put the tiller-stick in too far and touched bottom. Thankfully, judging from the NATION photos, the craft is well-equipped with jumbo-sized flotation devices, and, apart from getting her bottom roughed up, she should be okay.
Anyhow, NATION editor Toni Yarde has promised me a (full body?) ‘nointing using a mixture of oils and unguents her mother used to mix in a condensed milk tin. Until then, it’s back to bed.
A productive 2011 to all!
• Richard Hoad is a farmer and social commentator.
