HIS DRINK and his relationship were on the rocks. He pored over a picture while pouring more rum into the short glass. Short in stature, but with a preference for tall women, he declared that his life was over.
Apparently, poor Bally wasn’t ballsy enough to defend the six-foot damsel in distress and she decided to dump him. “You mean to say that I shoulda cuff de man in he face just because he heckle she?”
Bally was in disbelief. He took another gulp; the final swallow that signalled inebriation. As Bally cried on my shoulder, his drunken dictum revealed something to me. “Fighting . . . dat is what she like; too much fighting.” As he tried his best to fight off the inevitable slumber that accompanied his drinking, I thought a bit more about his final words.
Children fighting in the bus. Children fighting at schools. Gang-related violence. These youngsters grow up to become adults who try to resolve conflict with their brawn rather than their brains. These types are the kinds society tries to lock away, but like malignant boils, they keep resurfacing. If we can predict this type of natural disaster – the crisis of our children – can’t we do something about it? It took about three weeks to rally resources around our neighbours in Dominica; how about similarly strategising to empower and guide disenfranchised Caribbean youth?
Because, make no mistake. They are all around us. Deviant young ones exist from Guyana, straight up to Jamaica. What are we going to do about it?
Pepper sauce
Anyway, before I get too deep and begin drowning you in sorrows, let me share this one with you. I had a pepper sauce attack the other day. And – as you know – pepper burns three times: going in, going down and going out. Well, in the midst of prayer and perspiration, I had to laugh. I recalled a karaoke number, Three Times A Lady. I sang this at Braddy’s Bar about three years ago.
After hitting the final note, out of nowhere came Julian Hunte. He picked me up and spun me around like a porcine propeller, to the delight of the boisterous crowd. I was safe, but didn’t feel secure at all. In my mind, at any minute, I would have gone flying into the television screen. But suddenly, Julian let me down gently, knelt in front of me as if he were about to propose and grabbed a bottle of pepper sauce from his breast pocket.
He opened it, put it to his mouth and swallowed as if he were casually sipping on a soda. Down to this day, I haven’t figured out the meaning of his actions, but – as they say, “The man with the pepper sauce is boss!” So, Julian – wherever you are reading this – I want to thank you for making my most recent experience truly a bittersweet one. And maybe one day, I’ll sing another number for you . . . and you can Drop It Like It’s Hot a la Pharrell and Snoop Dogg!
Veoma Ali is an author, broadcaster, advertising exec and most important, a karaoke lover.