At 6 am, Port of Spain is at its most romantic.
The sky casts a grey haze over the city that mixes with dust filled air, giving an illusion of a dark and stormy London Fog. The night people crawl into the dark crevices between the buildings, making way for the day people to come out.
I remember walking past the two old men in fedora hats sitting on Brian Lara Promenade, playing chess with the air of no care, with the silence of contentment and the calmness of age. As I walk by, they look up; nod a quick hello, gently touching the brim of their hats in unison, before turning back to the game at hand.
Their unchanging, singular existence fascinates me.
I pass them and move slowly across the street, taking in foggy air, now mixing with the scent of beef pies, potato pies and freshly parched Hong Wing Coffee beans. I make my way up Henry Street, both anxious and fearful of what I will see this morning. The pie man on the corner opens his basket, humming reggae under his breath. Somewhere up the street, the only Syrian vagrant in the country is shouting at a lady wearing red, asking her in an elevated yet conversational tone, “Who win de football match?”.
She picks up a speed and runs down the road with Syrian in quick pursuit. Laughing shrilly, he lifts his once white t shirt over his head and goes about his business. This is his daily routine, his revolving door of life. I pass Courts on the corner now, bracing myself for the smell I know is to come. Pee corner is well known in Port of Spain, to many pedestrians. Coming across it unexpectedly can be quite a shock, but I’ve decided it is a good addition to the city with the recent kidnappings. If you are ever blind folded and being led somewhere, if you come across a smell of pee mixed with Hong Wing and live baby chickens, you’re on Henry Street, approaching TSTT.
With eyes shut tight and nose pinned together by my finger and my thumb, I cross the smell, only daring to let my nose go when I get to the Samba bar on the other block. Breathe… With a sharp right turn, I make my way to Charlotte Street.
She picks up a speed and runs down the road with Syrian in quick pursuit. Laughing shrilly, he lifts his once white t shirt over his head and goes about his business. This is his daily routine, his revolving door of life. I pass Courts on the corner now, bracing myself for the smell I know is to come. Pee corner is well known in Port of Spain, to many pedestrians. Coming across it unexpectedly can be quite a shock, but I’ve decided it is a good addition to the city with the recent kidnappings. If you are ever blind folded and being led somewhere, if you come across a smell of pee mixed with Hong Wing and live baby chickens, you’re on Henry Street, approaching TSTT.
With eyes shut tight and nose pinned together by my finger and my thumb, I cross the smell, only daring to let my nose go when I get to the Samba bar on the other block. Breathe… With a sharp right turn, I make my way to Charlotte Street.
An uncontrollable grin escapes me.
This is where sanity hides behind a mask of madness. Excited now I sprint along, weaving my way in and out plastic containers, doubles vendors, stray dogs and stray people. I can see Roytec in the distance, my final destination.
A man is following me down the street now, shouting out, “Nut Cake, Nut Cake for Sale, Nut Cake!” I
n front Roytec now, I can see the pumpkin vendor, balancing his decidedly huge ass on a tiny wooden bench, mixing his music with a knife and a spoon, today’s choice, “no woman, no cry”.
His dexterity and rhythm have yet to be matched. He slowly looks up spotting the nuts vendor coming along.. “Nut cake, nut cake for sale!!!!!!!!!!!!.”
Pumpkin looks up, a quizzical look plays on his face and he shouts out in real wonderment…
“ Well if is not cake!!!!!! Wuh de ass is it then????”
I open the door to meet a gush of cold wind. Another day in Port of Spain begins.
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