One Art

Roti for me means Dogtanian the lonely musketeer.
Everytime my sister and I smell roti, we look at each other and say, “ aye aye what u thinking, dogtanian ent!” Don’t laugh at de south people, we from south.
It was all my grandmother’s fault. From 3 pm every afternoon, the race would begin. Who would get home from school first, who would open the syrotex box of food she sent, who would get to sit directly in front the television and who roti had de biggest curry wing and neck with sauce leaking out.
My sis and I had a world of our own. It began with a life of incessant torment and has become one of increasing torture.
For my sister that is.
My first memory of her was the day she was born. My dad and I packed up and went to Victoria Nursing Home to meet the child. I saw my mom lying on a bed, I looked around for Jello.. Found it eat it and waited to be pampered. I was by far the cutest kid on the planet and without a doubt the reason my parents lived.
“ You know you are a big sister now.”
I look at my dad, “ who she talking too?”
“You”
“Where de boy, mommy”
“Is not ah boy babe is a girl”
“ Ah what”
“Girl”
“Well give her back.”

From the onset my sister was in for it. At four years old, my long life was being disrupted by a little runt ready to win everybody’s heart over.

Eh heh, ah go do fuh she.

With the conniving calculation of a secret agent and the balls of a feminist catholic, I devised a plan to make her life miserable.

First mode of action: The Disappearing Diaper.

Now this plan was carefully formulated. I would wait until my dad went to prayer (yes yes we muslim, dey does prayer whole dam day! Ooppss..)
I snuck under the crib, listening to Ren ( the child’s name) singing la la la la la my bomsie up above me. Her pampered bottom stuck out through the bars of the crib. Slowly I began pulling the cotton out of it. After about 15 minutes all the cotton was under the crib being stuff into a brown paper bag. She sat quietly smiling down at me and I smiled right back up at her angelic wittle wace.

“kerry”
“yes daddy”
“what happen to Ricardo pampers”
“ look I dunno man”
“ who u callin man!”
“ is u! ent u isa man daddy?”
“ u want milo?”

End of fight.

Then came the brilliant idea to fluff up Ren.

Mode of Action: Dryer flyer Ren

My grandmother had a back room with one million dryers and washers. I think she did laundry for de whole ah Siparia. But she had 8 horse fuh children so she cud getaway with it. As grand children we spent a lot of time UpDeHill, (name of grandparents home cuz it was up ah hill).

One afternoon, after my great grand dad walked Michelle, (the watch Kerrie fall of bar cousin) and i home from Miss Brown nursery school, I was baby sitting Ren in her crib. Which was basically throwing her little black penguin at her and waiting for her to yell. It never happened.

Then a brilliant upon brilliant thought filled me. Let’s see her fluff!
So I took her up and put her into the first dryer, closed the door and was about to start it..
“ What blasted nonsense is this”
“Nothing pappy.”
“ I will buss yuh tail, go and geta whip now!”
Fear set in.
He grabs Ren from the dryer and looks at her. She smiles and looks at me.
Lix fuh sooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Something like four hundred years pass. I will skip the million methods of torture during those years because lord!
I torture her in different ways now. Making 12 boiled eggs for her to eat when she has to take her medication. Opening her presents from her friends and using stuff and putting them back. Stealing her books and her makeup ( not jewelry eh! Dais yuh cousins!) Pinching her boobs, jumping on her bed and messing up her dressing table.

You never know how great your life is, until you have the love of a sister. And I can say, you will never know how to love, unless you had mine.

Hard luck dey!