Every lunchtime was like an outing. We would leave the office in search of food, either walking towards
Park Street from Henry Street or up towards Living Waters on upper Frederick Street. Any route however, was bong to give us some excitement.
The first lunchtime I went to Living Waters Community with a co-worker proved to be the precedent for everyday after. She was small, feisty and would only stop talking long enough to roll her eyes, purse her lips or swing steadily from one hip to the next to illustrate her point.
"Let us go to Living Waters Nadine, we can get a good meal and also some spiritual guidance, I feel like you might need some today."
"Arrite."
We would walk out onto Oxford street and the heat would hit us instantly, melting the cold air from our bodies and causing streams of sweat to leak down our back.
"Well yes papa, I could use ah Cokes," she says fanning herself with her open hand like an imaginary fan.
I follow suit.
We turn left and walk to Henry Street then walk up past the Salvation Army towards the corner of the Port of Spain Prison. I could see Living Waters ahead. In the distance, we could hear the lunch time traffic roaring around the Savannah and I sniffed deep enough, I could smell the first batch of corn soup, the first crack of an oyster and the first set of honey roasted nuts being placed in a tiny brown paper bag.
Women in their work heels, click click click along the dry pavement, while the men in their short sleeve shirts, pants and sneakers stand by and stare as they go by. Mothers doing their shopping, grannies on their way to collect their pensions, teenagers cutting class...
Next ting yuh know, ah tiny woman in a dirty dress with her head wrapped in a once-white cloth swings her market bag in a huge arch and drops it vaps on another lady head. She turns and continues walking towards the prison.
We stop.
We wait.
"Stueps these blasted vagrants and dey shit yes," says the attacked lady before taking off her high heel and peltin it behind the vagrant. De vagrant lady stops turns, picks up the shoe and walks back over to the lady. Handing it over she says,
" Like you eh have no training? yuh mudda eh teach yuh no broughtupsy... black people eh."
We look at each other and after a slight pause we walk on.
As we are about the cross the road to Living Waters we notice a deep hole in the middle of the road. Cars swerve around it and pedestrians cross away from it. Now it was not a Government approved pot hole as no white line was drawn, which meant anyone had free reign to claim it.
Den jes so jes so outa no where this vagrant man dressed in stylish garbage bag pantaloons come runnin dong de street towards the pothole and in slow motion attempts to do a dive head first in. We stand, we look, we wait...
With his two foot sticking straight up and his head deep into the hole, we listen.
"This ting real deep...mudda ass yes."
We walk into Living Waters, buy our food and come back out. The garbage bag vagrant has by this point been removed from the hole and a rusty barrel placed into it instead with his supervision. We hear the sirens coming and know by morning it pothole will be approved.
We head back to work, hungry, spiritually guided and ready for the rest of the day.
Park Street from Henry Street or up towards Living Waters on upper Frederick Street. Any route however, was bong to give us some excitement.
The first lunchtime I went to Living Waters Community with a co-worker proved to be the precedent for everyday after. She was small, feisty and would only stop talking long enough to roll her eyes, purse her lips or swing steadily from one hip to the next to illustrate her point.
"Let us go to Living Waters Nadine, we can get a good meal and also some spiritual guidance, I feel like you might need some today."
"Arrite."
We would walk out onto Oxford street and the heat would hit us instantly, melting the cold air from our bodies and causing streams of sweat to leak down our back.
"Well yes papa, I could use ah Cokes," she says fanning herself with her open hand like an imaginary fan.
I follow suit.
We turn left and walk to Henry Street then walk up past the Salvation Army towards the corner of the Port of Spain Prison. I could see Living Waters ahead. In the distance, we could hear the lunch time traffic roaring around the Savannah and I sniffed deep enough, I could smell the first batch of corn soup, the first crack of an oyster and the first set of honey roasted nuts being placed in a tiny brown paper bag.
Women in their work heels, click click click along the dry pavement, while the men in their short sleeve shirts, pants and sneakers stand by and stare as they go by. Mothers doing their shopping, grannies on their way to collect their pensions, teenagers cutting class...
Next ting yuh know, ah tiny woman in a dirty dress with her head wrapped in a once-white cloth swings her market bag in a huge arch and drops it vaps on another lady head. She turns and continues walking towards the prison.
We stop.
We wait.
"Stueps these blasted vagrants and dey shit yes," says the attacked lady before taking off her high heel and peltin it behind the vagrant. De vagrant lady stops turns, picks up the shoe and walks back over to the lady. Handing it over she says,
" Like you eh have no training? yuh mudda eh teach yuh no broughtupsy... black people eh."
We look at each other and after a slight pause we walk on.
As we are about the cross the road to Living Waters we notice a deep hole in the middle of the road. Cars swerve around it and pedestrians cross away from it. Now it was not a Government approved pot hole as no white line was drawn, which meant anyone had free reign to claim it.
Den jes so jes so outa no where this vagrant man dressed in stylish garbage bag pantaloons come runnin dong de street towards the pothole and in slow motion attempts to do a dive head first in. We stand, we look, we wait...
With his two foot sticking straight up and his head deep into the hole, we listen.
"This ting real deep...mudda ass yes."
We walk into Living Waters, buy our food and come back out. The garbage bag vagrant has by this point been removed from the hole and a rusty barrel placed into it instead with his supervision. We hear the sirens coming and know by morning it pothole will be approved.
We head back to work, hungry, spiritually guided and ready for the rest of the day.
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