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23 days

I can already smell the hot air rising up from the roads after a rain. I can see the lady fanning her corn on the side of the highway, smoke encircling her as she tries to get the roast under control. In the distance I see a cloth banner hanging from the Claxton Bay flyer over, it says...Welcome home rampaul, yuh mudda cant...and I sigh happily as if it were written just for me.

I imagine driving down the highway, in awe at new things, buildings, less grass, a new horse running madly along near Caroni. I imagine getting to south passing Southland Mall..we cud go there for dinner ker, wuh yuh think? mom says to me placing her hand on my knee...yuh mad or what!

We drive past the big tree in Palmiste, my coconut man standing next to his truck, his dirty tight, white shirt exposing his dark, hairy belly, while he wipes jelly from his lips. Nasty grocery makes me smile.. we cud get some wine there for tonight yes...

We drive past Fong's mansion, wave and nobody inside and keep heading right into block 7. Close now, we turn the corner, up the hill, down the hill and the little green and white house appears in the distance. The gate opens slowly, we park...i run out to vomit...

Mom gives me a hug...ren lies down...neil sighs in anticipation of an eventful two weeks...aunty start hutting food..uncle walks to the porch to get some breeze...

Home.

Comments

Anna Mackenzie said…
I love this - so evocative. Can I come?!
11:29 pm, July 07, 2009
camilla said…
if ou could read italian! more than a year ago i wrote a blog post from trinidad just like this one.
travelers, my dear friend, make the best writers.
and you are definitely one of a kind.
keep on keeping on
4:05 pm, September 06, 2009
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