Running the Gaunlet

The Gold Medalist and the Midnight Bandit
By: Abdool Aziz

FIRST PRIZE FOR LITERATURE
HE was 20 years old and fond of writing. He entered a national competition on Literature and won first price – a gold medal and $100. It didn’t surprise him, he wrote over 10 stories and scrapped them all. The last one based on ‘A Community set apart’ was handed in on the last day. He was confident he would win.

THE HONOUR CEREMONY
A special concert was organised to present the prizes at the Queens College beginning at 20:00hrs, on a Sunday evening. He was the main invitee. At first he was reluctant to the attend. He was from the Essequibo and nights in Georgetown with the scourge of ‘Choke and Rob’ scared him. There were few taxis and they did not ply so late and he had no one to accompany him. It would be a treacherous journey from Kingston to Thomas Street, his uncle’s residence. But he decided to attend, more curious to meet and shake hands with the presenter, the now-late Sir David Rose, a stalwart he admired.

The Strategy
That evening he walked from `Big Market’ to Queens College, well dressed, with a bag in his hand. He hid the bag beneath the stairs. In it were a worn-out cap, two odd-sized slippers and torn clothes, dirty and smelly. After receiving his coveted prize, his mind began to focus on the gauntlet. He must run to offset the bandits. He could not stay on for the closing ceremony and group photo. He excused himself and came downstairs. He took out the medal from its cute container and withdrew the cheque from the envelope. He placed them in the hem of his shaggy pants. He had re-done those hems to seal these values, now with his new outfit he looked like a street bum. He hit the cruel and lonely street. As he moved along he behaved drunkenly. He even smoked a cigarette. As he approached the Lamaha Bridge, two guys pounced upon him. One held a knife at his throat.
“Gee mee wha you got or ah kill you,” the robber shouted.
“Me na gat notting.” the writer emptied his pockets.
“Wah you doing coming from the sea wall?”
“Mee bin a saach fo food,” the writer lied.
They took away the crumpled pack of cigarette.
“He aint got notting!” said the pickpocket.
The other said, “Leh we dump he in the canal.”
He was released with one kick and slap and he was sent off,
“Get Lost, you waste we time,” the robbers said.

THE SECOND RUN – IN
By the `Parade Ground’, he was stopped by a cutlass-wielding bandit. “Tek out you watch, you ring and money! Drop it!.”
“Mee na get nothing, see,” he pulled out all his pockets.
“What you doing on the streets so late?”
“Mee a saach fo food, me hungry, gee me something nah.”
He got one broadside cutlass on his behind. “Shut up, tek off de pants!” the writer, trembling, obeyed. The bandit threw it into a garbage barrel. “Scram!” he ordered, the victim hid and later retrieved the trousers.

Gold – Safely Home
In his uncle’s home, he explained his horrible attire.
“Oh my sonny, how clever!” he looked at the gold medal “Solid gold, sonny! What you plan to do with it?”
“I’ll melt it and with $100 dollar I will begin a degree course from London.”
“How ambitious Sonny!”
The next day’s front page newspaper read: ‘Young school teacher won the first prize for Literature.’ He wondered what those frustrated bandits felt knowing he had gold and money on him, so easy for the taking. He did graduate with a BA from London and began lecturing in the art of writing.

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