By Abdool Aziz
AS a boy it was fun to duck into Old Moore’s orchard and enjoy his fruits, especially star-apples. He was sometimes asleep in his makeshift zinc hut or doing odd jobs on the farm. He was old, weak and poor-sighted.
One day, while eating a star-apple, it slipped from my hand and hit ‘Moorie’ on his head. I didn’t know he was under the tree. The old man saw it was half-eaten fruit. He stared up at the trees. “You deh up deh na, me cetch you today, me go see weh you go run. Come down, aw waiting!” he said.
He took his cutlass and lashed the tree. “Ah chap you two piece thief! You daady tree dis?”
He sat down, the rake, the shovel and cutlass at his side. The angry farmer said: “Deh nat plant am, but dey want reap am. Look deese people. Dis go don hey today. Come down thief! Ah deh hey,” he said.

THE PANIC
My appetite diminished, I felt fear. I thought of stepping to a far off branch but it was too brittle to take my weight. I thought of jumping down and fleeing. My enemy now stood up walking around muttering. “Ah aint kay if ah get charge fo murder, ah gon kill he. Dis gat to stap. Too many eye pass,” the man said.
He looked up into the tree “Come down nah, me cutlass want blood. You see this shovel, straight to you belly. And dis rake to you head!”
I was really scared. He would surely get me if I jumped down. The hole in the fence was far away. I wouldn’t reach there in time. What to do? I panicked.

THE TRICK
I must get Moorie away, but how? Then I got a master plan. I picked a few green star-apples and began to pelt his zinc house. Moorie said: “Wha de hell, who ah pelt me house? All me food open.” The man threw down the weapons and lumbered to his abode. “Me come back. Baccoo ah pelt me, dem ah na a gee me trouble.”
A soon as he disappeared in his shack, I scrambled down and fled, picking up his loaded bag of mangoes, genips and guavas. By the time the old man came back to the tree, I was far away under a palm tree enjoying the stolen fruits. That was the last day I stole his produce. I missed big trouble.

THE OLD MAN PASSED
Moorie died of old age. He had no next-of-kin and no one wanted to stand the expense of his funeral. I was a teacher then. I took my first pay cheque and buried him on his farm. My farewell words were: “Rest in Peace – You fed me when I was hungry. I eat this star-apple for you. Now the farm is open to all thanks to you.”
That orchard still stands decades now and her trees still bear luscious fruits and is open to the public. Moore’s farm – an Oasis for a weary traveller and my son, hungry like his dad.