IN a small settlement in the countryside, when it was the out-of-crop season for the sugar cane and there was time on hand waiting for the new crop, men went early in the mornings on the high seas to fish or to the jungle to hunt for wild meat. The women tend to their unending duties as homemakers, where sweat, laughter and tears complement each day. The young boys grazed the few herds of cattle and sheep, fished in the trenches and the more adventurous ventured to the black water creek beyond where the sugar boats passed. Cricket and marble games were played on the streets, riding their bikes or just being mischievous as most boys in that small estate settlement were.

Andrew, an African boy, from the backstreet whose grandmother operated a small laundry and Sunil, an Indian boy from the middle street, whose father was a cane-cutter, were best friends who loved to ride around on their bikes, an adventurous duo, giving helping hands to anyone who needed them, like Uncle Willie, that day, who was cutting down a dying mango tree. Their mischief though was interfering with the drunks passing on the streets. On this day, they hid behind the culvert and waited for Uncle Bikarma, an old man with a prosthetic leg, who begged for his living, but spent most of his money at a ‘bottom house’ rum shop drinking, ‘white ball rum.’

He always sang old Hindi movie songs with an intoxicated slur, as he slowly made his way home. The boys armed themselves with small bricks and waited for the old man as he trod along slowly with his stick, singing.
“Suhani Raat Dhal Chuki Na Jaane Tum Kab Aaoge…”
As he neared the culvert, the boys let loose the missiles, making sure not to hit him, just taunting him. The old man stopped singing and shouted swearing in Hindi, then creolese, “Ow gawd, dem rascal boys, dem dis, ah yuh mudda nah train ayuh good, meh gon’ bruk ayuh foot!”

He swung his stick threateningly as the boys ran out from behind the koker and rode away on their bicycles, laughing loudly. Aunty Malo, an old lady passing by, searching for her two ducks that had wandered away, shouted after the boys, displeasingly, “Wah ayuh always trouble dis ol’ man fuh, baie?”
She spoke to Uncle Bikarma comfortingly, “Guh baiya, wak easy.”
The old man trudged along home, singing his melodies of yesteryear.

The boys stopped by Aunty Rose, who was busy in her garden and offered some help, but she ignored them and they rode away because Aunty Rose, though a nice, old woman, had a short temper, that is often triggered when anyone was intruding in her garden. The boys remembered vividly, the day, Dharmendra picked a few springs of thyme and she chased him all the way home with a cutlass – Dharmendra’s mother had to pay for the thyme – so everyone knew not to mess with Aunty Rose’s garden, especially when she had a cutlass in her hand. The boys rode to the front street turning the corner so fast, they nearly knocked down a man. It was Kenny, from the middle street, one of the older gamblers. Kenny jumped in the corner, swearing holding onto the ‘salbag’ he was carrying.

“Ayuh nah watch, whey ayuh ah guh?”
“Wah dey in de bag?” Andrew asked suspiciously, knowing Kenny’s reputation for stealing.
“None ayuh business,” Kenny retorted, throwing the bag over his shoulder and continuing his way.
The boys pretended to leave and waited until Kenny turned the corner before following him to see what he was up to. They stalked out an old run-down house called the “Shoulin Temple,” where middle-aged men met to drink rum every day as though it was a ritual. There were four men, there, that day and the boys watched as they peered into the bag, laughed and left to weed a yard for ‘drink money,’ while Kenny was left to cook. He took swigs from a quarter bottle, then emptied the contents of the bag and out flew Aunty Malo’s two ducks.

“Ah know dere was something wrang about dat bag,” Andrew whispered.
Kenny locked away the ducks and brought out a small tub of crabs to cook. He swore under his breath as he searched around for ingredients so he did not see Sunil creeping in and replacing the jar of water with kerosene oil. Kenny threw some of the water in the tub to wash the crab and realized too late what he had done. He emptied the tub and looked about frantically, not knowing what to do. He found some soap powder and washed the crabs and dumped it into the pot but now, after cooking, instead of kerosene oil, the crabs tasted like soap powder. The boys couldn’t contain themselves from laughing and Kenny angrily chased them out of the yard,“Meh gun kill de two ah yuh!”

The boys jumped on their bicycles and sped away, Sunil shouting, “Meh gun tell Aunty Malo yuh thief she duck!”
The afternoon was drawing close, so they rode to the small pastures to take the animals home and on their way they stood at the street corner, where the older boys were talking and laughing about Lagadoo, the half retard’s dramatics at the Police Station.
“Meh nah look out fuh no Police Jeep nex time.” Lagadoo said, eating his mango, hungrily.
“Man, how yuh eat so much?” Sunil asked.

“Because he guts deh til ah he foot battam,” Rajesh said, “Dat’s why he does deh all dem wedding house, fuh eat dem people seven curry.”
Lagadoo pelt the mango seed at Rajesh, who jumped out of the way and the seed hit Uncle Krish who was just passing by. The man stopped and shouted angrily, “Who do dah?”
None of the boys answered, no one wanted to get on the wrong side of Uncle Krish, one of the strongest men in the settlement.
“Meh, think he come from dah side” Rajesh ventured to say, pointing to Aunty Malo’s yard.

“Aha!” the man shouted, because only yesterday he and Aunty Malo’s husband had a problem and he had challenged the man to a boxing match, but the match ended in a draw, with no blows landing much to everyone’s amusement. The boys thought another boxing match would be on the cards, but the Police Jeep coming in the distance made everyone disperse hurriedly. Uncle Krish sat down quietly in the rum shop, drinking his half-quarter white rum and eating cherries for ‘chasers’. That’s why he was called the ‘Cherry King’

Twilight set in, and the settlement came alive as the girls came out to play, the women laughed and chatted, melodious songs playing from radios, as lamps were lit, a settlement of people who shared each other’s lives, with hard work, rich laughter and camaraderie, even the drunks and the young rascals.