Monday,
January 15, 2007
Was the usual
people-trying-not-to-bump-into-people scene at the small, shiny supermarket
this Saturday gone. I was the silent, immobile one, glaring at the tea
section. No green tea. Second supermarket in one week, no green tea.
Red Rose tea grinning at me, sharing a simper or two with Tetley tea, Earl
Grey and bergamot flavoured tea, teas from exotic places, snob teas, trendy
teas - Cinnamon, Chamomile, Apple and Honey, and that pretend one, Iced Tea
mix.
Me eyes drop to the shelf below. Every time I
shop for tea here some strange boxes of brew does stare at me from that shelf.
I always shift away, too nervous to look. This time I look, green tea might be
hiding there.
Ohhh me mooma, Lawd oh, Gawd ohhhh. I know we
got all kinda tea in Guyana but. Them teas there take the cake and drown it.
I got to get them names right! I never know when I gon need them in a story! I
slide out me li’l notebook and pen from me handbag.
Anti-diabetes tea, anti-cold tea, anti-hepatitis, anti-malaria tea, Long Life
tea, Blood fat reducing tea, blood sugar reducing tea, Jasmine Slim tea.
Outta the corner of me right eye I spy a bright blue shirt on a dark bulk
moving from the stool against the wall.
Heh. The security man. Out of all them people buzzing about, he notice me.
Aiye, fame at last.
I scribble some more, I could be writing me shopping list for all y'know, but
the man getting very excited. I can read he body language - never mind she
look 'nice', you got to watch out for these kinda people, them’s the ones who
does steal, they only try to look 'nice' as a cover.
Either he excited, or them li’l shugah ants
biting he in he pants. Or he wee heself and it too hot to bear. He shift to
the left, he shift to the right.
I want to march up to he, li’l dawg challenging
big dawg, yap yap, look, I ain’t a thief, I just writing, okay, just writing,
yappety-yap.
But he might haul me into the manager’s office for questioning, I might end up
on tee vee, as headline in newspaper, hands-upping against police car, they
pushing me head down to go in the car. Gyal arrested for suspicious behaviour.
Something about people scribbling like that does create suspicion in this
country, and from what me gather about people, suspicion stem from fear. We
got this fear that the pen gon jook we and injure we. I discover this a couple
o’ years back.
A couple o’ years back I been in a bookstore in town. Now, as far as me know,
universally, bookstores is for browsing ‘n’ reading before you decide to buy.
I flip through a book. I want to remember the name of the publisher. Instead
of jotting it down in me mind I write it on paper.
A sales woman appear. She bristling like wire brush from she head to she foot.
“What’re you doing?”
I explain. Them bristles on she turn to barb wire. “You can’t do that,” she
forbid. I slink out without buying a leaf.
Now, in the supermarket, the blue shirt move
closer. I don’t really want a discussion with he so I pack up me notebook and
pen and wheel over to the pasta section.
He shift over to the pasta section. I swear me pen in me handbag snicker then
give a li’l sob.
I like sharing me experiences to hear what others got to say; it does help me
to understand things better. That evening I tell me cousin and she friend
Annie. They confirm the man suspicion. Annie with she lush lips mutter,
“Y’know G.G. what you shoulda do was take out you torchlight and start peering
in them shelves...”
This morning Rehana say, “He must be think you from the tax office.”
I laugh with mucho gusto, but a quiet sob lurking somewhere inside. Who create
this fear and when? They say fear does start in you youth. The blue shirt man
and the bookstore lady, they in they forties, fifties. Big people, nervous
about a li’l pen.Guyana
gyal
Alexa Demi Cup Bra
