Life here is different. Different to what, I don’t know but it doesn’t quite make sense.
I sit under a tent at the Queen’s Park Savannah, Farmer’s Market. The tropical sun’s vibrance radiates. A breeze; a nice, nice breeze blows into the town from the hills to the North. Sweet soca dances in the breeze and brings back memories of the hundred other times that I’ve heard these songs. This is life in the islands, the laid back, cool breeze, hot sun, after work limes. This is life in the islands, this is life in my home, in Trinidad.
From small talk, to making connections. Linking family name to long time neighbor. Pulling strings to tighten the nets in our network. This is life in my home, talk doesn’t even reach to politics today. It stops short at crime. At the other market, tomorrow’s market, a usual couple won’t be there.
Normally, every Sunday morning at 6am a well dressed couple strolls through purchasing their goods.
Yesterday they were supposedly robbed. The man is dead and the woman is critical in hospital. This update is the talk of the moment. Anybody who looking like they have a lil’ money. Yuh doh stan a chance dese days yes. Dese people not easy.
It’s football season though, so after all the talk changes. Who supports who, who’s been backing who. Since their youth. Brasil, Argentina, Germany, Mexico looking good.
The sun raises higher and beats down on us.
Talk returns to the couple , life not easy nuh. Not here.
(Where I wonder?)