No gurneys. Nuff garbage. Plenty gerka. This past week was a tough one, with piles of mess punctuating pathways like never before.
“Rubbish!” Ronnie Clarke would say, and that is what it is. Debris and denial all over the place, while we continue to disparage the powers that be. But, alas, Red Plastic Bag! Woi, yoi, yoi, nothing’s happening.
I only did one karaoke session on the weekend; and the most appropriate song I could choose was What’s Going On? by Marvin Gaye. Nodding their heads in approbation, the crowd seemed to feel my feelings, as I sang.
But at least we’re in the month of Independence; and I see flags all over the island – on cars, houses, even trees. So we still have that sense of pride. Even my horticulturalist-columnist comrade was seen in the national colours yesterday, wearing only blue socks while generously trimming the bushes on Cherry Tree Hill. Hoad is a real eccentric. “Why blue socks, Hoadie?” I asked.
“Blue is the colour of passion, Veoma.”
“I thought that was red?”
“Massy and the Trinis would like to think so, but blue it is. When we get real upset, we ‘blue vex’ and when we complaining, we ‘talk ’til we blue’. When wifey accidentally locked the dog in the car and went ’bout she business, ignoring Rufus, the dog almost turn blue too.”
What he was saying hit a note with me; it wasn’t a blue one, though. Although, at the karaoke session, lots of folks were singing the blues. Then, out of a clear blue sky, the rain began to pour. I had to seek shelter in the bushes, where Hoadie had escaped from the wet. Reader, what happened next would surprise you.
A rainbow came out in all its glory, and we could see every single hue.
“My neighbour Huberta would love to see this, you know Hoadie,” I chimed, as I began to hum Rainbow Connection. A flamboyant fellow, Hubert was his given name, but he preferred Huberta; and that’s what we called him. “Look at those colours, all in harmony.”
It was resplendent. Blue and yellow were impressively superlative in the fusion of shades. Sun was shining, rain was falling. A dichotomy that created beauty. Sun and rain – literary symbols of harmony and discord – clashing almost irreconcilably until they formed a rainbow. What a symbol.
“Take your head out of the sand,” Hoadie exclaimed.
I had fallen asleep while admiring the kaleidoscopic creation. My hair was sandy. As Hoad took off his soaking socks, wringing them nonchalantly, I walked back to my horse. (Yes, I was on horseback.)
I remembered the said song, Rainbow Connection. Do you know it?
Why are there so many songs about rainbows
And what’s on the other side
Rainbows are visions
But only illusions
And rainbows have nothing to hide
So we’ve been told
And some choose to believe it
I know they’re wrong, wait and see
Some day we’ll find it
The rainbow connection
The lovers, the dreamers, and me.
Veoma Ali is an author, actor, broadcaster, advertising exec, and most important, a karaoke lover.
