by Marlon Bute on Friday, September 17, 2010 at 6:19pm
A Step in the Right Direction
By Marlon Bute
Sometime ago, I met this young man who was quite despondent.
It showed on his face, his walk and his very talk. All I did to try to console him was in vain, or so it seemed.
And, I, having my own predicament to deal with, decided not to push it.
Seeing that I no longer appeared to be interested in him, and was focusing instead, on the bottle of beer that was in front of me, he proceeded to tell me his story.
That was five years ago, in a bar somewhere in the West End, that used to serve the coldest beer and the best curry, that a man could find anywhere in North America.
It was a night that was quite warm, I remember, because that was when I had made up my mind to do things the right way, with regard to immigration, I mean.
Lots of people manufacture stories just to become straight and some of them actually work. So I had decided, with little consternation, to create a way or rather to employ a strategy that was already tried and tested to organise myself. I wasn’t a criminal but just like the others I simply wanted to get by.
It sounded like a darn good idea too, a little risky but better than looking over your shoulder every minute.
But, that was until I met Danny: a dark skinned, tall Grenadian who was from the island of Cariacou and who until recently, had been living the good life- or so he thought.
By the way, my name is Augustine. I am from St. Lucia and I left my village of Ti Rocher, situated just ten minutes from the hustle and bustle of Castries, sometime, after Sir Compton decided that he had had enough of politics and had stepped down and turned over the leadership to Dr. Vaughn Lewis.
I am a carpenter. I have been in this trade since I have known myself and though I am not one to brag or boast, I think that I could build just about anything-Perfectly - and I won’t even have to measure it.
So, there I was having a drink, while contemplating what I was about to do and dreaming about the expected improvement in my quality of life, when as lady luck would have it, I met this Danny. He was slouched over his glass of gin and tonic, while the bartender; a rather ball-like looking man with beady, furtive eyes seemed to be intent on listening in on the conversation.
Danny was from a large family. His father had been in love with the sea for all his life and had been known in his hometown as a top class fisherman. Unfortunately, where he spent most of his time, he also died. Some of the fishing folk community had rumoured that his partner had pushed him overboard, since Danny's mother and Fred-his father's partner- had hooked up two months after the incident but Danny never really believed any of it. He also disregarded the village chatter that Fred was his real dad.
Now, let me tell you how things really went. I will try my best to relate it to you without leaving out anything. Mind you, we had a few drinks and you would appreciate the fact that sometimes things could get a bit blurry, when there is good booze and great food.
And, then there was the usual distraction that is pretty normal in any Caribbean setting, like when the woman came in to order a conch roti for her 'sweet man', as she put it, who was getting off a tiring work day soon, only to glance over in a corner to see the same sweet man with a white woman looking twice his age, and dressed as if she was going to Mardi gras. Well, as you could more than imagine it was pandemonium in the place, and hadn’t the same burly, bartender been quick on his feet, it would have been dead people.
So, this Danny, who had been in Toronto for the past five years after living in Quebec for just short of three years, doing all sort of odd jobs, had found that the move to Toronto had brought some immense improvement to his circumstance.
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