I kept seeing a man hanging out in the neighborhood; my twisted European logic labelled him a street person, and a happy one at that. His gentle nature and the sparkle in his eyes finally helped me overcome my reserve and approach him. “Hi, can I get you something to eat?”
His reply and impish grin left me speechless: “No thanks, I’m not hungry. But if what you want is to make me happy, I’ll let you buy me a beer.”
Holding out his hand, he told me his full name and surname: Michael M. How could I turn down such a request? I can’t recall ever feeling in such high spirits just from buying someone a beer. I was generously and instantly rewarded with unrestrained enthusiasm: “I want to marry you. This is love at first sight!” He also asked me to take his picture and give it to him, and immediately allowed me to use it.
I found out later on that he wasn’t homeless but lived on odd jobs, and that his constant good mood had made him the local mascot. Every new encounter with him was as friendly as can be. His matrimonial ambitions soon vanished after I promised I would buy him beers without the nuptials. So much for my ego.
Lucas – now that was something else. He was no taller than a child and his face was furrowed with wrinkles. There he was, every morning, perched on his plastic bucket, dutifully polishing car after car. In a passionate tone, he told me about his daily professional challenges: scraping sun-dried pigeon droppings off car hoods, not being able to reach the top of SUVs in spite of climbing on his bucket... His toothless grin was a testimony to his genuine enjoyment of our chats.
I’m sorry to say I managed to disappoint him. We ran into each other on my first return to Barbados and I thought he’d be impressed that I remembered his name. When I shouted “How’s it going, Luca?”, he frowned for a second: “What did you call me?” “Uhhh – Luca”, I whispered. “Luca, no way. It’s LucaS”!
Luckily for me, I was able to earn his forgiveness a few days later. I marked his 67th birthday with a surprise offering of homemade muffins and a small bottle of rum laid out on a car hood.
One day, Lucas stopped showing up at his workstation. It was several weeks before I found him sitting under a tree on a city street. He explained he had fallen off his bucket and injured his hip, and wouldn’t be able to work again until he got an operation. Well, he never went back to polishing cars. But he maintains his hopeful outlook on life, and small talk with passers-by cheers him up as easily as before.
Then there was Jay-Jay, a woman who also approached me in my neighborhood. I would walk by her house every morning and she couldn’t decide if I was a tourist or a local. Her opening line was: “I can’t figure out your hair. Is it real?”(Some day, maybe I’ll manage a special chapter about the complex issue of hair and hairstyles.) I gave her proof that I wasn’t wearing a wig and the ice was soon broken. A most peculiar invitation ensued: I was to join the weekly domino tournament she organized for other retired women like herself. Dominoes are something of an institution in Barbados; on streets, beaches or anywhere, all generations indulge in it. I joined in with glee, but quickly had to swallow my pride when I found out the game was anything but child’s play. The blaring calypso* music, breadfruit chips** and the wukkup*** steps Jay-Jay and her friends improvised somewhat eased my bruised ego. And since Jay-Jay is willing to welcome me any time, it’s now up to me to hone my skills at the game.
I met Dawn while watching a Jamaican dance exhibition. I had travelled by bus to the performance hall and knew too well how complicated it would be to get home in the evening. During intermission, I struck up a conversation with Dawn’s sweet, 11-year-old granddaughter who was sitting next to me. The show came to an end and, knowing how obliging Bajan**** people are by nature, I ventured to ask Dawn if she would mind dropping me off on the main road so I wouldn’t have to change buses. “Oh, sure”, she said, “it’s on my way”. Imagine my surprise when she kept driving past the bus stop and took me all the way home, which was in the opposite direction from her place! “Oh, it’s only an extra 20 minutes (each way)”, she explained!
Last but not least, there was Richard, who rented out parasols and beach chairs. He soon realized he would never get much business from me, yet he was always willing to keep an eye on my belongings whenever I went for a swim, in exchange for a casual chat. One day, he noticed some angry mosquito bites on my legs (all right, all right, there are down sides to Barbados); he then took off in his car and came back with an armful of beautiful aloe vera leaves from his own garden to soothe my skin! He firmly declined any payment for his trouble. “Just give me a hug!”
Generous, cheerful, friendly, approachable yet never overly familiar... They may not know it, but these perfect strangers are part of what lights up my life in Barbados!
* Calypso: Folk songs from the Caribbean with witty and satirical texts
** Breadfruit : Large fruit that grows on a tree. A staple throughout the Caribbean islands, often used as a potato substitute
***Wukkup : Sensual Caribbean type of dance
****Bajan (pr. bay-djun): noun or adjective, derived from “Barbadian”
Translated by Edna Setton
July 3, 2021