By Carifesta Rebel
A plane, a train wreck, a bird…a headless chicken to be exact,
It was slack,
And out of whack!
No, not the mowing machine but the rice fiasco arts festival. While the cancellations, no-shows and postponements continued to flow like spilt milk Dr. Palo-mona-lisa-the-less took a deep breath and vowed not to cry.
And so it was on Sunday night, she was on Cloud Nine. Maybe it was the lights, maybe it was the air-conditioning that blocked out all scent of what the Surinamese diplomatically called “stink perfume” at the National Gymnasium on Sunday but at the Convention Centre, a sly, secret smile settled permanently on her face and eyes dreamily gazed up at the blank space above.
Perhaps she was thinking of the Brazilian Air show, or was Pluft, the little Brazilian ghost, her new best friend? She relaxed in a dress that would have won the infamous pajamas competition…”reports are her outfit was perfect even down to the bedroom slippers…she was gracious and did not call for a standing ovation…she received the free tickets and screamed her joy…though she later cried foul when all events were “de-ticketed”.
Not so, Comrade Leader Beemer ‘Slim’ J, who took on the great, the magnificent, the extraordinary, the truthful and in being so depressing SLW (St. Lucian Warrior). In a lopsided boxing match that made the Romans look like little docile milking cows, Beemer J was demolished by one dreaded word…”communist”! It was the day of the skinny, white, middle-aged ladies, the cheering fans of the SLW.
Monday: At the Gym, where the exclusive Puran’s perfume had the middle-class shooting stern looks to those less-heeled, the Surinamese sculpture ‘Human Anatomy’, had the women giggling and casting “shy” looks around as they approached the life-sized sculpture. One sculpture-struck woman whispered, in an awe struck “naughty” tone as she “slowly and lovingly’ caressed it, that it was “imposing”.
The Scene at Parade Ground:
Mini-bus driver: ‘Four in a seat, Four in a seat, y’all come here, straight away straight away, come nah star, dis bus movin now, hurry up deh granny”.
Disgusted Trini, shocked look on face moves quickly to the Secretariat: ‘This is not good’.
Bajan (look of distain on face): ‘I’m not going in thet’.
Secretariat minion (upbraids driver): Mista, you gat to be polite, budday, you mus sey ‘sir’ or ‘madam’ and yuh could only put three people in a seat.
Driver: arite then.
(And after hours of practising) Driver: Star…sir, we loadin rite hey, hurry, nah star…sir. Granny…madame, go straight to the back…gimme yuh walkin stick, I gon put in under the seat…move fas granny…(one young lady later)…come sweets, lemme help you with dat…tek this seat hey…arritte…yuh know I gat a cousin in Barbados…
Monday afternoon: As the Fogarty’s head honcho and the Indonesian diplomat danced and sang the afternoon away, more cancellations and no shows hit the beleaguered monarchy of Palo-mona-lisa-the-lesser-everyday. (Will she vanish Soon, Markus Anthony already did?).
Rebelservations.
The floral show at the cathedral was described as the ‘Garden of Eden’…err where did us humans lose our innocence again?
The Tacuma worms are PNC…they are boycotting Carifesta!! The tree falling into the Berbice River… who believes that story? The unpatriotic worms felled the tree, made a canoe and paddled away.
Beemer ‘Slim’ J at the opening ceremony: the festival would “appeal to the imagination of all” including the “Christians, Hindus, Muslims, Amerindians and children”, the five religions of Guyana. Dee Fox, Amerindian or Atheist? “thou shall not paint thy face”…she does…heavily too…maybe its just war paint.
How to spot a tourist?
Listen for a heavy accent. (Be warned, many who speak with accents are actually Guyanese).
Stick by the mall…they all want to pet the anaconda which should be banned from a public place because it might bite someone.
Pinch them…should they scream, they are the genuine article, should they cuss you out, quickly rub your rapidly swelling eyes and call for the police in your accent…be warned someone might pinch you at this point.
Should you find one: you hold them, love them, pet them and tell them they are worth ten locals…after all in their honour, the place was cleaned up exposing the man who made his home in the tall grass of the alleyway…could someone call Turkeyen for the old zinc sheet barriers which at the time of the Rio summit were used to “protect the squatters’ homes from thieves”.
