In the thick of things

I was standing just outside a large bank in the centre of of Half-way Tree in St Andrew. It's not somewhere you'd generally like to find yourself if you have any kind of aversion to crowds. I was there in the late morning. Apparently that's the peak period for crowds.

I was talking with a banana chips vendor who insists on being called Mutty Perkins. He had two large bags packed with chips hanging from both shoulders and wore a black hat and sunglasses. He was a feeble-looking fellow and appeared burdened by the load of the bags. I asked him how he was managing.

"Mi good, man. Di sun hot bad but yuh know ah just di hustling," said he.

I had met him a few minutes earlier when he approached me, not to buy any of the chips, but to make change for a woman standing next to him.

"Yuh can change a grand, bredda?" he asked. I couldn't, and told him so.

"Same ting!" said the woman who appeared to be growing impatient.

"Mi soon get some change mummy," Mutty Perkins assured her.

The woman was holding a small pack of chips. "Look here, mi nuh have di time fi dis. Mi nah go dead fi hungry if mi nuh eat di chips. Just come pass back mi money yaw," she said.

The woman was up in age. She wore spectacles and had strong-looking arms.

"Hello! Yuh can change a grand?" Mutty Perkins called out to a vendor of juices, both box and bag, who was walking by.

The man paused for a second, looked at some bills in his hand, then shook his head. "No sah, too early fi dat," he said.

The woman hissed.

"Hello, please!" she shouted.

"I tank yuh fi please to give mi back mi money and meck mi gwaan!" she said.

Apparently, sensing the woman's growing fury, Mutty Perkins reluctantly walked over to her, handed her the money and retrieved the pack of chips.

Morning vibes

The woman whipped out a small purse from the pocket of her skirt and tucked the money inside before storming off, mumbling all the way.

I bid the now-dejected Mutty Perkins farewell and walked across the street, well, it was really like I was swept across the street in one giant wave of humanity.

I met there on the other side, a fine-looking woman who told me to call her Marcia. Now Marcia has a raspy voice and seems to smoke like a chimney. She went through three cigarettes in the space of no more than five minutes as I stood next to her. I asked her, when I was sure I had found favour in her eyes, if she smoked that much all the time. She laughed merrily.

"No man! Heh hey!" she said.

"Is just di morning vibes. Yuh haffi meck sure yuh meditation right before yuh start di day."

She slapped her forehead. "As yuh say dat!" she said. Marcia looked behind me. "Shabba!" she shouted. "Come here!"

Soon, a boy about 14 years old ran up to her. He wore sandals and seemed tired. "Run go up a Shernette and tell har fi send two cigarette fi mi," she told the boy.

He held out his palm. "Weh yuh want?" Marcia asked.

"Weh di money deh?" the boy asked.

"But si yah!" Marcia exclaimed. "Shernette know seh she will get har money. Yuh out a order! Gwaan fi di cigarette dem and meck haste to!"

The boy scampered off.

"Yuh see how dem young people yah fiesty?" Marcia said.

I shrugged.

"Cho. Him betta come back quick to," she said.

"Hal-way Tree ah nuh one easy place. Mi haffi meck sure mi meditation right before mi start mi day," she said.

Where should Robert go next?

Let him know at robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com.

The following is feedback to last week's Roving with Lalah