< Situations and Revelations of Passing Notice in Guyana >
Locket #48:
So somebody comes up behind you and grabs your phone. You’d be shocked
and angry, right? Make a big scene, run after the man, shouting for somebody
to stop him.
I was at the mall with Nadira, my best friend. Our imitation mall. Nadira has
been to New York and she says our “Mall” is pure imitation; and people stop
going to malls in New York.
Then why we coming here? Well, we still catching up with the world.
Besides, her family like buying expensive things. And imitation or not, our
Mall is a not a bad place to wander about and feel safe.
We attend one of the best schools in Georgetown. I would say ‘the best’, but
our standards are so all over the swamp, unless you getting a private
education you can’t be sure what you getting.
I told Nadira someone grabbed my phone. The look on her face should have
been the look on my face. When she gets panicky, even a mouse would stop
and laugh at her.
I told her I thought I recognized the man who grabbed my phone. He was
wearing bad boy dark glasses, Nike shoes. There was a tattoo on his wrist.
The face was narrower. It had lost some of his good looks, but it was Ranji.
Ranji G. A student from our school. A former student.
He was two years ahead of us. Nadira and I used to give him long distance
looks but all we got back was cold shoulder.
Her Mom phoned, she was outside waiting in the car. So what should I do?
Nadira thought I should report it to the police. The Police?
Well, the Security people in the Mall. They must have cameras with the
whole incident on tape or something. But we’d have to go looking for the
Manager, and her mother was waiting in the car.
Just as we stepped outside two fellows on motorbikes appeared. Out of
nowhere. Shiny helmets, dark glasses. They just rode up and the fellow on
the second bike sort of threw a phone at me. My cell phone. And they rode
off.
I checked to see if it was damaged. Was that the guy who snatched your
phone? Nadira.
I was relieved I didn’t have to report anything. I was thinking, our lives can
grind to a standstill just like that. Somebody grabs your phone, rides away
away in the wind and your life is at a standstill.
I told Nadira not to say anything. I got my phone back, and that was the end
of that.
Knowing Nadira, it couldn’t be the end of that. The moment her mother
dropped me off, her mouth opens, the story pops out. Some man on a motor
cycle snatched Annette’s phone!
And her mother would say something back, something stupid and frightened,
about certain people in this country (whom she identifies by the pigtails
sticking out under the helmets); the way they treating this place, scaring
her to death with their road behavior.
She is like so many people, they see and hear things they vaguely under-
stand.
There are pictures in our papers. Gross pictures so we could feed like
passing crows. Dead bodies, battered bodies, people arrested, people
released, homes burnt down in vexation. All we could do is hope and pray,
if we avoid trouble, it will leave us alone.
+
Of course, the matter didn’t end there. I started getting messages. On the
phone. From Ranji. The phone he snatched and handed back.
Unreal, I said the same thing. I couldn’t believe somebody would do anything
like this.
At first he signed his text ‘Bombay Boomboy’. Then he changed it to BB.
Then still not happy with the tag he signed it B2 and he stayed with that.
From what he says, he has joined some motorcycle gang. And he’s involved
with the Narcotic Trade people you hear about in our country. I’m not
joking.
To give you an idea, here are samples of what he wrote.
Showed Miss T. how her profits would improve if she did business with us.
Her market stall perfect for drop off/pick up. Told Ras man to change
balance – 350 (bought) 400 (sold). It's not a waste of pineapples.
N’jeeryan causing problems. Made it clear he's responsible for any loss of
product. He’s a courier. Told him, do his job. Deliver. Don’t open package.
Bikes a better transport investment. Maintenance the courier’s problem.
Next month code change. Old: Do you want to see my Amerindian girlfriend
tonight? New: The children need dresses. Buy me four dresses. Birthday
preparations moving okay.
Complaint about last delivery from P’roon. Ordered to send it back. Top
layer good. Bottom layer look like sawdust. Told them use coffee beans to
cover scent. Strict rules of business and accounting.
BoomBoss threaten to discipline people riding about on bikes and drawing
attention to themselves. Bikes bought with Company profits to be used like
Company vehicles. Punishment for disobedience they will not like.
Package from P‘ribo turned out to be a woman. Picked up at Beach 63.
Don’t know what she carried that was so precious. Language problem. Did
what we were told. Middle of the night, transport to GT. No questions.
Like postcards from another world. And for my eyes only.
When all is said and done, he could only end up one place, in the half-
naked punishment of our jails. But he’s out of school now, and he doesn’t
care who approves or disapproves what he's doing.
+
I still wonder, why me? Snatching my phone, the toss and ride drama outside
the Mall. Is he looking for a friend?
Someone like Ranji with his motorcycle style and fast flow shouldn’t have
problems. His headlight bulbs glow day and night; he's revved and ready to
go. Maybe the girls he meets aren’t his type.
I mentioned his name to my English Teacher the other day. Told her I’d seen
him. Where? How is he? I think she enjoys “following” her students after
they graduate.
I can’t imagine what he’s going through. It’s her favourite line. She uses it to
display “empathy”; and with that word she’s helping us develop, she says,
our 'underdeveloped capabilities'.
She talks like she needs to hear “news” about all of us, like it feeds some
hunger or unhappiness she holds inside. Her eyes light up; but I cut her off
that time. I wasn’t going to give her any pleasure, tracking Ranji’s
‘development’ outside.
Besides, I suspect she’s quietly plotting her ‘move away’ moves. She gets
agitated, shouting at us over little things. At times we catch her staring out
the window. The creatures and vegetation in the swamp. I can do better
than this. It doesn’t take much to push her off topic, off her windowsill into
the wind.
Maybe Ranji sensed I couldn’t find the courage to approach him. And now,
like he’s blaming me. See what happen? If you had stepped up and declared
your feelings, this wouldn’t have happened. Our lives might have been
different. Yes, think about that.
Like he’s trying to implicate me. I wouldn't let him pull me in.
It could be a pride thing. From Canal District (about his family we knew
nothing) worrying what people thought about him. All his friends moving on,
doing something in shirt and tie, while he’s there riding motorcycles and
doing clearly psychiatric things. Proving at least he has spine for something.
Could be fantasy thing. Like Nadira. She likes to pretend she is ready for
the sex she hasn’t started having.
She has this tattoo on her hip line, in a little harbour just above her buttocks.
I don’t know when or where she had it done. She’s still alive so obviously
her mother hasn’t seen it.
She showed it to me one day; shaking her behind to demonstrate how she
expects to be humped; like I’m her secret mirror. Wait till she finds out
what else it involves.
I have my problems, but to her they’re not as important. But I’m generally
a cautious person. And to be honest we want different things out of life,
out of the swamp.
+
I ask myself, when his riding eventually stops, and his picture gets in the
newspapers (with nothing to smile about) and people find out everything,
what am I suppose to do? speak up for him? take his side? I can't just do
nothing, watch him stare out then disappear in the day's swamp news.
His messages come late at night. The short bursts. He probably hopes I read
them rightaway and go to bed thinking about him.
I wait until early next morning. Pull back the blinds, let the sun wash over
my night clothes. I check the phone, a new message is there! it's like, Since
you were always interested in who I am, here. grip on this. and this.
I take in every word. Sometimes I stay in bed imagining the drama, letting it
float around inside; until my mother bangs on the door and tells me to move
my lazy behind.
I should maybe throw the phone away, get a new number; though when he
realizes his messages aren’t getting through, who knows what might happen
next?
He might get angry. He might start “stalking” me. Out of the blue showing
up again, taking off his dark glasses, wanting to talk now; hoping I’ll see him
in a better light. I swear if that happens, I’ll tell him straight: stay away
from me.
Anyway, I have to focus. Exams! Final exams! only months away.
I don’t hang outside too long now. In the house; spending solid, scholarship-
hungry hours; making notes in the margins. Studying.
You wouldn’t find anyone more motivated to get past these final exams.
I just had to move this Ranji stuff out the way first. No, I’m not letting go
of my phone.
Annette B.
Georgetown, Guyana
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 