March 31, 2015

When Harree met Lalloo

Satiricus had long been a big time fan of Brother Bob Marley. And had freed his mind of “mental slavery”. But he was still more than a bit upset when folks snickered at Lalloo Ram for insisting they call him “Chris”.
OK…OK…. All Lalloo’s buddies had followed Brother Bob’s advise and changed their slave names back to real original ones like “Mwahebi Olumba” (meaning “one who stopped eating pork”) and such like. But hey!! Didn’t some other poet (not as famous as Brother Bob) ask, “What’s in a name??”
Satiricus felt vindicated when it was revealed that Lalloo was actually a British citizen. Can’t have a Britisher called “Lalloo”, can you?? You can have one named “Lily Lolo” but that’s grist for another mill. There WAS something in a name! And Satiricus hoped that all those who couldn’t stop giggling at Lalloo’s suspenders and pedantic language would ease up now.
“But what was Harree Narayan’s excuse?” wondered Satiricus at the subject that had brought about this train of thought. Here it was that for donkey years (not “asses years” – that’s not suitable for a family newspaper!) Harree had been telling one and all that he was “Ralf” even though he boasted HE never suffered from mental slavery!!
He had solved the contradictions of dialectical effluvia…and saw things in their “essences”.
Satiricus only discovered Rolph was actually Harree when he read in the GTimes that “the man who would be President” had opened up a bank account in Barbados to clean up some money that had fallen into mud.
And those Bajans insisted he tell them his real name – or they would put him on the “GUYANESE bench” to sit for days. Rolph confessed right away that his real name was “Harree Narayan”. He had “pile” and couldn’t sit on the GUYANESE bench too long.
But why would Harree hide his real name?? Could it be that he too was British?? If he was “British” he couldn’t run for President!! That was it! More than anything else in the world, Harree wanted to be President. He really wanted to have those Police cars with their sirens wailing when he would travel around.
But more important, when he sent his money that keeps on falling into mud to be washed in Bajan banks, they wouldn’t be able to ask him for his real name. Immunities!!
And this explained what a little birdie had told him: Lalloo was suing GTimes on Harree’s behalf for blowing his cover. The Brits have to stick together, wot?

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A lush’s lament

Satiricus heaved a deep sigh. “Life wasn’t always fair, was it?” he asked himself. Here it was, Rum Jhaat had worked and plotted and schemed to get this far…and now it was all “gone for channa”. He was such a misunderstood soul.

Sure, the Jhaat wanted power. Didn’t Burnt Ham say any politician who said he didn’t want power was either a fool or a rascal?

It was what you wanted to do with the power that was important. And so…SURE the Jhaat wanted power to get his hands on money. “But”, thought Satiricus looking down on the Diary on his lap, “All the Jhaat wanted the money for a fancier bottle of rum.”

His niece, Leewattee, maid to the Opposition in their newly-acquired “package of benefits”, had purloined it temporarily.

Dear Diary: Dat Nagga Man a wan real scamp. Look all wha me do fuh he… and dis is how he gon treat me? He a wan real neemakharam! Out of all de people, he know how me like wan drink. And now he gone wid GraniJa to America and he na even tek me along fuh water boy!! And he know dat in America, de rum does flow like Essequibo River!

He know because is I did tell he. How me use to go to America fuh raise funds fuh KFC and all de fancy rum dat use to share! Chivas…Black Label…Grey Goose….

Dear Diary: When me drink dem rum me think me dead and gone ah heaven!! Dey don’t taste like de Berbice Bush Rum me and Nagga Man grow up pan. Is dat Bush Rum me and Nagga Man drink mek we face get so twist-up.

People who know we nowadays think is because of old age. But me face bin like dis since Standard Four when me start fuh drink Bush Rum. But tell me na, Dear Diary.

Is me put Nagga Man fuh Primp Minister. He know is nothing more me like dan wan good half gallon of Chivas. When me look at de picture and me see all dem big bottle pon de table in Florida, me heart nearly buss!

But me Dady always tell me “who laugh last, laugh best”. He na know why me gi’e he Primp Minister wuk. Is me who gon laff when GrainJa gi’e he Larwah!! Big Larwah!!

Good night, Dear Diary. Ah gon finish off me large Bush Rum.

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Making unity real

Satiricus saw it as a sign. Here it was he’d been sent by his Editor to cover the APANU+ KFC meetings in New York. And that’s the first thing that annoyed Satiricus. If Nagga Man and GrainJa had tied the knot, why couldn’t they join-up their names.
This “+” business wasn’t working for Satiricus. It was like he and his wife introducing themselves as “Satiricus + Antigone” instead of “Mrs and Mr Satiricus”. Now which one announced to the world that the couple were joined in holy matrimony??
And that reminded Satiricus that he was still peeved as to how GraniJa had rejected RumJhaat’s name for the coalition – Partnership Alliance for National Trust – Yes! (PANTY)… And for those that forgot the “YES” it became “PANT”.
Satiricus thought it was genius how the Jhaat had covered both males and females. (“covered”, get it?? PANT and PANTY!! Jeez, it’s not a joke when you have to explain it.)
Anyhow back to the “sign”: it was the first day of Spring in New York – and it SNOWED!! Could you believe it?? Where were all the buds sprouting on trees and couples smooching in Time Square like Satiricus saw in the movies??
But Satiricus had a job to do and “when the going got tough, the tough got going” was what Satiricus’ dad had always told him. He was so looking forward to the “unity” that Mr 11 p[er cent Nagga Man was bringing to the table with Mr 40 per cent GrainJa.
Because back in old Mudland, Satiricus was really tired over all the “love and unity” that was spouted on the stage at the meetings – but only one kinda people in the audience. “Where was the unity,” moaned Satiricus. “Guyana’s still so divided!”
This was the first time Satiricus was covering political meetings in New York. He was sure that because Guyanese of all types and species had escaped all the pressures in Guyana – they must be united in New York. Especially when Mr 11 per cent  Nagga Man had hitched up with 40 per cent Mr GrainJa.
So Satiricus moseyed over to Brooklyn where the first meeting was held Friday night. And was shocked to find out it was just like being at the Linden Rally – ALL ONE SET OF GUYANESE!!! He fumed over this and figured that the organisers didn’t know who was coming to dinner. “Because it look real baaaad for a ‘unity’ party”, thought Satiricus to himself.
So the next day he went to the second meeting over in Queens – some place named South Ozone. And Satiricus was even more shocked that it was déjà vu all over again. ONE SET OF GUYANESE – this time like was Berbice.
Satiricus headed straight for the airport – which was less that ten minutes away. If this was the result of “unity” he might as well have the same thing where it was at least warm and sunny. “Good old Guyana!!” Satiricus thought, “I’m outta here!!”

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Nagga’s security detail

Sariricus was worried because Nagga Man was worried. And Nagga Man was worried that Nagga Man didn’t have a security detail. GrainJa had a security detail – that was true. And it was now also true that now that Nagga Man and GrainJa were hitched up – and everywhere that GrainJa went, the Nagga Man was sure to go.

That was part of the deal. And so if GrainJa had a security detail, they would automatically cover Nagga Man also, no??
Well, humphed Satiricus, “That’s because they don’t understand Nagga Man”. Nagga Man didn’t want a security detail to protect HIM. Jeez!! Nagga Man had boozed his way through every rum shop from Point Playa to Crabwood Creek, hadn’t he??

His blood alcohol level was so high – it just dissolved and neutralized any poison! Physical attacks?? He’ll forget about the Police security detail. Wasn’t one out every two fellas in Granger entourage from the military?? If any wanted to harm him they would’ve don’t that long ago.

No…Nagga Man wanted a security detail to protect his “large” which was more inseparable to him than his wife – and certainly provided him with more comfort!! Now that Nagga Man had taken vows with GrainJa, he had to change his whole life style.

With RumJhaat as his leader of the KFC, when he was on the stage speaking, the Jhaat would keep the large. And he would have keep his eyes on the Jhaat so that the “large” wasn’t finished before he was finished with his speech. Nagga Man had to admit that this made him keep his speeches short.
But with GrainJa, the fella refused to even take a drink after his speech much less drink from the bottle directly!! Who had time to walk around with glasses?? What a party pooper!

Nagga Man concluded that even though he knew GrainJa when they were both in short pants at Whim, it was all too clear that GrainJa didn’t spend enough time to get inducted into the joys of drinking Bush Rum.

With his own security detail…they’d keep his “large” safe. He didn’t even have to share it with the Rum Jhaat! Aaaahhh…there WERE fringe benefits with this Alliance business!

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Mrs Nagga Man

Satiricus had just celebrated International Women’s Day with his wife, mother, daughters and sisters and was feeling very sensitive. He had cooked and served all the significant females in his life… and was quite in touch with his feminine side.
So when he got back to his newspaper desk and saw how Nagga Man had been silenced since the marriage of the APANU and the KFC, he was furious. What was next?? Nagga wearing a veil??
Jeez this was the 21st Century!! Just because Nagga Man didn’t get to be on top when the union was consummated shouldn’t mean he couldn’t have an opinion, no?? But Satiricus blamed the Rum Jhaat for Nagga Man’s lowly position and being silenced. Rum Jhaat was so…yesterday…when it came to how “man and wife” were seen nowadays.
Imagine Jhaat had proposed they give up their names when the marriage was consummated!! He wanted “Partnership Alliance National Trust – Yes!!” (PANTY!!). Nagga threw a fit!! People thought he had a problem with PANTY…but he loved PANTIES…it was just that he didn’t want to give up his name.
And so while he didn’t to be on TOP, he got to keep his name. But as soon as the paper was signed – GrainJa ordered him to “shut yuh so and so mouth!!”
Nagga Man had gasped! He didn’t know GrainJa could speak like that – even though he had seen GrainJa in short pants at school in Whim. Since those days, Nagga Man (he was then called “Nagga Boy”) had developed a crush on GrainJa. He moved out of Berbice to “town” the first chance he got, and started to “round up” his mouth when he spoke.
That was why he had been so hurt when GrainJa rejected him to run the House and picked Trot Man. GrainJa had told him in private that it wasn’t that he couldn’t “round up” his mouth when speaking.
That Nagga Man had picked up. But GrainJa just couldn’t stand it when Nagga Man picked his nose and the rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. Nagga Man had immediately started to work on this and had made so much progress. He didn’t rub his boogers between his fingers anymore.
But now Nagga Man saw that GrainJa was just like all those fishermen he knew from Whim – not only with cussing. They insisted they were “the boss” and the wife had to cook, clean and be quiet.
Satiricus vowed to start a campaign: “Free Nagga!!”

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Piss Dacta apology

Satiricus felt very sorry for the Piss Dacta from Berbice. He’d always been very misunderstood by the Guyanese people. Guyanese are very unexposed people. Just because they never heard about something they’d laugh if you brought it up. How would they ever learn about new things this way??

Take the Piss Dacta from Berbice. Folks don’t mind drinking cow’s milk…in fact it’s advertised every day as so good for you. But science proved that folks weren’t always drinking cow’s milk – that’s why some people are “lactose intolerant”.

Cow’s milk has lactose. So why would people laugh when the Piss Dacta say that cow’s piss was good for curing all kinds of diseases?? Didn’t they know that cow’s piss have all kinds of good chemicals?? Science will show this later.

Anyhow, the Piss Dacta told a few lies about a PPEE man in Berbice, while he was on TV promoting cow’s piss. Satiricus wasn’t sure why the PPEE Man took him to court. Satiricus figured everybody lied on their ads on TV.

Satiricus never took ads seriously when they insisted girls in skimpy outfits would swarm over him in nightclubs if he drank a particular beer. And in this case the Piss Dacta had to sell his piss…which, come to think of it, did happen to look like beer.

Anyhow what Satiricus was upset about was that the Piss Dacta was forced to apologise on TV to the PPEE Man and cough up $250,000!! He’d have to sell a whole lotta cow’s piss to make back that kinda dough.

He’d been defended in court by Ram Jhaat and Nagga Man, who were his leaders in the KFC party. The PPEE Man, in the meantime, had been represented by a Berbice lawyer who didn’t even know where the Georgetown High Court was!

But then Satiricus brightened up. He realised it could’ve been worse. The Jhaat had recently represented the Mook to appeal a defamation fine against another doctor.

After the Jhaat was done with his representation, the Appeal Judge more than tripled the award from $4.5 million to $15 million!!

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Some of the CADVA representatives

Satiricus was all teary-eyed as he looked at the political marriage being consummated at the Peg. He was happy that unlike regular marriages, the two parties hadn’t rented a hotel room and jumped right into bed to “get it on”.

GrainJa had rented a hotel room, but this one was big enough for all the invited guests to see his bride, Nagga Man. There was even a ring boy – Rum Jhaat – who was on the sidelines.

But the man of the moment in Satiricus’ estimation was Nagga Man. He didn’t let the occasion go to his head. Even though he was dressed in his Sunday best, he still looked like a fisherman from Whim – GrainJa knew it and he knew it.

His opening words when he was allowed to speak was: “This occasion humbles me.” Of course he was humbled! “He has so much to be humble about,” thought Satiricus. “Including his drinking problem!”

Nagga Man then talked about his “grandchildren” and the future. Again Nagga Man was showing he was willing to face his problems. His grandson hadn’t spoken to him since he had boasted to the entire Parliament – transmitted to the entire country on TV – that he’d screamed at the kid – “Shut yuh suh and suh mouth!!!!”

The poor tot had become so traumatised he’d dropped out of school. But with Nagga Man talking about his “future” maybe he’s secured some “menial wuk” for him, which only demanded he only be a “cuss bud”.

Nagga Man then spoke about the “split” of 1955 which destroyed “our Guyana civilisation”. But Satiricus admired how Nagga Man didn’t look at his soul mate GrainJa when he said this and didn’t mention that it was GrainJa’s mentor Burnt Ham who had created the split. “Nagga Man knows that in a marriage you have to forget some things!” thought Satiricus.

Nagga Man also didn’t look at GrainJa when he talked about “the restoration of electoral democracy in 1992″.

He coyly looked downwards like all blushing brides when remembering sensitive moments. Satiricus knew that “electoral” matters before 1992 was a sore point between GrainJa and Nagga Man.

But Satiricus knew that like a good, old old fashioned bride, Nagga Man would keep his mouth shut. He so wanted to move up in the world, and remove the mud from under his nails.

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Geriatrics vs youths

Satiricus was sulking. He’d been very happy to learn Guyana’s voters were mostly youths. The news made him feel youthful…even though he was getting a bit long in the tooth. But when he saw the team the Opposition came up with after their month of secret negotiations, all he could think about was – Guyana was definitely, “A country for old men”!!

GrainJa must be pushing 80…NagaMan ditto…and his nemesis Speaker Rolph? Reporting on him over the years, Satiricus had decided that fella was born old!

His plaintive wail was: “Where were the youth-men and youth-women the census keep telling us about??” At the last elections, a whole crop of fresh-faced neophytes had entered the ring.

Wasn’t there that fella Bond?? No Beretta for this Guyanese Bond. Hadn’t he gun butted that barber with a Glock?? Hadn’t he faced pellets to prove his manhood? Where had been GrainJa and Nagga Man then?

Then down in the town of Lindon there had been Salaman Gundy. Wasn’t it written that he would be “the next best thing” in Opposition politics?? OK…OK…so he was the one who’s written it…but still!!

He’d held off the troops of the cruel General Hickenus at the bridge over the troubled waters of Mc Kenzie, hadn’t he?? Where was GrainJa and Nagga Man then? That alone should have given him a shot in the Opposition “A” Team. These old fogies!!

Satiricus’ hope for a younger Opposition team had been raised when RoopNaRain announced he was going to fade out from the scene. In Satiricus opinion RoopNaRain had long faded to black….

“How the heck do you give a graduate in ‘litricher’ the Agriculture portfolio?” thought Satiricus. But then again, there were chapters and chapters in DH Lawrence’s “Sons and Lovers” about rearing pheasants (between the “f” words young Satiricus used to look for!!)

Maybe RoopNaRain was using this knowledge of pheasants (not of “f” words) to diversify Guyana’s Agriculture.

But he was gone…and rather than “another Rasta youngsta” taking his place – it was Nagga Man! Nagga Man liked to tell people he also liked “litricher”. Satiricus, however, knew the truth. Nagga Man had a speech impediment: he actually meant he liked “liquor”!

Satiricus suddenly perked up. The Geriatric GrainJa and Nagga Man would never survive this campaign. The youths would take their places in the Opposition benches!!

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Return of RAW Corban

Satiricus sighed with delight. After more than five years off the scene – political, social and otherwise – the announcement that RAW Corban was going to be back on the hustings warmed the cockles of his heart.
The theatre scene in Guyana wasn’t very vibrant, if the truth be told. But every five years – excepting when the Pee-an-See riot in the streets and upset the schedules – elections provided enough theatre to last more than a decade…much less five years.
But ever since Corban had handed off the baton to GrainJa things had really gotten deadly dull. Satiricus had always wondered about that handing over. Of course, there had been calls for Corban to go… that he had lost the fire in his belly.
Some had even dared to suggest that Corban had sold out!! His explanation that he was trying to change his image (and the Pee-an-See’s) didn’t play well. There were mean mutterings about leopards not being able to change their spots and such like.
One well-placed comrade said that Corban had become seduced by his position at the helm of the Pee-an-See and was beginning to think he was a BurntHam or Hite. He forgot he was only given the spot because all his middle-class comrades thought he was the man to manners that uppity PPCEE.
Jagdesh had given them the spunks to actually challenge the Pee-an-See in the streets??!! That was Pee-an-See’s territory and street Corban would show them!!
He would deal with them “condignly” – as the Comrade Leader used to say. Corban had earned his stripes when he was just a kid…taking care of business for Robert Jordan during the ethnic cleansing of Wismar. Once a sidekick of Green Ham, he had vaulted that old duffer with his vicious inside moves.
But Satiricus had to confess that Corban hadn’t been the Corban of old after Jagdesh had whupped him in 2006. Seemed to have defanged him. “But hold it!” thought Satiricus. “Maybe that’s why Corban had handed off to GrainJa! He knew after three years, GrainJa was going to look like Rambo!”
And now Corban was back on the campaign trail. Maybe he’d been laying low to grow back some fangs? Or had some inserted. Unfortunately, his old nemesis Jagdesh was also back!!
Satiricus rubbed his hands thinking of Jagdesh-Corban II. Jagdesh was going to wipe the floor with him again!

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Freedom to bulge…

Satiricus was proud that Guyana had solved the problem of hunger. Forget the Millennium Goals and all that – we had this “hunger” thing beat by a mile! All his life Satiricus had been reminded of how tough things were back in “the old days”.

And when Cuffy and his band decided that they’d had enough – it was because they DIDN’T have enough food.

Fifty miles up the Berbice River, slaving in the cane fields – “And this wasn’t just a figure of speech in those old, old days,” realised Satiricus – would drive even a saint to rebel when your belly was touching your back!

Heck! fellas like Cuffy and Atta and their friends sometimes went for days without food. So with hunger as a fact of life, so was anger: a hungry man is an angry man, no? But hungry men were also “maaga” men – meagre?? And Satiricus wasn’t surprised that in all the drawings and paintings of Cuffy’s band they were all tall, skinny and angry.

All of these thoughts flashed through Satiricus’ head as he looked at the Mash bands “wine” past his vantage point at from his friends verandah. That Satiricus’ head didn’t have much inside it made the “flashing” of thoughts rather painless.

And then it dawned on him as to why the Government had decided to back Mash as a way to commemorate Cuffy’s Rebellion back in the day. Of the 30 bands or so, Satiricus could swear that more than 20 of them were sponsored by the Government!

They wanted to show the world that unlike what Cuffy and his band had to bear up with – and which drove them to their rebellion – Guyanese weren’t hungry, starving-guts!! And what a clever way it was they’d chosen.

Back in his schooldays, Satiricus’ English teacher had literally beaten into his (empty) head after he’d meekly presented his “story-essay”: “SHOW!! (whack!) don’t tell!! (Whack!!)”

And here it was the Government was SHOWING the world that Guyana had solved Cuffy’s problem of hunger. Why else would they get all these well-fed women to struggle into tights and wine down the road?? In the ordinary course of things, “svelte” was still the guiding mantra for women’s beauty.

“Supersized” might be good for that coke at Mc Donald’s – but there had to a darn good reason why with nine out of ten women “wining” down Georgetown Mash, you couldn’t just “pinch an inch”. You could darn well “grab a slab”!!

Mash gave us the opportunity to show the world that Cuffy’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. Free at last! Free at last!! Thank God almighty…we were free at last!!

Free to bulge all over!!

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