They Called Him Gestapo He grew up in the village and he knew the village. No one could tell him about the village. He was the eye of the village. He gazed as generations flew by and he took mental note. He was there when Grenadians lit the masanto and he recently stood there with his leg and a half under the electric lights in Florida, St John’s. He was familiar with the estate life in Grenada. He could tell stories of the times pregnant women bent their backs in rigorous toil from morn until eve and often beyond, under the nutmeg and cocoa trees of Grenada. His tales are many. He could recall interesting stories about Sky Red and the time the British put Prime Minister Gairy on ah man ah war out in the sea. He could inform you of the time during the nineteen fifties when the boat called the Challenger stuck on a reef off Hope and people came from all over Grenada to witness that. He could give you details of the time in Grenada when every young man wore a muff and had a handkerchief in his back pocket. He knew when women wore the pedal pusher and when the tie-dye jersey became popular in Grenada. And he could pinpoint the exact time Reds fell from ah gospo tree and got a stone bruise. He was around when most Grenadians slept on fiber mattress and the swizzle stick was the popular tool to stir the callaloo. He knew the name of Miss Mary’s po po and the name of the po pos father. He could brief you on the time a certain fella returned from Cuba and boasted that he could hide behind a cutlass because he knew high science. He could tell you of the estate worker who decided to take a day off and bravely told a fellow worker: “Tell the overseer to haul he blasted scrutch. Ah ent feel like cutting no grass today. Ah taking ah frigging break.” The message went out to the overseer who came looking for the one who had uttered such defiant words. And then his tone changed. “Sah, ah, ah, coming right now. Ah just putting on me trousers.” He was there when estate police dragged people to the police station in Gouyave for stealing cocoa and water grass. He knew the name of the estate owner who breed a young girl and then breed another one. He knew of the time they packed so much load on the donkeys back that the poor donkey decided to lie down in the middle of the road. The donkey did not want to be ah jackass. He stood and observed as Mandrake ended up in Florida and loved it so much that he never left. People said that Mandrake came from another parish to work on the estate and dropped his anchor there. That was not uncommon then. Gestapo was right there in his favorite spot to look on as Mandrake made his simi dimi in the street after consuming his strong rum. He peered as Mandrake stood at attention, raised his hands high and announced: We, the people of Florida, not ah stone shall be pelted, not ah head shall be busted! Gestapo forgot no one. When Bogart who had spent donkey years in England decided to visit Grenada, he walked the streets of Florida and quickly realized that no one remembered him. But that was before a loud voice shouted: “Apap, You ole Betche! When yuh come back bwoy?” The man who saw all recognized all too. Time and distance did nothing to dim his powers of recollection. There were others who returned to the village. One individual came from America with his head in the clouds. Gestapo looked at him and smiled. His smile turned into a laugh when the man began wearing a polo shirt with a different logo every day. One said, “New York,” another had the words, “Yale University.” Gestapo wore an ordinary shirt and his foot, his one foot, was always planted on the common ground. He stood in Florida and saw everything. He witnessed the young man skanking to the Jamaican reggae beat as St. Paul’s jukebox filled the air with the vibrating sounds. He looked on as the boys practiced their martial arts moves in the small church that stood near the Florida crossroad. In those days, many in Grenada wanted to be martial arts heroes. It was a craze that also passed. He looked on as Kuk Jenga sang his calypso. He quietly observed the young man sneaking through the window of his outside oomans house. He stood right there and scoped the scene. He said hello to a young woman who pretended she did not hear. Then she turned around and scolded him. “Ole man, haul yuh dam kuk kus and keep yuh ole half-dead self quiet! A man standing nearby heard and laughed. Gestapo had a timely response: “Doh worry. Ah know where she does pee!” He lived through Grenada’s rough times. He survived demonstrations, Hurricane Janet, fires and guns. And when Prime Minister Bishop was killed, an old man in Florida looked at him and said: “Alooooooo there! Alooooooo there! Grenada is coming like Odesia. Woe pa!” Gestapo just looked at him and shook his head. Anthony Wendell DeRiggs
Posted on: Tue, 12 Aug 2014 10:31:02 +0000
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