Mandingo in Attico
This is what Mercy and I share
We both enjoy the spicy taste
And the after feeling without a care
The others have their malt or beer
Or apetekye, how many tot?
We sit outside on the concrete step
And talk as we sip.
Rasta Victor doesn’t drink or smoke
No tot, and no toke
His brother Richie will have a malt
George is on the wagon – so for him naught.
The evening is hot, sweat is rolling off
I am not used to this, the locals are
The air is still, the mosquitos hum
We have eaten our dried fish and snails – yum.
Tonight in bed, the fan will be on
But with 2 adaptors under the thin mattress
I roll over in my sleep and the fan stops
Something has come detached, how safe is this? – none!
We have no windows and only one door
So, one way out, no more
It is a bit of a death trap
Well, that’s the risk you stay locally in a developing country.
Tomorrow morning, Richie will make a luke warm cup of tea for me
If we have electricity
He will put the iron on and turn it upside down
And place the mug on it until the Liptons turns a little brown
He will bring me a bucket of cold water, I have my sponge and soap
To take to the concrete box with no roof
This is used as a wash room and a men’s urinal
So one has to wear ‘slippers’ (thongs) to protect from the germs and the smell.
The women laughed at me when I brought rubber gloves and pegs
To do the washing and hang it out
I stomped on the clothes with my feet in a bowl
This was not right I was told
I should scrub and scrub and rub and rub until my hands are red and raw.