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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Wash the Black Off

Now something that seems to rear its ugly head in dating around here is racism. I have heard some of the most asinine statements ever. I was talking to a friend of mine. She was white, of course. I was not interested in her although she was pretty. Well, who am I fooling? She was stunning. I was having a conversation with her when she stated that she would never date a black man. I asked her why. She stated that she was raised to believe that interracial dating was wrong.  I told her that was not a good enough response. Hell, she was not making any sense. She then told me that her parents would not approve of it. She further said that she would never disgrace her family by dating a black man. Now here is a woman who was married three times, each to white men. All three treated her less than human and here she was telling me that even if a black man treated her with respect, she still would not date him. One day this same woman confessed to me that she’d had an intimate relationship with a black man a couple of months earlier. She said that after she was done, she went home, ran a really hot bath and stayed in there for five hours. Just to point out, she was not from the Wild and Wonderful City. No, this was someone from the City of The Useless Nut. Whatever that brother did must have had a profound effect on her, because she seemed to get overly excited when a brother walked by. She even tried to seduce me by taking a picture of herself and showing me. She was surprised I had no reaction at all.

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Storyteller

Good morning folks,

Hope you woke up feeling like you are riding on a horse with wings.

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Funny Ole Lady (From the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant)

Funny Ole Lady

My mother-in-law had a classic reaction, but before I describe her reaction, let me say that this woman was the most spiritual Christian I ever met. She was one of the few people who sincerely tried to make me feel like I was part of the family. The first time she saw a picture of me, she grabbed her chest and proceeded to perform the best Fred Sanford impersonation an old white woman could do. In my head I heard Red Fox’s raspy voice coming from the little white lady saying, “This is the big one baby.” Two hours later she invited me to their Thanksgiving dinner. That woman loved to hug, which was strange for me because my family was not the hugging type. She would squeeze so hard I felt my bones pop and crack. She had long gray hair that came to her waist, dark eyes and she was constantly telling stories about her life. The first night I slept at her house, she did something that scared me shitless. It was about 4am and I was fast asleep when I heard the wooden floor creak, so I opened my eyes. Her silhouette floated into the room and stopped at the foot of the bed, her long hair swaying gently as she stood. I tensed up; hell, I was ready to be whacked over the head. After a few seconds, she squeezed my toes, turned and walked out of the room. Later my ex-wife told me that that was something she did. It was a loving gesture, and whenever I stayed at her house, I would be woken by the creaking of the floor as she came in to squeeze our toes.

I had many confusing conversations with her mother because of the vast difference in accents. She once told her daughter that I was crazy because apparently instead of saying yes, I said no. I never found out what I was agreeing to, but for the longest while she would ask me questions, then wait to see what my answer would be.  That cheeky old lady was playing with me. I wondered why she was always smiling whenever we had a conversation.  

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Stories Storyteller

A story about evil Ju Ju by my brother Raphael Charles

Sukuya story:  It was that time of the year when my vacation was due, 1999 there about, and I decided to spend the time with Dad in Morne Fendue. When I got to his house he told me that I would have to sleep in another house he rented a little further up the road in Rose Hill. The first night I slept in that house, I had a terrible time, I just couldn’t sleep, something was wrestling with me, I cried out but couldn’t hear myself, I fought and fought whatever it was, it was strong, cold sweat poured from my body, there was a frightening feeling of something evil in the house, I didn’t sleep that night. The next day I spoke to Dad about what I experienced, he just laughed it off telling me it was probably something I had eaten. The same thing happened on the second night, it was only after reciting Psalm 23 that I got some relief. At about 9:00 am, that morning I left the house to go down to the other house where Dad was for bre…akfast, on my way down I met a little old lady, she was sitting in the doorway of a house, she called out to me “good morning sonny, how are you” I stopped and told her that I was doing all right, she then asked me who I was, and I explained to her who my father is and that i was spending some time with him. She then said to me that she and I were related, and she called a number of names to prove what she said. We talked for a while, then I told her I had to leave. As I turned away I heard her say, “Young Man, whenever you go to bed @ night, you must sleep with your underwear wrong side.” I was shocked, how did she know that I slept with or without underwear? It means that she had to be in the house attempting to do her thing with me. Well, I did not take her advise, and for the rest of the time (Two Weeks to be exact) I slept like a baby every night in that house. I never saw that little old lady again, but that experience showed me that the ligaroo and the sukuya were not myths or stories conjured up to frighten little ones, they were real people, going about doing the devils work.
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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Blackanova (From the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant)

I heard the same sentiments from a couple of women I sat next to everyday at work. I was a little taken aback because these women were always being extra-friendly with me. Anyway, I expected that from the older of the two women. The younger one took me by surprise because she tried her best to portray an understanding of the plight of black people.  She joined the conversation by stating that she did not believe in the mixing of races. This woman was a Jessica Simpson look-alike or wannabe, whichever way you see fit to categorize her. She stated emphatically that she would not allow her daughter to date a black man. I did not say anything at first, but when she insisted, I had to respond. I wanted to know why she felt that way, but she did not have a viable answer for me. I insisted, and she said that the children are the ones who suffer, so I informed her that it was people like her that made it hard for children of mixed origin.

She was speechless, her eyes rolling around in her head as she searched for an answer.  She finally attacked my failed marriage, stating that it did not work because of our color difference. To tell you the truth, I had to stop and take a breath so as not to explode. Once again I had to explain to her that it was people of her mentality that made mixed relationships hard to maintain. I also let her know that it was not the ethnicity that ended our marriage. But still she insisted. Hell, I even heard her say that if a black man painted his dick white, she still would not sleep with him.

I was not defeated in my effort to show her that color played no role in how people feel about each other. The following day I embarked on a campaign of flirting. I was more tenacious than a politician, and from the beginning I knew I had her attention.  I used my writing skills to woo her, using exotic images from my island. Every day she would come in and try to get my attention. She would swoon like a schoolgirl, always looking for my approval with what she wore or what color her hair was, and believe me she changed it daily.  I laid on the poetic charm until I knew she was addicted to the attention, and then I stopped. Her reaction to me stopping was a little hostile, the wrath of an ignored woman. At one point I was walking by her when she told me to kiss her ass. For someone who would never date a black man, she sure seemed a little perturbed about losing the attention.

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POEMS Storyteller

Here in the crispy cool morning, I find my daydreams, here in the crispy cool light, I start my new chapter.

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

US

UK

 

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POEMS Storyteller

Johnny Revolutionary

Johnny was a good man,   That was not Johnny marching in the military parade,   That was not Johnny, shouting “Long live!” in the political rally,   That was not Johnny sitting on an armored car screaming “Power to the people!”   That was not Johnny, 19 years old, four children already.  That was not Johnny shooting an AK rifle into the air.   That was not Johnny, creeping around the bushes playing soldier,   But that was Johnny, laying still, with a sculptured smile on his face,   The old lady said “Dats wha happen when you put down de bible and pick up a gun,   Johnny was a good man.
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Storyteller

The dead lives to attack.

 They walked over to the opening and walked in. It was dark, and the decline was steep, and they struggled to keep their footing as they went down. Fifteen minutes later, the passageway flattened out, and they stepped onto mud. The sun was bright, and it was hard to see after they had walked down the dark tunnel. Akosua stopped and looked around. They were in what looked like a wide valley surrounded by a rock wall as far as the eyes could see. The grass was brown, the trees had no leaves, and the flowers had died, the blossoms moldy. They stepped on the dead grass and began walking towards the dead forest. They had not gone twenty feet when there was a thud and a loud scream. Akosua turned around and realized that the girl was missing. She listened, the girl’s voice sounded like she was entrapped in a small cave. Akosua walked towards her voice and almost fell into the whole that the girl had tumbled into. She looked down into a freshly dug grave. Akosua leaned in; the girl was scrambling to get out, her fingers clawing at the mud. Akosua lay down on her stomach reached out, grabbed the girls arm and pulled her out. The girl was covered with black hairy spiders. The child slapped at them, her eyes wide open with fear. Akosua helped her and soon all the spiders were off of her. The Akan leader stood and looked around. At first glance she did not see the graves, but with closer scrutiny she saw the long rectangular indentations on the surface of the ground. All around them were freshly dug graves. Suddenly, there was ear splitting laughter. Bark fell off the dead trees; the rotted blossoms fell to the ground.
“It’s Guede; he loves death and uses the dead for his evil purposes.” Akosua said, and the group drew their weapons and looked around.
“Keep an eye out, there is no telling what he will send to try and stop us from getting the spear.” She said. They walked on, being careful of the open graves. They walked out of the dead forest and into lush green jungle right before they got to the middle of the valley. Still there were no animals, just beautiful wild flowers and lush green bushes. The grass was soft underfoot, and the air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers. Akosua stopped and listened, there was total silence. Suddenly a figure appeared in front of them and stood before them. Without saying a word he charged at them followed by several more figures that appeared out of thin air.  They were all the colour of ash, their eyes and tongue were red, and there were two small horns protruding from their foreheads. Their mouths were open screaming, but no sound came out at first. Akosua did not react immediately, but as they drew closer she sprang into action.
“Jab Jabs!” she shouted, as she moved out of the way of one of the devils. The Jab Jabs all had clubs that they swung as they charged. Henry swung his machete at one of the Jab Jabs; the demon looked at him in disbelief, and then looked at his own body. There was a long cut that went from his chest to his waist. Ashes spilled out of him cascading down his legs and onto the ground creating a small mound of ashes at his feet. He looked back up at Henry, then vanished leaving a cloud of ash floating in the air. Out of the corner of her eyes, Akosua saw a Jab Jab coming towards her, his club held over his head. She waited until he was close, sidestepped, and pushed him into a tree. The Jab Jab melted into the tree trunk and an ear splitting crack filled the rock valley as the tree exploded. It hit the ground and the valley shook. The Jab Jabs came in waves, their voices suddenly echoing through the valley, trees shookand swayed, leaves curled as if hiding with fear.
“This way!” Donkor shouted as he pushed around Akosua. Akosua and the others followed fighting off Jab Jabs as they went. The jab Jabs disappeared every time they were struck, but more of them appeared out of thin air. They ran until they were at the edge of the jungle looking down to the middle of the mountain top. It was like looking down on a snow covered field. The Jab Jabs were fast approaching and they turned around to confront the wave of demons. Akosua swung her Machete and two Jab Jabs disappeared, she coughed as the air around her became a mist of ashes. Their red tongues stretched out, their red eyes blazing but somehow seemed lifeless. Akosua jumped down onto the white ground and Henry and the warriors followed her.   The mountaintop echoed with crunches as they landed on the white earth. Kwao hesitated, his back to the Jab Jabs. One of them hurled his body at Kwao and disappeared into him. The boy stumbled forward onto the white ground. He turned and looked at Akosua and stretched his arm out. At first he looked like he was pleading for help, but instead, his expression changed into a menacing stare. Without saying a word he raised his machete and charged at her. Donkor raised his machete just as Kwao brought his down. The sound of metal against metal echoed loudly. Kwao raised his machete again and Donkor stepped back and blocked Kwao’s swing with his machete. Donkor stumbled back leaving Akosua exposed to Kwao’s attack. The boy lunged at Akosua, ash exploded from his mouth. Akosua looked into his eyes it was turning red. His tongue was stretched out; it was slowly changing from pink to red. The change started from the tip of his tongue, and soon his whole mouth was red. Slowly, he began to turn an ashy colour, the change going up his arm to his body. Akosua prepared herself for his charge, but before he got to her Adofo had wrapped his arm around Kwao from behind. Kwao struggled, his eyes completely red, his tongue had turned into blood red and the upper half of his body was ash coloured. He continued to struggled and almost escaped Adofo’s hold, but Donkor had rushed over and grabbed him. Suddenly his whole body jerked and he leaned forward and threw up violently. Grey bile spilled out of his mouth, and the white ground melted as the grey liquid landed on it. Kwao staggered and stumbled backwards as Adofo and Donkor struggled to hold him up. Akosua walked up to him, the bile bubbled on the white ground fizzed, then disappeared. Akosua touched his face and he opened his eyes. She reached into her sack and pulled her Aron. She shook it over Kwao’s head, its sound echoed with the sound of the wind in the trees. Slowly, Kwao began to look like himself again. The red in his eyes dissolved, as puffs of ash floated out of them. His tongue returned to a healthy pink hue as he coughed out ash. The skin on his arm moved as if the ash was rolling around right under it. It trailed down his arm then escaped through the tips of his fingers in small puffs of ash.. He straightened up and looked around. “What happened?” he asked, Akosua put her Aron back in the sack.
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Stories Storyteller

Vung the blood sucker

 One mid day, when the grey clouds covered the orange sun, and sprinkles of tropical raindrops made silver droplets on the green leafs. I was sitting in the drawing room reading a book when I heard banging on the front door, “Andy, Andy, you dey mon?” I dropped the book and went to the door. It was my buddy Roach, he was about my age, thirteen, light skin, one of those people… we used to call Grenada White. He had an attempt of an afro hairstyle, one that his hair texture did not agree with. He was skinny, just like me but a lot shorter. ‘Dat bloody ligaroo did it, he suck me mudda, I go kill him?” I looked at him and shook my head, “Mon, you real crazy you know, no ligaroo suck you mudda,” I replied “You doh believe me? Mon I thought we were friends,” he said disappointed. Then with marked determination he said, “Lets go!” “Go where?” I asked, Roach was already at the door. I followed him, down the concrete steps outside the house, onto Lucas Street, past the police directing traffic and up the steps to his house. He stopped and whispered, “Look at she neck,” I looked at him, “Buoy, I doh wan look at you mudda neck,” I protested, he frowned, “Mon, jus look at she neck,” He opened the door and walked in, “Mammie I home,” He said and walked into the drawing room. His mother walked out and was a little surprised to see me, “Hey Andy, what all you doing today?” She asked, “Nutton mam,” I said not looking at her. Roach walked up to me and smacked my arm, signaling that I looked at her neck I nudged him with my elbow protesting. Trying to be slick, I looked at her neck and there it was, a mark that looked like someone had sucked on her neck, the middle was real purple and the edges was red. My heart stropped, dear lord, ligaroo suck her real hard.  I immediately headed for the door. “Where are you going?” She asked, I..I…I have to go cook lunch,” I said and walked out. Roach came running after me. “See, I tell you, de ligaroo suck she,” He said. “You duh know dat,” I said walking faster. “If it not a ligaroo den who eh” he asked, I did not respond, “I tell you is dat one name Vung, Jeffrey said dat de other night he saw Vung flying flying over he house and den he go in Mis Steele’s window so he could suck she,” he insisted, “You cawn believe anyting dat boy say,” I retorted, “Mon, you saw it, right on me mudda’s neck, I go get dat Vung. you go go wid me”  I looked at him, he was just as frightened as I was, We all heard stories about the ligaroo, how they would peal their skin off, jump out their window and turn into a ball of fire and climb in people’s window to suck their blood. Vung was a little old man that everybody in the town accused of being a ligaroo. He would walk around, eyes red as blood, smiling menacingly at us kids. He carried a crudely man walking stick with a black piece of cloth tied on the top of it.  I was afraid to confront him, but I did not want to be his next victim. What if he get greedy and suck out all my blood. So later that day, when the sun was setting, Roach and I went up to Market hill where Vung always stood, never saying a word, just giving people evil looks as they walk by. We stood on the other side of the street, Vung saw us, his red eyes not moving, just staring. I looked at Roach, hatred replaced the fear in his eyes like a rain cloud blocking out the moon. He started walking towards Vung. The ligaroo smiled got bigger, Roach approached him, “Leave me mudda alone you devil, you blood sucking Jumbie, leave me mudda alone I say,” Vung was giggle now, his voice like a growl, I took a step back, Roach was determined, he stopped just in front of Vung who was laughing maniacally now, slowly raised his arms and made a cross with it, “Die devil, die! He screamed. Vung took a step forward, Roach was fast, but I did not realize how fast until that day. He turned and took off, Vung looked at me, this time he was not smiling. “Ah put a curse on you liccle buoy.”  I turned and ran as fast as my skinny legs to go. Roach was real happy, he was sure that Vung would die because he heard that if you showed a ligaroo the sign of the cross they would explode. But the next day, Vung was back at his usual spot standing at the top of Market Hill, and ask for Roach’s mother had a new mark on her neck, and she did, the next day and the next and the next. I remember thinking, damn that would had a lot of blood to suck.