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Pics with verse Storyteller

Fantacy Lunch

So I am sitting here in West Virginia, listening to the rain hit roof and day dreaming. I remember back on the island wanting to use the coal pot 1045600300_2a38d6254e_z

So I can cook up some food. But damn it, the rain was pounding on the galvanize roof, the wind was whipping the coconut branches, Stray dogs lay under the banana tree using the big leaves as shelter. Man I wanted to cook on the bloody coal pot, not the stove. So I brought the coal pot into the kitchen, fill it with coals, pour a little kerosene on it and blazed it up. Peeled the green bananas and plantains, washed the sweet potatoes, yams, tanyas, got out the avocados. Now all the provisions were ready for cooking. Then its time to wash out the salt fish I had soaking, get some onions, garlic, tomatoes and seasoning, put the frying pan on the coal pot, poured some coconut oil in there and fry up the salt fish, oh man, that scent mixed in with the smoke that bellowed out of the kitchen. Now my belly rumbling, the rain was real heavy outside now, there was something about rain and smoke I liked. When the salt fish was done, it was time to boil the provisions. Only one drink will go with this meal, a nice, tall, cold glass of guava juice,

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ahhh yes.  And when all is prepared, I sat in the veranda, watching the rain fall, eating the food made for a tropical king.

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Storyteller

We Eloped from I am a Dirty Immigrant

Let’s backtrack a little and let me tell you how I met The Coal Miner’s Daughter in early September nineteen eighty-six. I was sitting outside the student centre, homesick and unhappy, when she walked by with two of her friends. I started talking to them. Well, I was talking to her friends; she stood there saying nothing. Just before they left I asked her why she was so quiet. She responded, but to tell you the truth, I barely heard what she said. I somehow suggested that we hang out and to my surprise the next night she showed up at the student centre. I was sitting there surrounded by women, none of which I knew. Bloody women were like vultures when it came to ballplayers. She sat for a while but did not say much, then suddenly got up and said she was going for a walk. It was dark out so I suggested that I go with her and that was the beginning of a long friendship.

She had dark brown hair, brown eyes, caramel complexion and a beautiful smile. Quite frankly, she had an island personality so I immediately felt comfortable with her. The first time we kissed was in front of the little chapel in the middle of the campus. I remember her looking shocked and then said, “Look what you went and done.” We were inseparable from that day. She always found a way to make me laugh. She was and still is a good person. Our wedding was completely crazy. No one knew about it but my friend from Ethiopia and another friend from Zambia who brought her best friend who now hates me I guess because I am so bloody good looking.

We left the campus and drove three hours to Richmond in The Blue Grass City. When we got to the courthouse I was told I had to have identification, so we drove the three hours back to the school and low and behold the bloody car broke down. We borrowed my friend’s car and drove the three hours back to Richmond. We got married at the house of a preacher, an older black man, with his aging mother in attendance. When all was done we drove back to the school, I went to the gym and got dressed for a ball game. I played the game and afterwards I saw her for about ten minutes, then went to my dorm. Yes my friend I spent my wedding night sleeping on the top of a bunk bed that was about five inches too short for me.  

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Culture Shock, Not Mine From Im am A Dirty Immigrant

Anyway, The Melting Pot City was day as much as The Blue Grass City was night. It was The Coal Miner’s Daughter’s turn to face some culture shock. She was the only white person for blocks. Now let’s take into consideration that I was the first black person she had ever spoken to. Luckily for us, the people on our block thought she was Puerto Rican. She was tanned and had dark hair and eyes. That was fine with me because at the time, racial tensions were running a little high in the city. To my surprise, this great melting pot city was segmented into different ethnicities. I remember one night we got lost. Believe me, when you are new to the city, it’s no fun. The way we found out we were going in the wrong direction was when we saw a white kid walking down the street holding a boom box, his baseball hat backwards and his head bobbing awkwardly. We turned around right away and drove for a few blocks until we saw black faces.  

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

The Coal Miner’s Daughter(Eloping) From I am a Dirty Immigrant

Let’s backtrack a little and let me tell you how I met The Coal Miner’s Daughter in early September nineteen eighty-six. I was sitting outside the student centre, homesick and unhappy, when she walked by with two of her friends. I started talking to them. Well, I was talking to her friends; she stood there saying nothing. Just before they left I asked her why she was so quiet. She responded, but to tell you the truth, I barely heard what she said. I somehow suggested that we hang out and to my surprise thenext night she showed up at the student centre. I was sitting there surrounded by women, none of which I knew. Bloody women were like vultures when it came to ballplayers. She sat for a while but did not say much, then suddenly got up and said she was going for a walk. It was dark out so I suggested that I go with her and that was the beginning of a long friendship.

She had dark brown hair, brown eyes, caramel complexion and a beautiful smile. Quite frankly, she had an island personality so I immediately felt comfortable with her. The first time we kissed was in front of the little chapel in the middle of the campus. I remember her looking shocked and then said, “Look what you went and done.” We were inseparable from that day. She always found a way to make me laugh. She was and still is a good person. Our wedding was completely crazy. No one knew about it but my friend from Ethiopia and another friend from Zambia who brought her best friend who now hates me I guess because I am so bloody good looking.

We left the campus and drove three hours to Richmond in The Blue Grass City. When we got to the courthouse I was told I had to have identification, so we drove the three hours back to the school and low and behold the bloody car broke down. We borrowed my friend’s car and drove the three hours back to Richmond. We got married at the house of a preacher, an older black man, with his aging mother in attendance. When all was done we drove back to the school, I went to the gym and got dressed for a ball game. I played the game and afterwards I saw her for about ten minutes, then went to my dorm. Yes my friend I spent my wedding night sleeping on the top of a bunk bed that was about five inches too short for me.  

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Good Marning me Neighbours

Good Marning me Neighbours

Oh sweet Kentucky marning, wey me wake up to de hills engulfed in mist, that hangs over de pond filled with them fresh water fish. Green trees brown grass, the scent of the mountains welcomes me. De bright red cardinals sitting on tree branches, de braying of horses on de horse farm. Oh de ole Kentucky home, where de coal miners toil night and day, and on weekend, when in season, men and boys go deer hunting, and everyone talks about U.K. basketball, as they sit on the hilltop, mere shadows in de mist, over looking de cows on de farm, whistling a chorus in harmony wid de birds .

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POEMS Storyteller

Clouds of Coals

I must be walking on a cloud of hot coals
and the devil is tickling under my feet with his long fingernails
then he tried to ease my pain with his breath of fire
And my heart burns until it explodes in my face
And I taste my own humanity for the first time

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

The Brothers From the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant

Let me tell you about some of the encounters I had with the brothers. Though not as negatively profound, there still was an attitude of “you are not one of us”. One thing I learned real quick is that if a black man dates a white woman, some black men assume she is a “brother lover” so they did everything to conquer her.

In the fall of nineteen eighty-six, The Coal Miner’s Daughter and I were standing in line at the cafeteria of the school. One of the football players, Specs I will call him, decided to “Mac” on her. I guess he thought there was no better time to try. Hell, I was standing right there, so I guess he was trying to make a fool of me because he occasionally turned to his jock buddies laughing. They wanted to teach the immigrant how it was done. The second time he turned to his friends, The Coal Miner’s Daughter handed me the tray and walked off. He stopped talking to his friends turned around with this stupid grin on his face. “What time you want me to ……….,” he asked as he turned around and stopped dead in his tracks when he realized he was talking to my chest. I could see the disappointment in his eyes when he he saw that he was not looking into the chest he wanted to. “Is seven good for you?” I asked, then blew him a kiss. His glasses almost fell off his face as laughter filled the cafeteria as his friends dogged him.

I was called every name in the book by some of these gentlemen. African booty scratcher, dirty Jamaican, starving Ethiopian – of course none of the above applied because I am a frigging Spice Islander. I was not mad about the way they treated me. I knew that people who felt like they were being oppressed usually deflected their lack of security on others; been there, done that. Now you may derive from my tone that I am a little perturbed with the brothers. Well to a certain degree I am. Where the hell were they when a white president ordered the invasion of a black nation? Did they take to the streets? Did they express solidarity? As a matter of fact the army that invaded the island was sixty percent black. Now there is a perfect example of keeping people separated by culture. The only brother that showed interest in our plight was Harry Belafonte. Thank you my friend; it was the humane thing to do.  

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Old Fasion Stove, the coal pot.

Old Fasion Stove, the coal pot.

Ahh yes, many ah mornings were spent, packing the coal pot with coals, and then the exciting part, pouring kerosene on the coals, I always manage to pour too mush and when I drop the match stick on it, woooooossssssshhhhh, I felt my eyebrows singe, I jumped back just as the fire dissipated right in front o me. Put the pot on the coals, then sit and enjoy the scent of the food cooking.

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

The Coal Miner’s Daughter (From the novel “I am a Dirty Immigrant”)

Jenny had dark brown hair brown eyes, caramel complexion and a beautiful smile quite frankly, she had an island personality so I immediately felt comfortable with her. The first time we kissed was in front of the little chapel in the middle of the campus. I remember her looking shocked and then said, “Look what you went and done.” We were inseparable from that day, she always found a way to make …me laugh, she was and still is a good person. Our wedding was completely crazy, no one knew about it but my friend from Ethiopia and another friend from Zambia and her best friend, who now hates me, I guess because I am so bloody good looking, was also there. We left the campus and drove three hours to Richmond Kentucky. When we got to the courthouse I was told I had to have identification, so we drove the three hours back to the school and low and behold the bloody car broke down. We borrowed my friend’s car and drove the three hours back to Richmond. We got married at the house of a preacher, an older black man with his aging mother in attendance. When all was done we drove back to the school, I went to the gym and got dressed for a ball game, I played the game and after I saw her for about ten minutes then went to my dorm. Yes my friend I spent my wedding night sleeping on the top of a bunk bed that was about five inches too short for me.