Somewhere over the rooftops, you can see the blue sky, cloud like white shadows disappear into cotton candy puffs. Somewhere across the rooftops, down into the market, a fruit vendor lays out his colourful fruit, singing along to the calypso music thumping from the minibus. Somewhere, just beyond the rooftops, where the natural habour sits, with houses nestled in the trees, the fishermen prepare to go out to sea. Somewhere across the rooftops, a young boy pulls on the ropes sending the chimes of the church bells echoing through the city. Somewhere beyond the rooftops, school children chatter as they walk the narrow streets. Overlooking the rooftops, I daydream about the beach, the rolling waves, the scent of salt, the jumping fish, the glitter of the sun against the water. Somewhere across the rooftops, paradise waits for every man.
Its a good day to wake up and smell the salt int the air. Watch the fishermen come in with the day’s catch. Watch the green leaves sway in the early morning breeze. Hear the parrots have a conversation in the forest behind the house. Listen to the birds whistle an unknown melody. Ahhh yes, Sunday morning, relax, simmer down and feel the peace.
Ahhh the, the early morning. Wake up, look out to see, stretch, yawn, step off you porch, feel the sand in your feet, the smell of freshly caught fish as the fishermen comes to shore. Ahhh yes, to wake up at a coast, with the sun just coming up. Such is the life.
Yes man, its time to rise and shine, hear the birds them, see the sun rise, watch the fishermen them go out to see, hear the stevedores them unloading the cargo ship. Yes man, its a tropical morning, it may seem all the same to you, but listen, you could hear the difference. Yesterday, someone was playing reggae music, today, I hear a little calypso. Today, Miss Mabel selling golden apples not mangoes, and in the market square, they is more green figs (bananas) than ripe ones. Yes man, its a brand now day. Wake up and live.
Early in the morning, you can hear them singing, sometimes yelling instructions. The fishermen pulling in their nets, fish flopping around, they scales glitter in the early rising sun. Passers by stop to help, some just stop to look on. Children, up early ran around the net picking up the fish that jumped out. That early in the morning, the ocean cold for so, well not winter cold but cold for the tropics, But that does not phase the fishermen, they pull and pull, their muscles straining, their backs bent, this is how they make their living, this is how their families survive.
Storytime. An island boy’s after school day.