Laventille (Love Until) - Part 1

For the next couple of posts, I’m going to share with you a creative writing assignment I did a few semesters back. It’s too long for one blog post so I’ll divide it into three parts.

Here goes……..

Laventille (Love Until) - Part 1

In this place, red brick houses grow from the hills next to mango, pomerac and coconut trees; Here wood pecker, blue jay, palmiste and humming bird form choirs and dance on branches, as wind gently caress their feathers; Here goats graze peacefully in abandoned spots as lizard and dog play hide and seek beneath the blaze of the midday sun; Here street light, moon and star take turns illuminating the nightly sky. In this place, the sound of gunshots pierce the quiet of the night stirring no one but new born babes.

The hills of Laventille loom over Trinidad’s capital city of Port of Spain, a testimony of beauty and bloodshed.  Despite it closeness to the capital, Laventille is far from a concrete jungle, living proof that even today, man and nature could exist in sweet melody.  Homes were built by instinct and “how to make sure the chennette tree doh block meh view, without chopping it down”, and not City Corporation planning. This produced a painter’s dream, a policeman’s nightmare, and a secret maze of tracks and alleys, known only to those ‘born and raised’ in these hills.

Those shorts cuts were once used by neighbourhood “Bulls” to escape sight as they manoeuvred between de outside woman house and their home of wedded bliss. Or, as short cuts for children trying to escape a cut tail for being some place that they shouldn’t. Nowadays, using one of them was sure to land you face to face with some gun toting ‘bad boy’ or the other, so young yuh could still see he mother’s milk in he face.

“Evenin Darkie”. My heart didn’t skip a beat; it skipped three. How many times did Ma tell me not to pass here? How many times?  “Nothing going and happen to me, Ma…….. I not in anything” I would say. “ Chile, ah tired tell yuh, bullet doh recognise face” was her recorded response. Where was the voice coming from? The closeness of the walls, and the shadow casting trees left my eyes struggling to find its source.  Again, “Evenin Darkie”. But,  this time a slim, tall figure emerged from behind the lamp post. I could never remember a name once I stopped using it, but I remembered his face. We had gone to the same Primary School, Success R.C. He was a class or two ahead of me, his brother was in the same standard as me, but in another class. What was his brother’s name again? Something with a R. Roger…Richard….Randy…..

“Evening” was the only sound I could muster above the tassa beats of my racing heart. That, and a faint smile on trembling lips. In return, I received a disarmingly celestial smile. With that plain white jersey, those white ¾ jeans, and the street light beaming down on him the way it did, he could effortlessly be some ethereal creature, had it not been for that cold black metal he was holding in his hand, fingers casually resting on its trigger. 

(CHECK BACK THURSDAY 5TH NOV. FOR PART 2)