The train was delayed by five minutes which is a lot in London. Life is too fast; any delay, doesn’t matter how short, keeps hearts pumping. You are forever rushing. Quickly, muffling food down, hardly chewing properly, eyes on time. Time enemy number one.
And that is why we have unofficial agreement here that if you want to live and enjoy life, go to slow, easy-going hot places; such the beloved African continent. No stress.
Beaches to lounge under the scorching sun, swim, drink madafu (green coconut); tasty tropical food: fresh fish, fresh vegetables, sweet succulent organic fruits, friendly people. Laid back African sisters and brothers.
With these beautiful dancing Ndombolo thoughts, we work hard, saving money for that special air fare to Latin America, Spain, Turkey, Thailand, Africa and the Caribbean.
And so!
We were waiting for the train when I noticed this dude checking me out. I was wearing a hat with the Tanzanian flag colours. And how many times have I said on this column that Tanzania is not that well known overseas?
Yes, he was starring. Jamaicans are known for their point-blank, no-nonsense, straight-talking sense of communication.
“Hey bro I like your hat. Where can I get one?”
I knew my inquisitive brother was curious because the Jamaican flag is almost similar to the Tanzanian flag, minus the blue. It has yellow, black and green, full stop.
“You got to go to my country,” I said, with a smile, plus that sense of gentle diplomatic friendliness — typical of us Tanzanians overseas.
“I been to Tanganyika and I stayed on the islands of Zanzibar for over a year.”
I was very impressed.
A young dude who knew the two unified territories. Rare. Yoh. Rare.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Thirty seven.”
“Good age.” I said. “And you been to Tanzania. Lately?”
“Na. Two years ago. Jamboo. Hakuna Noma. I been all over Africa. I been all over the world, actually.”
I knew what was coming. Jamaicans can (generally) be very talkative; if you give them space. Bold, fearless to air their thoughts. Nonetheless.
He started by asking questions.
“Where have you been yourself?”
I told him the usual. Almost everywhere on the planet. Speak (and still learning) multiple languages; play multiple musical instruments, keep myself fit, etc.
He kept blowing.
“Which was your favourite place?”
I was surprised he was a great listener. Good listeners are good conversationalists. I mentioned favourite countries and foods; what I learnt and so on.
“And you live in London? Settled here?”
I said yes.
“Why?”
Everyone in the world is here, subsequently all foods, sports, arts and music. Now. Now.
It was his turn to blow the saxophone:
“I love London. I think you are correct. Best place in the world. The rule of law is respected. You work you get paid. Even if you have three jobs, no problem. You want anything you get it. Police respect people. Education is respected. But I don’t want to go anywhere else. My dream used to go back to Jamaica. I went stayed two years and gave up. Then travelled to the motherland. I travelled and lived everywhere: tents, oasis, deserts, remote villages, big towns, small towns. South Africa, Ghana, Nigeria, Egypt, you country, I did not stay in hotels I lived with people. Learnt about them. For ten years I was across the motherland. I gave up. I can say now, and I hope you understand me, we black people are so vicious and cruel to each other. We are worse than whites. We always blame the white man and talk about slavery and colonialism. That is true. It happened. Yes it happened. But it is history. We blacks have our own governments. Our own flags. Our own factories and land but we treat each other like shit. I don’t want to ever go to Africa. I will die here in London. Yes mon.”
Then the train came and we lost each other as it was packed. I was curious to understand his story; eager to know why he was that bitter and pessimistic about Africa. Hopefully I meet him again in this eight million plus city.
Let me hear your views.
And…
Bless your eyes.
