Satiricus was filled with emotion… and when that happened, he knew he’d soon be sobbing like a baby. Fitfully! He and the entire gang were duly gathered at the Back Street Bar for their “farewell” bash for Cappo. To everyone’s surprise he and his wife had gotten visas to the States and decided to leave Guyana for good. The beers had flowed for a while and the tongues, being duly lubricated, were loose and wagging.
“Cappo, old fr’en’, we know things bad in sugar right now,” said Hari, who lived up the street from Cappo, as he hugged Cappo by the shoulders. “But oil gon flow soon you know, and you gon be OK.”
“Hari… wha’ rass yuh tell me?” snapped Cappo who was torn inside to leave all his buddies. “Ah 17,000 people ah wuk in sugah. Wha’ kinda jaab abee guh do fram cane fiel’ to ile fiel’?”
“Well even if you don’t get a job on the oil rigs, the money will trickle down and the whole country will get up,” consoled Suresh, the bus driver.
“Well, YOU betta worry den. If yuh right, everybady guh get cyar an’ dem na guh use yuh bus!” grinned Cappo as he elbowed Suresh, who was sitting next to him.
“But Suresh right you know,” said Satiricus finally, as he looked firmly at the table. “Things will get better for everyone. Just hold some strain.”
“Sato, me know yuh believe wha’ yuh seh beca’se yuh vote fuh Nagga Man and Rum Jhaat,” said Cappo quietly. “But me na need baatle lamp fuh see daytime.”
“Talk plain, na bai,” said Bungie, Cappo’s partner in the cane fields. “Na talk parable, parable!”
“Budday! If dem a t’ief w’en abee na gat not’in’,” replied Cappo, “wha’ dem guh do w’en money start fuh come in?”
“Yes, Sato,” butted in Hari. “Who got mo’ oil than Venezuela and look how they punishing. An don’t talk about Nigeria!”
“OK! chap! Le’ abee stap all dis taak an’ tek wan drink fuh me ole padna Cappo!” said Bungi. “Me hope ‘e guh sen’ me wan small piece w’en ‘e deh in ‘Merica!!”
“Let’s all drink to that!” said Suresh, clinking bottles all around.
Satiricus didn’t risk saying anything.
