Satiricus, as usual, was befuddled. “Why in the world, are they hounding the government to have a plan for development?” he asked his friend Cappo. Even more than was their custom, they’d been frequenting the Back Street Bar. The May-June rains had extended into July in a determined attempt to make up for the drought earlier in the year. Since Cappo couldn’t get into the fields to cut his canes, he kept his wrist flexible by expertly swigging his beer from bottles.
“Who yuh ta’king ’bout, Sato?” he enquired of his old friend. “Yuh does always come out wid dese t’ings like yuh ah talk to people in yuh head!”
“Don’t you read the newspapers?” asked Satiricus irritatedly. “The business people want the govt to have a plan.”
“Suh wha’ wraang wid da?” said Cappo.
“You blasted know what’s wrong with that,” fumed Satiricus. “That is communist thinking. How can our businessmen call for planning?”
“But Sato, na you tell me dat Obama big gat wan plan fuh buil’ back ‘merica?” Cappo spoke softly for fear of upsetting Satiricus, who was paying for the beer.
“OK…OK,” conceded Satiricus. “But more importantly, planning goes against our Caribbean spirit.”
“Really?” said Cappo with an arched eyebrow.
“Yes, really, Sato,” said Satiricus firmly. “Did we plan to come here? No…we just ended up here. That is the West Indian way!”
“But abee na do business, heah,” Cappo pointed out.
“You playing the arse with me, Cappo?” asked Satiricus with some heat. “You now just like how we play Calypso cricket, we do “Calypso Business”.”
“Me na know da, Sato,” said Cappo humbly, as he ordered another beer. “Me jus’ a wan cane cuttah.”
“Well, that is how it is,” continued Satiricus. “Our businessmen don’t plan. They’re very creative. They just do whatever their neighbours do. Why should the government be asked to plan?”
“If yuh seh suh! Sato,” said Cappo placatingly. “But wha’ de guvment should tell de businessman dem?”
“Sorry, Mr Businessmen. No planning. We’re West Indians.”