Calypso

Part 1

"One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain."

-Bob Marley

Kaija

  Calypso Music. 

    The drums. 

   The xylophone.

   The Caribbean steel pans.

   They all play to the rhythm of my soul. Vibrations can be felt through the soles of my bare feet on the cool, hard pavement. I close my eyes as I wine my hips. Round and round and round I go. I take a small leap before I use my hands to mimic the waves gently patting the round rocks at the edge of the shore. As I sway my hips in time with the drums, the onlookers walking in the park to stare in awe. I chuckle and smile.

   How funny.

   Reaching out into the crowd, I grasp the wrists of a young boy and an elderly lady. The cheers and laughs from the crowd spur on the excitement of the moment as I teach them how to move to the island riddim. Blushing with laughter, the elderly woman shifts a bit awkwardly at first but then moves her hips in sync with the music while her arms sway freely out to her sides. As I turn to the young boy, it's as if I'm staring at a little prodigy. Dancing in a sort of Samba, his hips and feet step in time with the rhythm of the drums. As everyone cheers them on, the song soon comes to an end and the crowd breaks out into an applause. I curtsy then stand to recognize the band.

   This is what I live for, I think smiling brightly.

   As the young boy ran off, the older woman sauntered up to me smiling brightly, hands raised to her lips, clasped together as if in a prayer.

   "Oh, this was just wonderful!" She exclaimed. "Thank you so much for that wonderful experience."

   Beaming, she quickly embraced me, left a tip and headed towards a man I could only assume was her husband.

  Well that was fun,

This was our last crowd of the day. Once people started to disperse, I reached for the metallic bucket which contained our earnings for the day.

356 dollars and 94 cents. Hmm, not bad, I thought. I wave back at the old men whom I'd known nearly my entire life.

"Hey, wi made gud mon!"

They waved back and I walked over to them as they were putting up their instruments. Thomas was the first to speak,

"Wat did wi tell yuh bout speaking like dat? Yuh know outsiders don undastand a Patois, Kaija. Yuh need speak propa English." he said waving around his hand.

Shaking my head, I hand him the money to divide between the five of us. Thomas was like an uncle to me. The whole band was.  When I was younger I used to always tugg on his long, rusty brown locs which reached the back of his waist but he usually kept them tied up and covered in a large knit cap with the colors of the Jamaican flag so they'd stay clean. My brother used to call him Rastamon Thomas. But even though his roots were gray, that didn't stop him from lashing out at you as if he were 20 years younger. He's passionate to say the least. Thomas can get quite feisty when he wants. Kinda like now. 

"Thomas," I began, "Yuh fambily. Mi don't need speak 'propa' fah fambily." I stated as he counted out my share. Shaking his head, he handed me the money.

90 dollars. Huh.

"Well it'd mek mi happy," Son spoke up.

Son was younger, early 50's he says. His short, dark greyish-brown, curly hair made him look a bit lighter than the rest of us. He looked at me with dark grey eyes which the ladies must have loved back in the days. I swear sometimes he acted older than Thomas.

"Of course," I spoke with a huff then smirked.

"By the way," I mused looking up at them, "How did I end up with 90 dollars instead of the equal 70?"

Suddenly they both started to look away, whistling to themselves. I laughed while shaking my head.

"Guys!"

Son held up his hands in surrender. Thomas patted me on the head as everyone gathered the last of their belongings.

"Yuh young," he said, "yuh could use extra mon."

With that they started to walk away. Shaking my head I smiled and called out,

"Mi see yuh likkle mor den!"

Son turned around waving and replied,

"Bless up, Kaija!"

After pulling on my shoes I grabbed my bag leaving the park, wondering what the evening held in store.