YA TRYIN’ TO KILL WE?
On my first trip to Barbados, I had several interesting experiences. I didn’t go there with my husband, as I always thought I would. Instead, I traveled with my mother-in-law and father-in-law and we stayed in the home of a family friend, the Coopers. I was impressed with their nice home and the obvious efforts they made preparing for our visit. They had a special room downstairs fixed just for me, nicely appointed with both furniture and décor. And they finished a bathroom nearby so I wouldn’t have to trek upstairs just to use it. Both Mr. And Mrs. Cooper were gracious hosts and treated me like family, asking me along on various excursions to town or to the beach.
It was on the first of those trips into town that I was introduced to the unique Barbados transportation system. We had finished walking around, picking up a few canned goods from a grocery store and some fresh produce from the Fairchild Street Market and then decided to head home to the Coopers’ house. Together, my in-laws, Mr. And Mrs. Cooper and myself, we walked the short distance to the minibus stand. In Barbados, there are, in general, three types of public transportation aside from personal vehicles and taxis: the gold-striped, bright blue Barbados Transport buses – sometimes called government buses, the blue-striped, golden minibuses, and the small Zed-Rs, very small minivans for commercial use with license plates carrying ZR in the identifying numbers. We boarded a minibus out of convenience and headed for the country.
We took seats midway down the short aisle, my in-laws and the Coopers on the drivers’ side one bench behind the other, and I sat across the aisle so I could talk to either couple easier. As other locals loaded the bus, it became apparent that we would fill to capacity before the driver would leave the stand. Finally, the driver pulled out of the gravel lot kicking up some rocks as he pressed the gas none too gently! I thought this was going to be the beginning of a great experience.
Now, my father-in-law, Mr. Braffitt, was a gruff man known to speak his mind. He also had extensive experience driving since he had been one of the first in the village to own a car and the first to own a lorry to haul cane! He was not impressed by the young driver’s antics, especially as we neared the edge of town. It seems the young men enjoyed a game of “rocking the bus”, turning the wheel rapidly left and right to get the body of the bus to sway. At times, the side of the bus scraped along a wall or nearly side-swiped an oncoming vehicle!
Mr. Braffitt became more and more aggravated as we went along, rocking and swaying with some loud music playing from the radio of a rastaman sitting a few rows ahead of us. I could hear him grumbling to his wife, my mother-in-law, Edna. Mr. Cooper turned to speak to him to calm him down, but Mr. Braffitt was having none of it.
“I don’ know ‘bout wunna, but I en’ gine sit here and le’ dis man kill we!” He grumbled as he stood to his feet, but Edna pulled him back.
“Derwin, sit down, nuh! It en’ no good we bother de man whilst he drivin’!” She was often his voice of reason, but the constant rocking and near misses enraged Mr. Braffit and he once again stood to his feet.
“Hey! You! Driver!” He called out, “Ya tryin’ to kill we?” His face was red with anger, “why you cyan’ drive de bus right?”
The bus driver ignored him at first, but a few other, older people voiced agreement with Derwin, which only fed the fire of his frustration. “You, you, you…” He sputtered, “you there! You cyan’ hear when someun speak to wunna?”
Suddenly, the driver stopped dead in the middle of the road. It was a narrow road and only one vehicle could pass at a time, so it wasn’t a minute before horns began sounding. “Get off my bus!” The driver demanded.
“You cyan’ put us off like dis, in de middle a nowhere!” A chorus came from my in-laws and the Coopers. “We paid our fare, jes’ like de res’!”
Once again, the bus driver said in a slow measured tone, “GET OFF. MY. BUS! I will not move until you get off!
Realizing he meant what he said, that it was no use arguing, Mr. Cooper forcefully guided Mr. Braffitt off the bus meekly followed by their embarrassed wives I knew I had to get off, too, because I was traveling with them and knew nothing about getting around in Barbados, so I moved toward the front even though the driver’s command had not been directed at me.
“You g’long an’ get off, ya fat, white, b****!” The rastaman yelled at me as I stepped off the bus. “You don’ belong here anyway!”
I was doubly embarrassed as I followed the folks across the street toward a round, red, black, and white sign indicating a bus stop for the government buses. We had a long, hot wait in the sun, with nothing for shade, until the out of city bus arrived to carry us to St. Joseph. We were thirsty and hungry after having only a Ju-C to drink and a lead pipe to eat when we were in town, we were happy to reach the Cooper’s home.
After giving us some mauby to drink, Mrs. Cooper immediately began putting together a meal of stretch-out breadfruit, cucumber, onion, and lime salad she called “a pickle”, and some fried flying fish she prepared before leaving for town. We sat down to eat and my father-in-law was still grousing about the bus driver. Mr. Cooper said a blessing over the food, and my father-in-law eagerly dug into his food after he said, “pass de hot sauce!”
Bajan hotsauce story by Jeanne