‘’We know that it is entirely the opposite’’, another hollered. Akeem recognised that voice and turned to see a familiar face that invited him to join them. But Akeem was not going to pass up this opportunity; he had everyone from the front door through to the back room, hanging off of his every word. He was in his element.
‘’ I come here for a better life, yet, dees people can treat me like I’m sumting on deir shiny almost new, cow back shoos!’’
Taking one last look at the sorry looking waitress, who had been joined by another member of staff, he vowed he would rather die first, than be subdued to such manual labour. He knew his worth, no matter what the unemployment office said, he hadn’t gone through years of hitting the books hard, for some dolly looking woman at a desk to tell him that he’s worth a measly four pound something an hour. Akeem greeted the men at the table each with a hearty hand shake and hug, he didn’t believe in the whole fist touching phenomenon any more, just another example of a black trait that has been corrupted in his mind. As Akeem sat, he noticed that many of the men seated were considerably older that he was. He preferred it that way.
‘’Yu want sumting fi eat, drink? Jus cool man’’. Someone slurred his way.
Another man he didn’t recognise waved down a waitress. As the waitress approached, Akeem was relieved yet amused that the young girl he embarrassed previously had been transferred to serving the front counter, he caught her eye and flashed a seductive smile her way, he watched her blush shyly and turn away. ‘’Damn fool’’ he husked under his breath. Akeem decided that he would never fully understand women, but in the meantime he decided that was the least of his problems, he needed a source of income. When Akeem had received his drink, he realised that the men at the table were continuing the same topic of conversation.
‘’One even av di cheek to carl me nigga to my face!’’
‘’And in this day and age.
‘’It’s a total disgrace’’
‘’Plus it’s them that put us here in the first place.’’
‘’But still dem say dat it is history. Hear dem ya.’’ The well-built man cleared his throat to impersonate an exaggerated Englishman. ‘’My dear sir, your circumstances cannot be changed, let alone erased. Hmm, I do say’’.
There was an array of hearty laughter among them, bangs and slaps of uncouth skinned hands, as a result of years of hard labour, on the table’s wooden surface separating the ten men.
‘’Please!’’ Akeem contributed.
‘’Not only do we suffer unfair dismissal and stay mess up for so long. I am despised by my own people and for what I ask ya? Cha.’’ Leicester said in his typical Cockney accent. Leicester always had a way of seizing the floor that Akeem admired. Leicester and Akeem lived on the ninth floor; Leicester was the first friend that Akeem had made since moving to England at the start of the year. He presumed that Leicester possessed this quality, because it was a rarity for him to speak at length on any trivial subjects. However, if he felt it necessary on a subject of importance, he would cause a fuss and dominate the conversation. Leicester was of English decent, meaning he was born in England, but lived in Jamaica till he was 19 years old. Now 32, his accent is no longer as prominent as in his youth, but the Patois had a tendency to drip from his lips in a rage.
‘’Why did we as people diminish the fight of those we now admire so dutifully as soon has dem ded?’’ Leicester continued.
‘’ I hear dat’’ among a chorus of ‘’uh hu’s’’ in agreement.
‘’ Mr. X, the mission die wid de man’’. A voice bellowed.
A dark ebony brown man of extreme stature, clearly towering over Akeem, pulled up a chair up beside him, obviously drawn to the rowdy party’s topic of conversation. As Akeem looked at the man, he was momentarily mesmerised by the boldness of colours displayed in the man’s traditional attire. Akeem looked around at the others in the booth to see if they were aware of the stranger’s presence. They were and seemed to invite the stranger in, by nodding in his direction. The man took this as an indication for him to sit down and make himself comfortable. Then the man made his presence clear by contributing to their conversation.
‘’ Hi weel tell yoo sumtin!’’ The man exploded, making large gestures with his huge hands. ‘’Heven dough hi am de one dat cums from di playce, sor meny black peepol call horm an dee mooda land, dem sayme ones weel laff at my haccent an chuckle behined my back at my clothes.’’ He was struggling with his English. ‘’What his dee point, Hi shust dun, hundastand, cam to where hime from and dis hees dee norm’’.
He concluded, collapsing in the back in his chair almost exhausted by his passionate outburst.
‘’ Uh huh, where I come from a man is judged on his heart and soul alone.’’
‘’True say, I and I dress anyway one want and none can cum fi criticise’’.
‘’ Dat is becarr there is no time fi judge anudda pon im attiya.’’
‘’Hexactly.’’
‘’Dawnt worry bruddas and maddam’’, nodding in the direction of the only woman present at the booth, that Akeem had not previously noticed.
‘’ Tings will change wid dee times’’. The face was shadowed by smoke from the Cuban cigar that he was smoking. Akeem knew it was Cuban, back home his older brothers would smoke them all the time. He used to beg them for one puff, but they never did. Usually he just sat with them and got light headed from their second hand smoke. He smiled to himself at the childhood memory as he inhaled the stale air; it’s funny how smells and sounds can do that, he thought. Akeem tried to peer past the smoke to get a proper look at the man wearing an old pecan hat, covering the left side of his face. He could tell that the man was an elder who had been the boss in his time, and probably was today, taking into account the silence that dropped over the group when he spoke.
‘’A so dem se’’
‘’ What time that bloody is nobody knows any how.’’ Interjected Leicester dismissingly.
‘’ With dat we jus have to keep, breathing.’’ The party accompanied in finishing off his sentence. ‘’Working and surviving’’. They dais in chorus
‘’ You hear what mi a se?’’ The don asked.
Akeem felt at home, that was a familiar saying that everyone back home used to say when times got rough. He liked it.
And with that, the conversation spun off into another direction, with some people pairing up and jabbering like they were old friends holding their own conversations. While Akeem just sat. Somehow he’d been passed a smoke. He hadn’t smoked in years, a promise to his dying mother, not to lend a hand in shortening his life, but trying his best to make it prosper, he heard he say.
1) But he didn’t want to feel anything anymore at least not for the rest of the day. He wanted to be numb. Akeem slowly put the, smoke to his lips his eyes stung, from the smoke drift and muttered, ‘’ Tomorrow’’ as he dwelled on memories, the smoke helped lift.
2) He looked over at the waitress at the counter and wondered if he would really have to work in some place like this, cleaning up everyone’s mess. He wondered if he’d be able to get some company for tonight, but then decided against it, he just wanted to be alone, with his memories.
