Paul Crask

It is not simply the sights, sounds and smells of a place that speak of an unfamiliar and a different world, it is also the conversations you have with the people you are lucky enough to encounter quite by chance along the way. Meeting people who engage with you as if they had known you all their lives is something rare and quite special, and when the conversations are as colourful and humorous as some of those I experienced travelling around the island of Dominica, then they become as unforgettable as the place itself.

After a third morning of excellent scuba diving in the Soufriere Scott’s Head Marine Reserve, I took a rather crowded bus back to Roseau. Seated next to me was Irwin, a man I had never met before. He decided to tell me how he was feeling today.

‘Boy, I tired,’ he sighed. ‘I tired and then I tired some more. Every day I do my work and I get more tired. I get older and I get more tired. Every day. Boy I feelin it. You feelin it too ?’

‘A little,’ I said. ‘But I don’t mind feeling tired if I’ve been working hard.’

‘Boy, let me tell you. I finished with working hard. I need to relax and enjoy my life. I getting tired. Every day I work and I getting tired. And now I getting lazy. You know why I getting lazy?’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Because I getting tired. I getting tired so I getting lazy. Each day some more. One day I stop completely.’

‘It’s that bad?’ I asked.

‘Boy, what? You telling me it’s that bad. One day I stop. I telling you. I so tired and I so lazy I have to stop. I can’t help it. So tired I am.’

‘Maybe you need to take a break,’ I said.

‘What? Boy, one day I do that. Take a long break and never come back. But I need money for that. How do I get money for that?’

‘I guess you just have to keep working,’ I said.

‘But I too tired and lazy for that. You know what you call someone who is so tired and so lazy?’ he asked.

‘No, what’s that?’

‘Boy I don’t know. But that is me.’

Just then, the bus stopped and a rather large lady got on. Irwin fell into silence as she sat down, his eyes beaming like car headlights.

‘Boy, but I not too tired and lazy for that,’ he whispered, grinning from ear to ear.

‘No?’ I said.

‘Boy, what?’ he smiled. ‘I like my ladies big. Nice and round. And let me tell you, I never too tired and lazy for that.’

At the end of the short and bumpy journey I met my wife, Celia, in the island’s busy capital. We had planned to hook up for lunch at a little snackette we had discovered by chance at the start of our trip and then adopted as our own. Celia opted for chicken pelau, a rich rice dish, and I chose Creole fish, a spicy broth of yellow fin tuna and vegetables. The snackette was lively with the hubbub of Dominicans taking their lunch. As we were eating and planning a short afternoon hike to theMiddleham Falls, one of the cooks came over to our table.

‘Hello again,’ she said.

‘Hi, how are you ?’ I replied

‘Not so good,’ she said.

‘Sorry to hear that. What’s up?’

‘My vagina’s hurting me.’

A piece of fish tumbled from my spoon as I coughed.

‘Oh dear,’ I said, looking as nonchalant as I could muster.

‘It’s not from sexual activities, you know,’ she said. ‘It’s because of God.’

It was difficult to know what to think or say next so I took the only sensible option. I stuffed my mouth full of fish and bread and hoped Celia would rescue me by taking over the conversation.

‘I told my boss about it,’ she said, still addressing me. ‘But he said I had to cook anyway. You think it’s right?’

‘Uh, uh,’ I grunted, mouth full, head shaking, cheeks on fire.

‘How is the broth?’ she asked.

I nodded in the affirmative as I swallowed. ‘Very good. Really nice,’ I said.

‘I’m happy about that,’ she said. ‘I made it this morning but my vagina was hurting so bad I thought it would be spoiled.’

‘Really, it’s just great.’ I said, nodding even more vigorously.

‘Well, I’m happy you like it,’ she said. ‘Now I have to bake a fig pie so I had better go.’

‘Okay then,’ I said. ‘I hope you feel better.’

‘Thank you, darlin’,’ she replied. ’Me too or the fig pie will suffer.’ And with that she wandered back to the kitchen.

‘Dessert, love?’ smiled Celia.

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