Precious belongings.

 My lovely travelling companions,

How y'all doing? 

Here me is, tired like a dawg that frolic all night. Huh, I wish I been frolicking. 

Moving to a new dwelling place again, I been. 

Ma settle into she new home safe and comfortable. Me, she carer-companion, go where she go. I park me shoes, me clothes, in she new place of abode.  And of course, me writing material!

Me hardy ancestors who heave tent and belongings in caravan across hot, dusty desert...I raise me hand to me heart, me lips, me forehead, in respect to them.

The packing up of  things, then unpacking and putting everything into place, got me feeling as if I leave me writing spirit in a box, and I ain't find the box to unpack it as yet.

Please stay safe, dear friends, neena xxx.

The best place in the home.

My dear friends,

I been going through the manuscript of me first publish-book...and it dawn on me...I mention windows a lot!

Windows mean freedom to me, they connect me to the outdoors. 

They link we to the community too! Hahaha. Sometimes, as you can see, you got to shut them windows solid!

Hehe. That is a long story about the profanities.

I want to share with you some of the pikchas I did take of windows...I ain't a good photographer, but anyway, I hope you enjoy these.

My mother and her grandson.

Window in the lobby of our old family home.

Living room window, our old family home.

Window over a loo of the old family home.

Outside view of the same loo of the old family home.

One drizzly afternoon in my ex-apartment.

That is all for today, dear lovely readers.

Grinning curtain shutting out the afternoon heat..

I hope the weather, wherever you be, treat you kindly, and the view through you' window warm you' all the way to you spirit and soul.

Plenty love, neena xx

What is your neighbour up to?

Dear Friends, Fellow Explorers, Curious Ones,

Today, I remember a stranger-woman in the bank who been telling me about she man who useta beat she. (Please note: I ain't ask the lady she business...she turn to me and start talking. Being a good citizen, I listen and commiserate).

Next thing I know, every Sheila and Shirley sitting near we turn to listen. Then the whole group of eavesdroppers throw in they two cents about what the woman should do. 

And guess what! 

The woman didn't mind. She listen to everybody advice. She enjoy the attention.

This sorta thing would kaffuffle a foreigner from a Big City, no? I ain't know.  I always hear that people in Big City don't care what you do. They mind they own business. Anybody from Big City can confirm this for me?

Plenty times, in my own native land, I in a queue forming conversation with acquaintance, and I can see the ears of every man-and-woman-jack quivering with excitement.

In other words, my dears, we the people is just plain.....

I ain't gon lie. I can be a li'l fass too. But, ow, we need to have limits, no? 

You can't dig people for they story just so plain out: "You married, why you ain't married, how much children you got, why you ain't got children, how much you buy that furniture for, if you don't mind me asking, how much rent you paying, if you don't mind me asking?"

Yes, I mind. And I does answer: "I don't want to say."

And if people start to dash too many questions, I learn to ask them: "Why you asking?" I say it in a soft, puzzled way. They never know how to reply. Hehe.

As a writer who love to collect experiences...my own and other people...of course I want to hear stories. But, I ain't prying.

As a human being in a community, I share stories too if I know they gon help the other person.

But I like me li'l privacy. Some things, nobody don't need to know. We got to know how to balance being fass with respecting privacy, nah?

When all is said and done, I don't know if I could handle the anonymous ways of Big City...or what I imagine Big City life to be. 

I does wonder if this shortage of fassness is why so many people suffer from loneliness (even pre-covid).

It make me realise why we must call people we know who live alone. We ain't being fass. We only caring. 

Plenty love, neena xx 

Coconut food!

My dear Friends and Foodies,

I just been checking out some food-gyaff (chatter) online with people of my own native-land. Oh boy, joy! You would think it was a holiday. 

Yes, despite we daily toil and troubles, if one person share food-photos from our own native land, we the people carry on as if a Royal Wedding happening.

Now, all that food-talk, and me writing about cokenut trees, give me the idea to list some o' the goodies and food we can get from the humble brown cokenut.

Cokenut milk for curry. And bhagee (spinach, pak choi...leafy green veggies)...

...oh meee motherrr!

That remind me of the day, about 2 years ago, when I been to Alex, the car mechanic. 

Picture the scene. 

Workshop in the open-fresh air, sun shining, light breeze puffing down the quiet street. Nyron, the young assistant, settle down on the outdoor concrete step of the building. 

He open he bowl. 

I crane me neck from a distance (to be polite). 

Owww.

Hunger hit me like when Pavlov dawg hear that bell.

Thick daal on rice. And on de daal...bhagee. 

Bhagee cook with cokenut milk. Creamy and plentiful.

I don't know how I drive home safely that day, salivating, staring at them cokenut trees all the way.

Sigh.

Y'know what?

Remembering that day make me eye full up with water. I going to sit in the sun of this here foreign land and reminisce. I gon make me list another day. 

In the meantime, lemme share with you another tall cokenut tree tale. I ain't saying it is true. I only saying that the man who did tell me mother swear it ain't no lie.

Don't ask. I ain't know how Suresh can solve a problem for a jumbie. 

I ain't know what kinda problem a jumbie would have with cokenut trees. 

I ain't know if he can't sell the cokenuts 'cause he dead. 

I ain't know if the cokenuts falling too hard on he grave.

I only know that the sunshine calling me. 

Stay safe and happy no matter what.

Plenty lurve, neena xx.

OOOoooooo....learn this word if you ain't too scared.

Dear Friends, and Hunters of Paranormal Activities and Plain Ol' Simple Ghosts...

...no, scratch "ghost"...we-the-people of my own native land don't say ghosts.

We say:

And to be honest, "ghost" sound like cartoon business. Like Casper the friendly ghost, and them creatures that Scooby Doo people does hunt for. They easy to find and chase. 

Even the word "ghost" is a soft word when you say it.

Now say "jumbie" (jumbee). 

Yai. Thaz the thing. 

Hear how the "J" and the "B" sound mean and tough like some men?

Which lead me to ask me sister, and one brother, the one in the UK.

How come we does only say:

How come we does only say jumbie-man? Not jumbie lady?

Me sister say: Maybe most of them is man?

Me brother say: Jumbie lady kyant friken nobaddy. (Jumbie lady can't scare nobody).

I ain't know what feminists gon make of that one!!

Okay, back to ghost vs jumbie.

If somebody tell you that you look like ghost, you know they mean you look pale, weak. 

But if they tell you that you look like jumbie, right away you know they telling you that you look like ten years o' bad luck.

Woyyy, better check the mirror.

Have a sweet and calm weekend, beautiful people.

With love, neena xxx.