The advice columnist

 

Last Sunday, I was reading the newspapers (I get hard copies on weekends because I am old-fashioned and they’re seriously handy with the mosquitoes) in my patio. My cat, Oreo, was fighting me for space on my footrest (I keep my feet up while reading the newspapers in case I see a deal I missed at the supermarket and feel like kicking myself), when I started feeling the effects of the weatherman’s Red Sahara Dust Alert.

Oreo, who was born black and white, and is a girl with a boy’s name (I explain to people that having been spayed, she/it can be called “Michael” if anyone wanted to) started looking grey and brown. I blinked and blinked, but there she/it was – grey and brown Oreo - nonchalantly licking her/its nether parts while I tried to blink away emerging illusions.

But the dust won’t go away. Then I saw before me a rising mist above the brown and purple cherry tree, and an emerging figure – short, baldheaded, earrings, and with calves the size of pregnant cows. “BC dat is you?” I asked. No response. Only this ghostly figure hovering and backdropped by a bunch of struggling dou doux mangoes.

I had just read one of the most absurd newspaper columns about Xmas and had refreshed my Blue Mountain coffee. I gulped it all in one go. Then I heard this voice: “You! Yes, you … not the cat!”

“Me?” I heard steupsing. “Yes, you.”

Now, coffee can be a rather powerful drug. Following a talk by “ministry of education officials” on the evils of illicit drugs at QRC 50 years ago, some of us dried ti-marie bush for days before cutting, wrapping, and smoking it. But there was this one guy who tried sniffing the fumes from roasted coffee beans. He ended up with one GCE pass. One. Think about that.

But this was not the coffee. I actually heard a raspy voice from above the cherry tree. Oreo paid no attention - one leg in the air (as if she didn’t care) and her/its tongue diligently committing the grossly unspeakable.

“You,” went the voice, “like too much bacchanal! Effective immediately, your column shall be used to help people address everyday needs.”

“But Master (I couldn’t think of another title … though “Bro” might have worked), aren’t there important matters of wider public concern to be addressed? Ethnic cleansing? The murder of babies and children? Geo-political intrigue? Ineffective governance? Climate change? Religious hypocrisy?”

“Shut up!” Oreo paused mid lick. I heard the chicken go “cluck cluck” before running away (I have a chicken, it appeared out of nowhere a few months ago with a youngster who has since mysteriously gone missing).

“Effective immediately, an advice column shall be published every week in this space.”

“But, but.”

“Shut up!”

“For instance, here’s someone who needs real help. There’s this guy who thinks that a ban on using fireworks and busting bamboo in his neighbourhood at this time of year is in violation of his human rights. Advise him!”

Oh, that’s easy. “Dynamite. Inside the guy’s house. Clear out the women and children first. Then wait for the blast. Let the neighbourhood kids with their puny sparklers take that!”

“Umm. I don’t think so. Let’s try another one. A thief has just cleared out a family’s fridge (ham, turkey, pastelles gone!) and run away … belching and laughing loudly. They suspect he is hiding in their annoying neighbours’ house. These people play loud music late at night and the sickening smell of cooking oil hangs in the air for days.”

“Simple. Dynamite. Two sticks. That should smoke him out!”

“But what about the neighbours?”

“Kill two birds with one stone. It’s probably not their property anyway. Get rid of the thief and the unwanted neighbours in one go. I like this. Give me another problem to solve.”

“Wes, I don’t think this is working out. Maybe we should stick to less complicated matters. Love, perhaps?”

“Yeah. The fireworks of love. What a blast. I can do this. When do I start? Next week?”

“I have an idea. Why don’t you kick off the New Year next week with something on why Caricom remains the only viable regional solution to the full range of developmental challenges in the region?”

“But I thought you said …”

“Hush, my friend. Hush.” At that stage, the dust cloud rose to meet the gloomy clouds. Oreo wanted to use the litter box. I got up and reached for a half-eaten pastelle and a fresh cup of coffee.