First, a boy was meant to stop following him mama, then him papa, then at around fourteen him become him own man – that’s how Ras Levi say life was suppose to work.
Anyway, because of him condition, Denton was always moving and fidgeting, always doing everything inna rush, so I figure it wasn’t important, but by time I open up, Denton could hardly speak for catching him breath. Him rest him hand pon him knee, and the eczema overneath him eye did favour one crease bag, and him locs almost brush the floor. Eventually, him manage fi tell we that the pigs them were in the Gardens arresting Angela and that the community was trying to stop them. It was bedlam.
Immediately, Sister Dorothy dial the upstairs line.
‘Why yuh never come and tell we sooner?’ I say. ‘What yuh a deal with, bredda?’
Denton gave I one nasty look while him scratch him arm. ‘I got here as fast as I could, man.’ Which was true enough: him finish third on sports day. I ax him what the pigs accuse Angela of, but him wouldn’t say. Him want fi wait fi Ras Joseph first, which I thought was pathetic. I ax him again, but true to him word him remain hush hush till Ras Levi and Ras Joseph Tafari appear from the fourth floor, and then Denton couldn’t stop blasted talking. Him tell all of we how Angela had been arrest in possession of explosive and plan for the bank down a the bottom of City Road. The riot police raid her yard and now them from the Mother have them pen inna the playground.
‘Babylon plant the things them on her or she really mean fi mash up the bank?’ Ras Joseph Tafari ax, and Denton confess that him never know. I glance at Ras Levi to garner his reaction, ready to dismiss Angela as irresponsible, or cowardly, or whatever language him would use, but really in I whole life I’d never heard nothing so spectacular. ‘What yuh think, Levi?’ say Ras Joseph Tafari.
I papa stroke him goatee. Him face straight. ‘If Joyce seriously mean fi damage the bank then that woman even more concern with fruitless victory than I already know her fi be.’ Him turn to his second-in-command. ‘It might be a trap fi get I&I outta the centre and inna the Garden so that them can lock I&I up without the trouble of blasting through I&I door.’ Him point at two of the older boys. ‘Unuh stay here and make sure nobody don’t come in when we gone.’ Him march from the door and the rest of we follow after him: Ras Joseph Tafari, Denton, Sister Dorothy and I, everybody in the centre except those two older boy, we tip and pour onto City Road, twenty-tree of we in total, all in our outerwear, all head toward the Garden.
I mostly knew Angela by reputation: I knew that she never belong to the centre, even when the area was one; that bald-head gossip did whisper ill-proven rumour bout her friendship with Joyce; that she help establish the Mother as a hub; I’d heard that, of the two woman, she was the more prone to violence – which now seem f i be true; and her inability to hold liquor was well-known, mostly because the volume of her drunkenness had woken many a resident, many a time. I knew that she was a product of the children home pon City Road and had tree fully gold teeth; and I’d heard that she once work there at the supermarket down a Broadmead but was sack for her temperament.
The bank Angela allegedly want gone stand alone at the beginning of City Road, near the corner where Frontline con- verge on Lower Ashley: another of the area lightbulb-less main road. It had a car dealership and a corner store on either side, but it remain detach – too full of itself to associate with any neighbour. Dust spiral inna the lobby. Its desk older than the area. It was red-brick where the other building in St Pauls were white or grey. Its clerks English, its manager and money too: I don’t know a single person in St Pauls who keep them money inside; only strangers rush through the doors and pass its watchmen in the foyer. Coppers patrol nearby, them detail double after dark and them German shepherds were without muzzle, and mercurial. At teatime, the few West Indian who ever attempt fi get a loan share story and spin them embarrassment into anecdote to laugh about over Ovaltine and milk biscuit.
We never pass the bank on City Road. Instead, we went down Campbell Street and across Frontline – where the sun always felt warmer. And Denton say, ‘Baba, somebody say them see the copper bring fertiliser and oil from Angela yard, the kind yuh use fi make an IED.’ I roll I eye. The only reason either of we knew what an IED was, was because every Rasta in St Pauls follow the IRA report. ‘Proper,’ is what Ras Levi would say whenever the newsman mention them on the radio. ‘It’s not our fight but them proper still,’ him would go on.
‘Them nah stand a chance of winning, Jabari, but still them a fight the fight. Them nah have a hope, because them a fight people who favour them, overs? Yuh can’t tell a English from a Irish till him talk, and an English spy can master an Irish accent, but them can’t step inside no black skin, iyah.’’
We arrive at the edge of the Gardens with Ras Levi still leading the way. The name sound fancy, but really, them were a pebble-dash maze. Nuff low-rise maisonette where the poorest people in St Pauls live. The twisting pathways were crack and without signpost. The walls were top with green-bokkle glass, and if you hadn’t grown up playing there you wouldn’t be able to orient yourself at all. That’s why the rudeboys and the sticksmen hang out there: so them could snatch chain and wallet, and be lost. Even if you live in St Pauls sometimes you did affi be careful in the Gardens, but that was dependent on who you were, I suppose: I was cool with the rudeboys and the sticksmen because them mother often come inna the centre fi food, so them did carry a certain level of respect fi Ras Levi.
The rudeboys and sticksmen, with them suit trouser and trilby, were the first people we did come across as we pass overneath the steel archway that separate Frontline from the housing estate. Them were perch pon people wall, either side of the walkway, smoking the ganja we sell them. A couple of them had the local newspaper hanging from them back pocket. Others had them wide-eye baby pon them lap as accessory. I could hear raise voice and curse word coming from the estate behind them. I thought them might’ve been in the miggle of things, but then I member say most of them were on the run for minor offence, and the rest never need any more problem with the beastman than them already have.
Them hail we as we arrive and point we toward the play- ground. We continue through the twisting, oxbow passages, passing Angela empty maisonette. Her front door was lame and open. It wood twist. The pigs had smash the panel glass. With each step the faraway voices grew louder. I could soon make out the anger of the people separate from that of the police. We turn a corner into the central square where we found a mass of people between we and the playground. Most part when them see we coming, but wherever we travel in any number our reception was mix. It was a sight to see: Iyaman in colourful dress and long hair, walking with our head held to the sky. No one was prouder or more righteous than I&I, but it was no secret that some of our fellow African try diss we; even in Jamaica there were people who would see harm come to RastafarI, all because them was desperate to be involve in the presiding colonial society, and we weren’t. The sell-outs see we as troublemaker, rabble-rouser, but we only made trouble where trouble was require: RastafarI never compromise.
Those in the Gardens who recognise the power in our unity pat Ras Levi back and praise Christ Jesus, likkle boys and girls gambol after I&I, and from them porch mamas wave them dishcloth and rag, each with one hand in the air, the other on them hip. I spot Miss Francis, standing impassion pon the roof of an abandon Allegro. The family car had been left fi so long that it was half sunk into the yellow grass, providing regular driving lesson for the local yutes. Miss Francis was a respectable woman, Ras Levi said so, cept for when she drop leaflet through the people them door, calling for a boycott of the ballot. She was too involve in English politics for RastafarI liking, because when one break the word down, politics becomes poly ticks, and you’ll find that poly mean many, and tick is a parasite. There is no freedom or song to be found in politics, only disease.
Rumour have it that Miss Francis was once a member of the Labour Party, and that she was ax fi leave fi reason unknown. Her green headwrap was tall and her Christian skirt brush the car roof as she deliver a sermon in her rough, small-island tongue: ‘All day long the whole of we complain to the pigs bout the pigs, to the council bout the council, and to the prime minister bout him own cabinet, but we must shape our own destiny!’
As we drew closer to the playground fence, the crowd became more hostile and we saw a number of feminist from the Mother Earth, but them was too preoccupy with the pigs to pay we any mind. I never see Joyce.
‘The skinhead nah go nowhere, boy,’ Miss Francis continue. ‘Take a look, them all round us in them police uniform.’ We barge our way to the front, and it was there we first see the coppers, dress in full gear, catch between the swing and the seesaw. ‘Whether it’s Labour or Conservative, them hold a sham, two-party election every five year, but capitalism is the true ruler of this here country. The pigs aren’t nothing but a group of white man employ fi carry out terrorism against the working class, and it’s our people who suffer first and most!’ The people who listen did shout in response, and at the same time I catch sight of Angela in the playground. The copper had her pon her knee, holding her collar like them hold them dog. Her head had fallen limp pon her clavicle. Her eye and cheek bruise. I voice rose with the rest of the people and we cuss Babylon for all eternity. The uproar sweep I&I along in the rawness of it emotion, and I surrender I-self to the upset.
Image © British Library
Moses McKenzie is shortlisted for the Sunday Times Charlotte Aitken Young Writer of the Year Award. The winner will be announced on Tuesday 18th March, 2025.
