"Daag da eat vomit, e neva lorn."
Translation: Anyone who keeps going back to the same thing over and over again, will never learn.
So seh di mawnin waitress Miss Christina as she points her lips at the white man walking down the street who is ranting and raving, railing up (that is, making a big scenery on the street). From what I can gather the white man's local gyal stole all of his money AGAIN and went with a next man.
Miss Christina gives me the "Krayze White Pippl" look, not directed right at me, but the look we give each other when the people ask for something weird or inappropriate or just generally shtupid (no its not a typo, its how its said). And so begins our politically incorrect conversations about the white people, the black people, the Chiney people the Spanish people the San Pedranos (a category all their own).
This time of the year I am so busy, I barely leave work and home. So I get my news report early Sunday morning. It is the delicious source of juicy gossip for what went down on Saturday night. Worldwide, Saturday night is Saturday night, even on a Very Small Island. Who was with who, who catch who with who, who da do dis and who da do dat. Who got locked up, who is still drunk on the street, I don't need to watch "Passions" on TV, it all plays out right in front of my face, right there on the street.
I was a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown before I retired at the age of 40 and moved to Belize (12 years ago). I live 20 miles offshore on a teensy weensy tiny island called Caye Caulker, where I have an art gallery featuring my art, silk scarves, jewelery and local Belizean artists. Now, I'm a woman living in the moment accepting all the gifts that the universe has to offer.