The story of the man who drove us one evening (and into the night) across the Nepali Terai at a time of hefty need has been told before. He was a batter of everything mainstream press tells white folk to distrust. His skin was brown and his beard went to his sternum when he sat upright. His clothing was pajamas in the true subcontinental way. Said man was Poor, a foreigner and a follower of Islam. Did I miss anything? The tolerance, generosity, open heartedness and humour he lavished would smash any on the Board at Barnado’s or the International Baccalaureate Organization (IBO).
One of my favourite guys to skate with is reading Psychology (from memory) at Cambridge. He dresses like he is about to teach Sunday School and manages to hold slickness of Hair through the sickest tricks. I relish skateboarding in his company because he notices details in runs. He will comment if you pop in or out of a trick instead of just rolling. There is a technicality to his own performance which makes me stare and whack the tail of the board I bought at Cheapskates on Cuba Street hard several times on the coping or handrail (if it’s closer) while clucking.
A heartfelt reason why I have abandoned the embracing of religion in my life is the way I was taught that there is an us and them thing going on. Ladies and Gentlemen, I was told repeatedly, were either us or non-us. We are all just us, trying to get through our time here with a smile on. Some of us are rotten or broken or fallen or stinkers but we are all us. Us. We express our faith and our love and our pain by colourful means which we call humanity. The thought that we should spend our time fighting what comes naturally does not sit tidily with me one crumb.
It is another of life’s pleasures, undoubtedly, to have friends and to get to know each other in ways which the other creatures don’t experience. Many of my good friends are not who I thought they were when we first (or second or fourth) met. I know I am the same to them. Only five percent of me is that hair brushing, non-cussing, tea drinking wally who parades the towers at work. My buddies know that. For some, a skateboard is a hang up; hard to reconcile. Poor us. What’s inside of us doesn’t always come out beautifully. Even the good stuff get tangled and skewed and by the time it reaches the community appears frumpy and dull when in fact it is shiny and vivid and arousing like the stars and the fauna of Southern Africa themselves.
I think what bothers me more on this Earth is not the way mean and rough people succeed so often, although that is a sin, but the way those with sacks of goodness and grace are left at the party hanging around the hors d'oeuvres or looking at pictures on the wall because they are not bolshie enough nor blessed with the confidence to tie their hair in a pony, throw their shoulders back and let their (delightful) face sparkle for all to see.
One day, maybe, we’ll see the light. All of us.
