BEENIE MANMichael Reckord
, Contributor
ARTIE AND I were sitting on his verandah sipping lemonade and brain storming solutions to Jamaica's crime-and-violence (one hyphenated word, in our opinion), economic and education problems. Before our glasses were half-empty, we'd come up with seven or eight foolproof ideas for rocketing Jamaica into the First World, and agreed that our national problems were less puzzling than the blindness of our leaders to obvious solutions.
On the verandah table, a newspaper showed a picture of, and an accompanying story on Beenie Man's release from hospital. The article grabbed the attention of Orwell, Artie's nine-year-old brother, the moment he came unto the verandah from inside the house.
"Blow wow!" he exclaimed. "Beenie Man come out! Mek me see dat." Grabbing up the paper, he sat on the edge of the verandah and started to read.
"Beenie goin buy a nex Hummer, you know, Artie?" he said after a while.
Artie frowned, clearly annoyed. "What you said, Orwell?"
Orwell repeated what he had said and added, "Him seh him wi si everybody in one month's time, at im nex show. Bwoy, mi wish me
coulda go."
Artie's frown deepened. "Why are you speaking like that?"
"Like wha?"
"Like an illiterate. You know Daddy insists we speak Standard English at home, and just because he's not here --"
"But Artie," Orwell protested, "ah suh de Doctor talk."
"The doctor?" I looked at Artie for an explanation.
"Beenie Man's nick name," Artie said, continuing apologetically, "Orwell's going through the hero worship phase."
"Beenie Man is his hero, eh? He could've chosen worse like Ninja Man."
"You like Beenie, sir," Orwell asked me.
"I prefer Beethoven."
My reply left Orwell puzzled. "What im sing?"
"Orwell," Artie interrupted, "I said stop speaking patois. I'm sure that's not what your English teacher teaches you. You don't have any ambition?"
Before I could correct Artie's unconscious lapse, Orwell put down the newspaper, stood and faced Artie. "What you mean 'ambition'? Beenie wear $50,000 dollar worth of gold bling-bling, and now him $8 million Hummer mash up, im going buy a nex one jus so, no pain. It order already, Beenie seh. My English teacher wear one fine, silver chain and a washout silver watch. And she tek bus to school. You waan me be like her, or like Beenie?"
Speechless, Artie looked from Orwell to me. I shrugged, smiling, and with continuing amusement listened to the following conversation.
Orwell: Artie, lend me 200 euros.
Artie: What!
Orwell: My allowance finish. I need to borrow some money.
Artie: Didn't Mama tell you not to overspend?
Orwell: But I need more than she gives me.
Artie: Don't mix up needs with wants. Anyway, why you ask for 200 euros?
Orwell: Because it look like euros easier to borrow than dollars. I saw on the news that the Minister of Finance borrowed 200 million euros, after he couldn't get dollars.
Artie: Suppose I even lent you, how could you pay me back on your allowance?
Orwell: I
wouldn't use my allowance. I'd borrow from Mama.
Artie: You'd borrow to pay back what you borrowed! Are you crazy?
Orwell (puzzled): What's wrong with that? Dr. Davies does it.
Artie: He does it with the country's money, not his own.
Orwell (shaking his head): First, you don't want me to follow Doctor Beenie Man, now you don't want me to follow Dr. Davies. Who I can follow?
Artie: Follow Shakespeare. He said, 'Neither a borrower, nor a lender be.'
Orwell: Was he as rich as Beenie Man?
Exasperated, Artie remained silent and I though it was time to chip in. "Orwell, you don't judge an artist's work just by its monetary value, neither Beenie Man's nor Shakespeare's. But take it from me, Beenie can count his millions. Shakespeare's work is priceless."
"And," Artie added, "he wrote beautiful English."
