The lines to get inside the United States Embassy in the Corporate Area can be lengthy at times, which for some, present a great business opportunity. - file

The skinny fellow with the scar across his left cheek and a head the size of a large melon, sauntered over to the plump woman dressed from head to toe in white. She, along with a few dozen others, was standing in line outside the United States Embassy in the Corporate Area, early one Monday morning. "Madda you alright?" he asked. The woman clutched her handbag tightly and looked in the opposite direction with a sour look on her face.

"Madda, di line long you know madda," the man said again in a creepy, raspy voice.

"Cho nuh badda mi out yah inna di day yah! Mine mi get out pan you today!" the woman replied, obviously annoyed. "Madda mi can sort out a skip inna di line fi you, yuh know. Just set mi up and mi will deal wid it fi you," the man pressed. "Wah mi say to you? You want mi fi get dark out yah in front a di people dem decent place?" the woman shouted, shaking her finger at him. The skinny man scurried away.

While this was happening, a tall, thick woman wearing a brown pants suit was mumbling complaints behind the woman in white. Her voice was alarmingly deep. "Dat's all dem bwoy out yah good fah. Bout him a sell skip inna line. Him out of order!" she grumbled.

Less than a minute later, a short woman in an ankle-length, polka-dot dress walked up. She was wearing sneakers with socks and a wide-brimmed hat. The people who were standing close to her, eyed her curiously. Suddenly, she started to speak. "When you get down, never you frown. When you are not up, never give up," she said, to nobody in particular, yet loud enough for all to hear.

No money

"But a wah dis yah?" whispered the woman in brown. "When it doesn't fit, do not be a hypocrite," continued the woman in the hat. People were staring at her blankly as she continued to recite her poem. "Den a wah dis fah now? A money she a go want when she done? She lucky!" one man said, his eyes wide. Soon, the woman was holding the attention of no one, but continued with her poem. "When life is good, to thank the Lord, you should."

Meanwhile, the skinny man who had earlier offered to sell the woman in white a better place in the line, was now whispering in another woman's ear, about five places down. When he got through with that transaction, I walked up to him.

"What you want boss? You want a cut inna di line?" said he. "Er, no," I barely managed to say before he injected: "You want a shade under umbrella? Fifty dollar fi ten minute." I assured him I was in need of none of his services, but was interested solely in finding out what it was he was doing out there so early, if he wasn't trying to get inside the embassy. "Den boss, you is police? Mi nah trouble nobody you know boss. Is just a likkle hustling," he said, gesticulating wildly. When he was finally convinced that I wasn't a policeman, he seemed to relax a bit.

"Mi name Tinga, bredrin. Mi deal wid tings out yah pan di ends," he said, pointing to the line. Tinga smelled of cane juice. He was wearing very dark sunglasses. I couldn't tell if he was looking at me. All I was seeing was a reflection of myself in his sunglasses. "If you want a skip inna di line mi will line it up fi you. Just gimmi a smalls and mi will sort you out," said he.

As I found out earlier, Tinga also sells shelter under a rickety old umbrella he clutched under his arm. "Well, di sun hot out yah more time and di people dem nuh always travel wid dem umbrella wid dem, so mi deh yah fi deal wid it fi dem," said he, chuckling. I asked him about the woman who was still reciting her poems to the increasingly annoyed people in line.

"Oh, well she go around and say har poem dem and ting and mek a change. She all do it pan di bus dem. Di people dem nuh really pay har nuh mind though," he said. Tinga was looking behind me at the line, I suppose, for his next potential customer. I glanced in that direction and noticed a woman with a remarkably pale face which, when coupled with the darkness of her neck and limbs made a peculiar sight. She walked over to a man in a black suit.

Cellular company

The woman was holding about five clear plastic bags in her hand. "Hello sar, you cannot go inside dere wid you cellphone. We will keep it fi you. We is from di international cellular company. We is across the road over there. Only $100," she said to the man who seemed confused. "Den how mi know you not gwine tief mi phone?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Hello, mi is not no thief! If mi was a tief mi woulda jook you down and tek it weh from you! Mi is a proper businesswoman. Mi have mi ID! Don't bright yuhself wid mi!" the woman responded, holding up a plastic card for him to look at. The man seemed embarrassed.

Tinga turned back to me. "A just di hustling we deh pan mi bredren. We deh yah fi help out di people dem as well. If dem nuh really have di money, we still try fi assist. We is all Jamaican so we haffi help out wi one aneda, " he said.

Send your feedback to: robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com