The lover of track and field that I am, today I had intended to pay tribute to our hard-working athletes. But, because of that shameful 'Berlin Bangarang', which is the climax to the 'Beijing Brouhaha', I turned my attention to my brother, the source of much laughter in my life. The JAAA and its athletes are now officially on the list of things that are a vexation to my spirit, and which I shall avoid as a plague.

So, here goes. Brother, as I shall call him, to protect his image, went to 'Merica, and brought back a 'high-tech' camera. He went all over the community taking people's picture until Mama got jealous, and demanded that her picture, too, be taken. After coming under severe maternal pressure, Brother gave in.

Mama went into her 'grip' and retrieved her red and white polka-dot bikini. The top was white with red dots, and the bottom red with white dots. She stood akimbo under a coconut tree at the front of the yard and posed, putting her right leg forward, tilting her head high, and to one side, then down on her knees, the whole works, displaying her menopausal plumpness. I wanted the world to end. All this time, Brother clicked and clicked and clicked.

Weeks passed and everybody got their pictures, except Mama. Her jealousy resurfaced and Brother was again under pressure. Mama confronted him one afternoon when he was leaving the house. Brother, now bereft of evasive tactics, looked her in the eyes and said, "No flim neva in deh, Ma." And Mama cursed the day my "wicked and cruel" brother was born, as tears rolled down her face, and as tears of a different nature galloped down my face.

Then, every Independence, when we were children, Mama bought us new shoes and clothes. We would go downtown together on 'August Night' with great excitement and anticipation. But one year, Brother did not go with us. He said he was finishing his dinner.

When we caught up with him downtown, we noticed that something was glistening on his feet. They were Papa's 'patent' shoes, made of smooth, glossy leather, the type we used to polish with Vaseline. And that's perhaps why he went downtown by himself. We laughed and we rolled, because we knew the outcome if Papa had found out.

After walking all night in the shoes that were too small for him, Brother took them off and left them under a certain monument until he was ready to go home. And yes, he went home, barefooted. When Papa opened the door, he noticed Brother had no shoes on.

"Lawd Geesas!" was Brother's reaction, and he flew out of the house to retrieve Papa's shoes. Needless to say, when he returned to the spot they were gone. Papa's shiny, black 'patent' shoes were nowhere to be found, and life in Papa's house was never the same again.

But, with all of his antics and misdoings, nothing can top what Brother did on December 31, 1999. He went home to find no dinner on the table, and his wife and children missing. He was told they had gone to church to be caught up in the rapture, since it was the day before the new millennium.

In his anger, Brother headed for the church. Upon his arrival, he saw his wife and children in worship and praise, waiting for the trumpets to sound and angels to descend from the skies to take them to the New Jerusalem. Brother stood at the door, took a deep breath, and bellowed, "Mureen! Wheh mi dinna deh!"

He then marched inside and gathered his beloved children and stormed out. The shocked Mureen, forgetting that the moment of her ascension was drawing nigh, grabbed her Bible and hymnal and dashed from the church in pursuit of her children and my brother. But what was wrong with her? Didn't she expect a rapture? Only that it came in the form of her scandalous husband.

And talking about memories and scandals; the shame of the 2000 'Sydney Uprising' is still echoing in the annals of my brain.

Name changed to protect my sister-in-law from undue embarrassment.

oxydmoron@gmail.com