TWO WEEKS TO JUDGEMENT DAY
This story reveals a subculture that defies simple explanation. Acerola (Ace) is a true rogue—dancing between sanity and the haze of natural substances. His enigmatic charm and upbeat spirit set him apart, yet even with his quick wit and ability to skirt the law, he often finds himself behind bars. This vignette delves into Ace’s mind, unveiling the conflict of music and thought within his soul. It’s a facet of the Bajan experience that flouts convention and bubbles with personality. (i)
It is early. Ace wakes with the day, eats a banana, and drinks coconutwater. “It’s medicine, man,” he told me once. “Coconut got to be young, pickedlong before they get hard with jelly,still small on the tree, no bigger than a cricket ball. Full of nourishment then, better than medicine. Keeps the system clean and fresh,good for the kidneys too. Plenty of iron, makes you strong like a lion.”
At 6:00 a.m., Ace heads out into the day, purposefully striding down HorseHill, his hard feet stampinga rhythm onto the cool asphalt—flip, flap, slide, and slap.
Ace moves through the village of Bathsheba like a fox . . . agile, aware, cunning. A fox on the prowl, alert, confident, striding to a beat of his own. Vibrations of the Caribbean: Afro-Zouk and Soca-Reggae in the blood.African drums on a pavement play. Feel the groove, move the body, lift the spirit, rise again.
He’s a man in motion, moving on, heading downhill on a stroll. Cagily checking out his lair. Lookingcunning, moving slow, wagging his tail to and fro, for pleasures that he soon may know.
The village is quiet. The dogs eye him sleepily from their beds under the
raised floor of the chattel homes along the road.
“Got to pay five hundred dollars, or the magistrate gonna throw me in jail, ”he hums. “Got to find the money, man, or I’ll be sitting in a damp, dark cell with no unripe coconuts to keep this mind and body well.”
He knows every corner of the village and its people. He takes stock of its workers, residents, visitors, tourists, and strangers. This is his trade. He knows when people are away and when they are coming back.
He scouts for new faces and opportunities. Jobs are scarce, and the pay is poor: raising the five hundred he needs could take months. Tourists will give him a few dollars and offer drinks in bars. Surfers and weekenders buy coconuts. Residents have houses, gardens, and cars in need of repair.
“Five hundred dollars still to pay. Just two weeks ‘til judgement day, five
hundred dollars, months away.
“Rass man, it ain’t right, Ace don’t have no truck with the law. Not me they ought to worry bout. There are bad people,lazy people, and crazy people, man. I don’t do no harm. Man got to live, fetch a pile of coconuts, sell some bananas, do a favour for a man, borrow some food. Ain’t no harm in that. Ain’t me they should worry ’bout. Sure, I took a little dope, had a little snort of coke. Ain’t no reason for doing time or paying money for no crime.”
… Ace sighs as he walks down the steep hill to the Atlantic Ocean. He mulls over his predicament, wondering how to pay and not get jailed again.He is not bad; he just got off on the wrong foot and gets a little crazy sometimes, amplified by “natural substances.”
“Mushrooms and herbs,” he told me once. “Get me high, man, time stands still, can hear a heartbeat from the top of a coconut tree. Awesome, man.”
He was on mushrooms the night he saw surfers partying on the beach. It was a beautiful, moonlit night for their champagne and salmon sandwiches picnic under the palm tree silhouettes. They saw Ace walk by at 2:00 a.m., board under his arm, going for a surf.
“You can’t swim here, Ace,” they warned him. “It’s dangerous; the riptide is too strong in the full moon, and the waves will kick you down under the reef ridge. Here, have a sandwich.”
. . . Ace continues pondering down to the coast, salt spray kissing his skin and the fresh sea air filling his lungs with each deep breath. The tang of salt mingled with the earthy scent of damp soil beneath his feet. His senses are alive to the crash of waves against the shore and the gentle stirrings of a village waking. His mind is consumed by the five hundred dollars the magistrate told him to pay the court in order to stay out of jail.
“Trouble, man. Coke brings trouble with the law! But I ain’t no pusher, me. Never done no truck with dope, just a snort,a swig, a smoke, just for me and friends I know. Possession’s what they say when they take my coke away and give so little time to pay.”
He is tuned to the sound of movement, the music of motion. His oversized shirt flaps in the wind in time to the rhythm of his feet on the street. Feet on the street, hear that beat!His breath is steady, heart beating like a bass. A harmony.
“I am a symphony. Man in motion, power walking down Horse Hill. Got to find the money, man.”
A breadfruit tree extends over the road. He picks a ripe fruit and puts it in his sack. He thinks Round House, a local restaurant, may buy it for their breadfruit chips. He takes a detour through Joe’s River Tenantry, past the chattel houses on the cliff (ii). Off in the distance, Atlantic waves roll to the shore.
“Flip, flap, slide, and slap. Moving forward, never back. Ain’t no rhyme in the jailhouse block. No such thing as jailhouse rock. Got to keep the music live.Ain’t going to no jailhouse dive. Got to see those waves each day. Bathsheba is where I stay. Got to find the money, man. No one putting Ace away.
“Time if I steal and no time to pay. Time if I don’t and time if I do. Time for a time, whatever, man. Got to get clear, got to stay clean, got to figure it, sort it out, and make it right.
“Ain’t doing no time, no Ace in no cell, no Ace in the clink. Got to figure a plan, find some time to think. Borrow just a little time, take a little for a time. Plenty time and money here. Movie cameras, laptops, fancy cars, and stereos, fetch some dollars on the street.
“Ain’t gonna steal, just got to take a little for the magistrate.
“Flip, flap, slide, and slap. Gonna get this monkey off my back.”
From Sea to Shore: The Formative Years
Ace was raised in the Barbados village lifestyle. A close family-oriented neighbourhood where men fished from small boats on a wild ocean, motoring to the north at night, drifting back with their catch at dawn. Women stayed
on dry land cooking, knitting, housekeeping, and finding work with the more affluent city folk who spent weekends and holidays in their Bathsheba beach cottages. Life was hard, and money was scarce. Still, everyone made the most of what they had - growing a few provisions, keeping a few chickens, pigs, black belly sheep, and helping themselves to breadfruit and mangoes from neighbouring trees.
Some farmed their land and sold produce locally and to farmers’ markets. Pine Hill Dairy organised many small holdings in the sixties, upgrading their processes and supplying sterilised steel milk containers, which they picked up in their oil-tanker-style specially equipped milk trucks. When I lived in Bathsheba in the late nineties and early twenties, several cattle roamed the rocky land. There are no Bathsheba locations on the Dairy farm maps today. Nearby, the lands around Morgan Lewis Windmill are home to a herd of healthy-looking dairy cows. A lovely sight to behold driving down from Cherry Hill. Also close by is Hoads, a black belly sheep farm that supplies Goat’s milk and cheeseto the local supermarkets. They are an artisan farm and will customise cheeses with “fresh herbs and or spices you like.” (iii). The village’s agricultural landscape is integral to the dynamic supply chain and provides essential goods to the community.
Villagers shared what they had and looked out for each other. They bought, bartered, and gave freely when they needed to help. The fishermen’s catch was fried, grilled, or stewed with rice and whatever vegetables they had. They played beach cricket and soccer with improvised bats and balls, swam and surfed in the ocean, and spent time with family and friends. The nearby rum shop was a meeting place for adults but not the young. School was where they played and talked about their dreams and plans for a future that seemed so far away. Ace dreamed of an uncomplicated, carefree life, free from the burdens often accompanying conventional living. He turned his back on getting a job in the city and made his way by guile and wit. There were few jobs locally, so one had to be creative to live. Tourists and visitors were good for occasional jobs.
“Hey man, you need get rid of that rubbish, I do it for you.” He said to me early one morning. “No, you don’thave to pay - just buy a bunch of my coconuts.”
Ace understood the last of give and take and used to the advantage of both parties. He was skilled with his hands and had a mind that accepted any challenge. Tinkering with cars and ready to do any job for whatever they would pay, he made a dime or two.
Ace understood the law of reciprocity and used it advantageously. He honed a unique set of skills, and with a mechanical bent. Occasionally the police picked him up, offering bed, food and company in exchange for his help to fix faulty machinery. He had a knack for fixing fans, phones, anything electrical, and cars.
He soon saw opportunities to help himself in more unconventional ways, like his uncanny ability to open seemingly closed doors to others. This skill, acquired through a combination of necessity and resourcefulness, helped him make ends meet.It was an easy life but not rewarding to his questioning and unsettled mind and his status in the village. Brief stints in bars and nightclubs proved unsatisfying.
Later, he ventures overseas, seeking a job that will allow him to use his talents without breaking the law. We will meet Ace again in Chapter Four and, perhaps, encounter him in another book.
Reflection
Looking back, I see a good man with some bad habits—an example of grit and character, sometimes poorly directed. He was a popular village personality. Prison wardens and the police looked forward to his visits.For him, jail was a place to rest and meet up with friends. He was an inspiration for this book and the reason I named it Rogues in Paradise.
I’ve always had a soft spot for rogues, especially those who find their way and make meaningful contributions to their community. Rogues, in all their diverse forms, have shaped our world. Many have faced tremendous struggles and overcome insurmountable odds. Happily, Ace beat his addiction and is
now leading a drug-free life, gainfully employed.
Freed from the financial burden of his past habits, Ace no longer needs to pay the magistrate!
Cultural Significance
Sociologists tell us that culture is the values, beliefs, language, communication, ideology, and practices that people share. It is how a society deals with the deviants, the homeless, the disadvantaged, and the exceptional.
This story shows the police being kind, a jail that might be a refuge and a fair legal system.It is the Bajan way. Ace is not ostracised; people help him, and when he takes,he is respectful, as he says “just got to take, a little for the magistrate” showing he cared and knew he had done wrong. This is similar to how Brando is in Jolly-Rogered Dreaming of chapter nineteen, who left a sandwich for the resident in the house he entered.
Few cultures do not have misfits and exceptions. Many upright citizens have had dark periods at some time. A caring inclusive society stands by the troubled and makes room for redemption. And this only happens with moral leadership and caring. The characters in this book are ultimately caring and inclusive no matter who they are, and when they stray, society rallies to help.
Barbados’ early history is important in this context. Slavery left deep scars on society. Even after emancipation, formerly enslaved people faced discrimination and limited opportunities (chapter thirty-two). Few were driven into petty theft to survive.Yet, they were descendants of skilled workers who played a vital role in sustaining the economic machinery, from sugar production to construction, and every facet of society. Upon gaining their freedom, they made valued contributions to various areas of life, including business, education, politics, and the arts.
In the following chapters, we meet many leaders, heroes, and rogues in paradise. But first, we revisit the beginning days of slavery to understand its abhorrent legacy and its lasting impact on the region’sculture and history.
Life Lessons from Paradise
Ace’s magnetic charisma and vibrant personality make one wonder how people born with such natural charm and ability sometimes live on the edge. Is it by choice or destiny, heritag eor evolution?
Is it society’s responsibility to provide for those who stray and help them
find a better way? (iv)
Next >>> The Darkest Pasts.
