Affected, Afflicted and Takin’ Last!

Reflections on the second session in the “Youngie and Exuma” Lecture series

by: Patrice Francis


My soul drippin’ man.

I serious.

I need one o’ dem big tin tub what Mama used to soak da white clothes in.

Set it down.

Yeah.

Set it down right dere

On Doongalik porch

So when we walk outta here

Our pride

An’ tanks

wouldn’t waste on da good wood floor what

Jackson build.



Yall tink I playin’ eh?

I drippin’ in my soul.

I so full

Gussie Mae ain’ gat nuttin on me.

I swelling from da inside

An’ ain nobody fix me.

I fine.

I so fine

Cus tonight I realize dese lecture

Mutual.

Yall tink lecture mean experts standing to da mic

Talking at us?

Dat ain what Jackson an’ Mr. Carter mean when dey say lecture.

Dey mean we bringing da porch inside,

comin’ tagedder an’ using

Youngie an’ Exuma as lengendary springboards

So we could bounce off from dem,

An’ share all o’ who we is wit’ each udder,

An’ da world.

Das why people in da plastic chair an’

On da Junkanoo-smeared wooden blocks

Cud say something tonight,

Cus dey experience tings too.

Dis da first time, in a long time,

We had conversation beyond words

Cus we was soaking up da expressions of each udder,

And dat was enough.





Yall does ever see Charles Carter stand to any mic

An’ ask Ronnie Butler ‘bout Culmersville?

Ah?Yall ever ask Ronnie why he sing:“Wake up early one morning,

Kiss my Mama goodbye?”

Yall ain know dem hits like

“Gern Down Burma Road”

Was taking root in Ronnie from he Culmersville days

When Youngie would stop he bike, pick up he strings,

An’ play for Ronnie Ma?

Ah?

Where else yall ga learn da underground railroad

Of Bahamian music?

Yall ever hear Ronnie sing an’ at da same time

Watch Matthew Wildgoose

Lean forward so far

Dat he look like he ga jump in da song with Ronnie

And come out painting him too?

When since Cookie Allens does be reminiscing on any wooden block on Village Road?

Cookie, voice we grow up on, spitting out her own remembrance of when

nassau was Nassau,

An’ MUSIC was capitalized.





Yall ain been

So yall ain see

Orchid stand dere an’ prove intelligence don’ need no costume.

No bey.

Da girl bad.

Wit’ her Mummy, Daddy, Auntie an’ Grammie in da room,

She stan’ on da two feet what God gee her,

an’ learn us

an’ we ain once tink bout age.

She ain rig it up wit’ pretense.

She laugh us up,

an’ we remember we did forget

dat art an’ music supposed to be reflections.

When ain no udder mirror, art an’ music gattie be da glass.

Take dat!

Set it down right dere.

One a dem big tin tub

An’ le’ me squeeze out all dis gratitude I have in me

For being born in dis place,

For being alive at such a time as dis.

Yeah Esther, wit’ all due respect, Bahamian woman could say dat too.

Dis ting start wit’ Youngie an’ Exuma,

Wit’ Pam an’ Jackson

Fred an’ Carter

Orchid an’ Anku

Zippy an’he sons.

It pick up wit’Ronnie an’ erry soul in Culmersville,

(Lord I born off Shirley Street)

But wherever ya navel string bury

If ya was dere tonight,

Ya woulda realize

We ain dead.

We sleep.

We been sleeping,

Fa decades now.

Get mix up.

After da excitement bout Independence die down,

We start tinking somebody owe us something

But tonight I realize

We don’ need politics to spread her mouth

So we could get grin on.

I’ne wan’ see no more unjust gingivitis grinning at us.

We could grin at wesef.

We could revitalize our own soul –

By gathering,

By talking to each udder,

By learning we neighbour name,

An’ bearing we brudder burden.

By popping in one Ronnie cd,

By remembering Exuma was a man, an island an’ a planet,

A planet, an island an’ a man.

By picking up one guitar now an’ den,

An’ whether we play it or not,

Waving dem strings up ta heaven

An’ tanking God for forming Youngie.

Yeah, grunt right dere

Cus Bain town ain no ghetto,

An’ Timothy Gibson did already know

Dat pledging to excel

Is still da best revenge.

So we taking last in udder ways now,

But all we want is fa dem ta pay us what dey owe us.

Not hand-outs or welfare,

Jes gee us back what dey tief from us so we could fare well.

We finally hearing you Tony. We listening too.

Listening forward.



Pam an’ Jackson build it,

We gattie come.

Da porch bigger,

But da bench wider too

So more o’ we could fit.

Bring um!



My friends and I,

We sit in da middle tonight,

And we was surrounded by us.

Couldn’t put Matthew up no closer,

He woulda fall in Ronnie song fa true

An we wouldna bin able to pull him out,

Too far gone we sef.



Cat Island, we coming.

Acklins, Fred tell us an’ we hear him.

Andros, Zippy den plant da seed

An’ Carter den smell fertility

An’ we growing toward this tingdey lecturing ‘bout.

Dey jes trying to point we back ta we,

Dey trying to bring da culture of Grants Town graveyards -

All dat posthumous loving, an’ up talking an’ front biting an’ singing,

Yeah dey trying to bring da goodness

Into pre-death: life.

Now.

Set it down now man.

I can’ leak all dis thankfulness,

An’ identity on dis floor an’ call it art.

Cookie might slip,

Jackson Mummy might slip,

An’ I’ne care what Ronnie sing,

She ain wearing no whoppers.

Oh Lord,

Now.

Annuder legend

Or unsung Bahamian

Can’ die

Before we realize we rich. Conch ain need no bone.

We rich.

Yall ain hear Carter:

“We come to take ownership of something

That ain nobody else entitled to -

Bahamian culture.”

Last!



Doongalik Studios is proud of the response to our Youngie & Exuma Lecture Series. It is always a pleasure to hear from our public and to know that we are making true impact. Thank you to Patrice Francis for her wonderful and thrilling reflections of the past few weeks and we hope that they will inspire others to join us for the final installment of the lecture series tomorrow at 6pm! #18 Village Road!