It started with a phone call.
“Yuh hear about the terrorists? Some Trinidadians and a Guyanese wanted to blow up JFK.”
It started with a phone call.
“Yuh hear about the terrorists? Some Trinidadians and a Guyanese wanted to blow up JFK.”
“Guess where she works!”
He, a tall beautiful dread, considered me for a moment. “Give me a clue.”
“Well, she’s a journalist,” said my loctician, while I squirmed in a mixture of ouch-you’re-pulling-my-hair and embarrassment.
“Aha! The Voice!” he said, referring to the UK’s major “Afro-Caribbean” newspaper.
“No, try again.”
Continue reading Young and black in Babylondon: part four