Alo mi gracious fans, ow uno hall doin roun de wul, Hevry where you tun dere is fracas dere, fracas everywhere.
Can you himagine sey me jussa a mek hit back from Russia? De plane get redirect inna Mogadishu, Den mi hend hup inna Kinshasa, iza wanda me nevva did fine myself hinna Hiraq?
No man, hif me did hav hit my way, me would a tek wan boat crass die Hatlantic. Dem ya Aeroplane luv fi tek people pon too much hexcursion. Me nevva fly so much inna my life. Me two foot dem feel like two block a cement from sid dung so long pon de custed iron bird.
Den dem feed me two dry up piece a vegetable, wey look like dem stay from Jamaica an throw de dressin pon hit. Lawd hof mercy! Iza a good ting sey me did bring me shut pan wid sum Jamaican Black cake.
Me heat so muck black cake, me hen hup drunk all de way to Miyami. Dat de cake last me bout seven flight till me reach back a JA.
Well, cum mek we go threw de letta dem wey me get. Me have bout ten crocus bag full a letta. Iz hongly De lawd know ow me a go get threw dem.
Dere iz a letta dat spark mi curiasity. Dis man write me , but im sound like a real mad eeks. Lissen me good.
Dear Ms. Dulcie:
I hope you feelin irie. I am writing to you all the way from Cape Cod and I would like to talk to you about “The Man”.
“The Man” is oppressive, “The Man” makes fun of my blonde dreadlocks and tries to keep me controlled by forcing me to wear three piece suits to work.
Black, green and gold are my favorite colors and my tam is my trademark. The man cannot comprehend my dress code.
“The Man” has me working night and day, and in the end it makes no sense. We work hard to give everything to “The Man”.
“The Man” has Big Brother watching everything we do. I consider myself a minority, because I have blonde dread locks , fair skin and European features and a self-imposed patois accent. “The Man” doesn’t understand that I identify with all things Caribbean. I may have been born in America, but I feel dat in anodder life Ms. Dulsai, I was an Islander.
“The Man” really gets under my collar and sometimes I just want to reach out and give him a rahted punch.
We, as minorities need to band together and stop dis invasion of “The Man’s” conspiracy to keep us down. or corrupt our free thinking.
Ms. Dulsai, I look forward to corresponding with you regarding ”The Man’s” invasion of our privacy and alienation of our brotherhood.
Peace,
Nantucket Rasta
Dear Nantucket Rasta:
Who is dis man yu wuk fa? Yu keep seyin de man, de man………If simady a bodder you. Yu need fi tell dem fi clear hoff!
Dis ya man soung like wan bully. I tink sey you a refer to an imaginary persona.
If you a refer to “De Man” has society, doughn’t mek society set you standard hof life. Hif you happy a carry on like wan crazy, blonde, dreadlock rasta , den dat’s yu bizness. Has long as you know who you are deep dung. Den hit doughnt really matta hif you consida yuself a minority.
Yu do knoe sey you iz American right?
Yu might be a minority in tinkin. Aldough, I feel dere hiz a lotta peple who tink like you, but dem fraid fi hact out. You iz just bold and in control, a bet hif a check you hout background, you probably as rich as creases, Yu can hafford fi hact crazy.
Hall Ms. Dulcie can sey iz me ope sey you an “de man cyan fine sum common ground or peace. Juss live you life an figet bout dis ya “man” imaginary or odderwise. Hif im bodder you so much den do sumting bout hit. But a haffi tell you iz like fightin City Hall, but den hagain iz only squeaky wheels get hoiled..
Till nex time tek cyare an no mek “De man“ frustrate you. Ms. Dulcie no wan tun on de T.V. and see you pon America Most Wanted.
Has uno Merkans sey, tell de man fi tek wan hike! By de way tanks far de surfer name “Dulsai”.
Good Luck,
Dulcimer Robothom
