What happened on this morning's walk . . .

This morning when it was still cool, and fairly dark, I went for a walk. Along the way I passed several people, each of whom I told "Good morning". Some of them responded verbally, some nodded silently, some didn't look up or respond at all, but most couldn't even hear me. Their ears were stuffed with headphones, blocking out the world. Only those who looked up at me as I passed were able to lip read the greeting and respond with a glaze-eyed nod.

Further along, as I walked through campus, I saw a pale, chubby young man sitting on a bench by the lockers near the library. He was hunched over, biting into a sandwich. As I passed, I said "Good morning." He looked up and said "Good morning."

At that moment, I heard something in me say "Have a successful day". I didn't consciously think those words, yet it was my own voice saying them to the young man. My momentum kept me walking forward, but I felt an irresistible pull to go back to him.

When he saw that I had turned back and was heading straight in his direction, he stopped chewing and looked momentarily scared. I suppose in this day and age . . . quiet young man alone on an empty campus, early morning, strange woman turns and heads directly for him. What weapon does she have tucked in her track pants?

He dropped his defenses when I smiled and spoke. "I came back to tell you that I hope you have a successful day."

Immediately his presence changed. He straightened up, burst into a massive smile and said "Thank you!" I saw and felt him glowing brightly. The hunched man furtively biting into his breakfast was gone.

"Is there something important about today for you?" I asked him.

He thought for a while: "No. Today isn't really important."

"Well, it is," I said. "Every day is."

"True," he said.

We smiled and parted.

Fun things to do while walking. (Try it).

Yesterday afternoon I met a friend to go walking on campus. As we started out I said to her: "I'm going to give you a challenge. Tell the fifth person who approaches us: You look beautiful today."

At first she felt uncomfortable with the idea but eventually, after some prodding, agreed to give it a try. The fifth person was a young man in t-shirt and jeans. As he approached, all she could do was look at him and smile but the words wouldn't come out. Seeing her smiling at him, he said "Hello" and kept walking.

I had a good laugh, then asked for a "challenge" of my own. I was to say something in a foreign language to the 7th person to approach us. This turned out to be a large young man. I looked at him as he approached, smiled and said "Bon soir!" He looked back at me, but said nothing.  Maybe he doesn't speak French.

Challenges after that included asking for directions to the Post Office (even though I know where it is) and saying various phrases of greeting or compliment. As I said to my friend, most people love to be acknowledged and addressed pleasantly, especially when they least expect it, from a cheerful stranger. Some people, mainly older people, were only too happy to respond with things like: "Oh, yes! It is a lovely evening for walking!" or "Yes, I am enjoying my walk!"

At one point a man was approaching us. As he neared, I said hello and, once he responded and I had his attention, I asked "So what's the best thing that happened to you today?"

"Jesus!!!!!" he cried out as though someone had slapped him. But he didn't mean that Jesus was the best thing that had happened. He meant it as a cry of helplessness. "Now DAT is a hard question!! Whey, boy!" He walked on a little bit, then turned his head back and said, "I'll have to think long and hard about that one."

That said a lot.

At one point on the walk, I said to my friend "Let's see how much we can pick up about a person as they approach us, from the way they walk, hold their bodies, etc. Let's take this woman approaching now."

Compared to everyone else in their jogging suits, track pants, t-shirts, she looked somewhat odd. She was a large woman somewhere in her 50's, wearing what appeared to be a loose, misshapen flannel nightgown and new track shoes. She had on no bra and her large, long breasts were bouncing against her torso. Her hair, even from a distance, was seen clearly as an unruly mop. My first thought was that she had escaped from an institution.

"Is it me or does she look a bit odd?" I said to my friend.

"Something doesn't look quite right," she agreed.

As we neared the woman, we both looked into her face. She looked back at us, gave us the warmest, most beautiful smile and said "Hello." All of a sudden her appearance disappeared and all we saw was her smile. Out of all the "normal-looking" people we had passed by or interacted with through our "challenges", she is the one who had greeted us in what felt like openness and sincerity.

We felt bad about having judged her by her appearance. Yes, she looked "odd" because of the nightgown . . . but what if it wasn't a nightgown? What if she had a medical problem and couldn't wear pants and decided to wear a jersey dress? What if she had on no bra because she was a free spirit or because for reasons unknown to us, she was unable to wear anything constricting in that area (plasters? injury?). What if she just didn't care what people thought once she was comfortable?

Toward the end of the walk I suggested we look at everyone we pass and find something beautiful about them. The first person was a female guard, sitting on a step. "This will be hard," my friend said. The guard had a hard, solemn face, but the first thing that struck me was how her legs were neatly crossed and her hands were clasped in her lap, almost in a sacred manner. As we neared, both looking into her face, she broke into a beautiful smile (eyes and mouth) that completely lit her up and transformed her appearance.

"Lovely smile!" my friend and I agreed as we walked on.

The next person had her back to us, but I saw her laughing and that was her beauty. She also had long legs that she elegantly folded as she got into the car.

The next person was a pudgy young woman in black/navy blue clothing. By looking at her we got a host of impressions: she was determined, focused, honest, she gives it to you as it is, no need for pretense, she's a good friend, she's serious about what she does, she's caring, she'd rather be alone than fake an interaction. She had lots of beauty to her.

It doesn't matter how someone looks. There is something beautiful about everyone. Based on appearances, we are all quick to judge someone, in some way, at some time, even if we don't mean to—due to stereotypes, social conditioning and association from past experiences. But give everyone a chance, be pleasant with them, and you will see who they are.

Conversations with God ... I mean, my Knee

Yesterday's caterpillar on driveway

The caterpillar I saw inching across the driveway yesterday morning was a message to slow down. My right knee also delivered a similar directive. Suddenly, out of the blue, while sitting in a meeting the day before, it had started to hurt intensely. By the time we left, I was limping.

I had damaged that knee years ago in my late teens. I was at a toga party at a friend's house, we were all dancing and, before I knew it, I was on the ground in pain (ligament injury). I was on crutches for a while after that, hobbling around at University. Despite that, I've never had knee issues, so yesterday's pain was a new experience. So much for doing Sat Kriya in rock pose that morning ... and this morning.

Rather than see physical pain as that only, I ask what I always ask: WWLS (What would Louise say?) This link lists the spiritual meaning underlying various diseases/ailments/injuries (based on Louise Hay's work). When I look at what "knee" signifies, the part about 'lumps of undissolved anger' resonates most. Whether current anger or past anger, whether at self or other, whether conscious or subconscious, if not properly expressed, thoughts and emotions can linger.

So when I woke up yesterday I spent some time with my knee, giving it Reiki and speaking to it. Through my knee, I forgave myself and I forgave everyone (for nothing specific. I kept it general to cover all possibilities). I then asked my knee to tell me what it wanted me to know.

Throughout the day I got the message that I need to slow down, do less and be more and take better care of myself. These messages are true and timely. In spending time with my knee, covering it with my hands, stroking and massaging it, talking to it, envisioning light going into it, etc., I realised that we (most ... or all humans) barely spend time with our full bodies, checking in to various body parts, asking how they are doing, what they would like from us, etc. My knee must have been basking in the attention I gave it yesterday. When a body part is not in pain, we use it unthinkingly, going about our business and taking it for granted. When it is in pain, we focus on it—naturally, because it is crying out for that attention and, at the same time, holding a message for us.

Early September will mark a year since I (reluctantly) returned from Toronto. At the time of going there, I had been 100% raw for 1.5 years. Once in TO I enjoyed what Trinidad doesn't have: a wide array of raw food ingredients, organic produce (affordable, diverse & plentiful), one or two raw food restaurants and, even if I did eat cooked or baked food (which I did eventually), it was healthy. Upon returning to Trinidad, suddenly, in comparison, the meagre options were disappointing. Needless to say, my raw food lifestyle gradually slipped out of the window and became more of a junk food, grab-what-you-can-and-eat-it-as-you-go-about-your-day lifestyle. Apart from the odd moment, gone were the days of spending hours in the kitchen lovingly making sumptuous raw meals for myself.

I can safely say that when I was eating raw, it was a great example of self love—slowing down, spending time for myself, taking time to artfully design my meals as if for someone really special (as is the case), naturally not feeling any desire for processed foods and junky treats, etc. I don't do that anymore.

Yesterday, my knee reminded me of this time of self love and loving-raw-food-preparation and signaled the need to return—if not 100% raw, definitely as the majority, with no processed junk. I felt as though the pain in the knee was also an accumulation of toxins—even something as simple as flour and dairy products. So yesterday I didn't eat anything processed. I listened to my body and consumed what it was calling for: sweet potato, carrot, water and Yogi Tea.

I also slowed down my body and mind. I read one of the books I had ordered from Amazon a while ago, I slept, rubbed my knee, gave myself energy treatments and didn't think about or become immersed in things-to-do.

By evening my knee was miles better. It's still not 100% itself, but I will continue to listen to it, be more conscious of my thoughts and feelings, be gentle to myself on all levels and adjust accordingly. Will also monitor and see if a visit to the osteo is in the works.

To pssssssssssst or not to pssssssssssssst

This morning after sadhana when I went for a walk, I was still wearing my headwrap. Along the way one of two women walking across the road called out to me: "Good morning!"

I called back: "Good morning!"

A few steps on, a guard talking on his cellular stopped and said: "Good morning."

I replied: "Good morning."

A bit further along, a rastaman and a woman were walking together. As I neared, they parted. I said good morning to the woman and then looked at the man. He looked directly into my eyes and gave a nod which, because of the respectful way in which he then said: "Rastafaaaaari" seemed like a bow. I nodded back.

On the way back home, walking and glancing at the papers, I heard a loud "Pssssssst!" coming from a nearby building. I ignored it and kept walking. Again, I heard: "Pssssssssssssst! Pssssssst!" It felt persistent. I walked a bit further, stopped, turned around and went back to the Pssssst point.

Two men were sitting in an office. One was looking at me through the window. The other was smoking a cigarette, peeping now and then and generally looking evasive. I stood at the fence and beckoned with my hand for either (or both) to come out. After about a minute, the one who was looking through the window came out. I estimate he was in his early 30's.

"Hello. Was it you who just said psssssssssst when I passed?" I asked when he got to the fence.

"No, no, it wasn' me. It was he."

"Well, please let him know that he would get a response when he says a genuine good morning."

"I ent mean nutting by it, yuh know. Is just psssssssst."

I told him that women don't like to hear pssssst. He responded that some do and some don't.

"I don't think any woman likes it," I said. Not even those who look like they do."

He looked sheepish and surprised. "Well okay den. Ah could tell by de way you was walking by ..." He paused, looked at my headwrap: "You is a rasta? I could tell you prefer good morning. An' you know what - I respec de way you come back here to tell me all what you tellin' me. I could see you follow de Order, den. De way how you come back. Respec, respec."

I told him that I respect him too, for the fact that he listened to me and that we could have had our conversation and come to this understanding.

We shook hands, exchanged names, wished each other a good day and parted.

T&Telephone etiquette and lack thereof

One word of graffiti on exterior of an old house a friend lives in

*

In Trinidad, whenever I'm leaving my name with someone over the phone, they tend to say something like "Eh?" or "Wazz dat?" or "Spell it?" I then have to pronounce and spell it a few times before they get it.

So whenever I say: "I'd like to leave a message for so-and-so. Please tell him/her that Elspeth called" ... and the person just says "Okay", I'm pretty sure they are not going to deliver any message because they didn't get the name.

Recently this happened. I left my name for someone to call me back and the man on the other end said without hesitation: "Yeah. Ah go tell him."

Me (knowing he didn't get the name): Did you get my name?

Him: Eh heh, Yuh ent jes tell me it?

Long story short, he didn't get my name, and even though he had been saying "eh heh" when I was calling out my numbers, he wasn't writing them down because he didn't have a pen. He eventually went and got one, but the person still never got the message (which I found out when I called back later).

Today, similarly, I called to get information from a particular organisation. Again, after saying "Please tell xxxx to call Elspeth Duncan", I was met with a dry "Yeah". There was no "what was that?" and not even a pause to indicate that he was scribbling the name onto a piece of paper. There was only silence. When I said "Hello?" thinking the call had dropped, the response was a dry "Yeah". Anything I said to this person was met with a dry "Yeah".

A short while after, I called another organisation in search of the information. The female operator was very pleasant. I had cause to call back when a transfer from the office she sent my call to dropped. Again, she was very pleasant and helpful. Before hanging up, I told her that I think she's very pleasant and helpful and that it was refreshing dealing with her, especially after having encountered such poor telephone etiquette as of late.

She laughed and said "Thank you, lovey!"

How to become a billionaire

This morning before dropping my nephew to school, I realised I had a dollar note in my pocket (change from buying newspapers earlier). Rather than put it in my wallet, I asked him if he wanted it. The following was our conversation.

Me: Do you want a dollar?

L: Yeah

Me: Do you want me to autograph it?

L: Yeah

(He watches as I sign my name on it)

Me: Hold on to that. Today it's one dollar, but when I'm famous it will be worth millions.

L: Great! I'll frame it. And I can get people to touch it.

Me: How much will it cost to touch it? Lots of people will want to.

L: $100 per touch.

Me: Nah. At least $1,000.

L: Yeah, but when I'M famous it will cost 500 million dollars just to SEE it.


Moral of the story: Don't think big or bigger. Think biggest.

Can't buy me Love

Melting: from my ice tray for making heart shaped "cubes"

Yesterday I went into a store that sells local art and I was looking around. After a few minutes, the woman who owns the store said: "So what kind of art do you give to the art world?"

When I told her, she said: "Yes. I can see the creativity clearly in the aura."

We chatted for a while and, all the time, my eye kept going to a heart-shaped section of wood - cut from a tree trunk. It was standing on top of a shelf.

I figured it wasn't for sale, but when I was leaving, I still asked her if it was. She smiled, blushed slightly and said: "No, that's not for sale. It's a gift to me from a secret admirer."

She told me of all the gifts she had ever received from men, this section from the heart-shaped tree trunk was the best. Even the diamond studded heart pendant she had received from one man could never compare.

"Can't buy me Love," I said.

She pointed to a crack running from the top of the heart crease towards its centre and said that the secret admirer had indicated that his heart was broken.

I told her that I had noticed the crack, but that to me it didn't look like the heart was breaking. It looked like it was splitting open because it was getting bigger and creating room to let more in.

"Yes. Growth," she said.

The adventures of my camera (cont'd) ...

Photo taken using Photobooth on laptop
*

My camera was supposed to arrive in Texas on Wednesday ... but up until yesterday when I tracked it, status message was "Clearance delay at Miami". Yesterday (Thursday) I called DHL and a woman answered. I gave her my airway bill and she tracked it.

"Hmmm, it's being held in Miami," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know ..." she said slowly. I could hear her thinking. "Did you fill out a Commercial Invoice?"

"Yes."

"I'll have to call them tomorrow and find out what's happening. And I'll call you back." She referred to the information she had in front of her. "Okay, your name is E-l-s-p-e-t-h Duncan ... Your number, (868) 89 ..."

I stopped her there. "My number doesn't begin with an 89 ..."

Sigh. Whatever number she had for me was the wrong number. How come, I don't know, since I had personally written it on my documents. I guess the wrong thing had been typed into the system ...

Anyway ... tracked the package again this morning and it says "Clearance processing complete at Miami Gateway - USA."

Girl in hot pink with magic wand gets my garland

At the centre of the labyrinth one day recently with my friend Kris who had her camera with her.
*

The day of the concert arrived and I still hadn't written more than one verse of the song. I wasn't feeling it ... and the worst thing is to force something that's not coming. So I let it go and turned to good old Dandelion ... who always lives up to her name (see below for part of the reason why I gave her that name):

In keeping with the dandelion as a flower, every time the drum is played, powerful vibrations will spread far and wide with positive results (reminiscent of a wish being made, the dandelion being blown and the seeds being dispersed.

I have a deck of the small Self Mastery cards, each of which has a different positive value or quality on it and a little message to go with it: Love, Peace, Transformation, Healing, etc. They sell them at the Raj Yoga centre for about $20 - $40TT by the way, if anyone is interested. Nice gift.

About one hour before the concert, with no new song to sing, this was my only hope. I decided to do a "call and response" song using several 'qualities' from this deck (as my lyrics) and the vibrations of Dandelion (as my music). When I went up to perform I told the audience I would be performing a call and response song called GLOBAL CIRCLE. I explained briefly that the positive vibrations of the drum will emanate globally and that the meaning of the words we use in our call and response will go out to touch people like gifts.

So ... I drummed Dandelion and sang/chanted various words I'd chosen ... and then the audience echoed what I had sung in the same melody.

E.g.
Me: Love, Love, Love
Audience: Love, Love, Love
Me: Peace, Peace, Peace
Audience: Peace, Peace, Peace
Me: Joy, Joy, Joy
Aud: Joy, Joy, Joy
Me: Release, Release, Release
Aud: Release, Release, Release

... and so it went for about 3 or 4 minutes, with different words. People were echoing the words/melodies and some were swaying to Dandelion's constant rhythm. While it was great as is/was, I wished that no one felt shy about being really loud. So for the last 'verse' where I/we repeated LOVE for each of the four lines, I said (before chanting out the last line): Okay, let's REALLY be loud with this last one!"

My request was instantly answered by a cute little girl dressed in hot pink (slippers, pants, tunic and headband) waving a flashing silver wand, sitting in the second row with her father. "LOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVE!!!!!!!!!!" her little voice screamed out above the moderate adult tones, magic wand flashing.

My immediate response was to shout: "Woohooooooooo!!!!!!" into the microphone and start clapping and laughing. It was a great moment.

After the concert I went to the little girl. Her name is Sarah and she's "four and a half". We chatted for a while about Santa, her flashing magic wand and a few other things. I found her to be very open and brave. When her mother came along, I said: "Sarah is really friendly and chatty."

"No she's not usually at all," the mother said. "She's actually very shy, but somehow she's taken to you. I think it was the music. She was singing along ... and then the way she she screamed out at the end. She loves music."

"Maybe she was drawn to this as well," I said, touching my beloved pink garland which I had worn to the concert. "Looks like her favourite colour is pink."

"Not just pink. HOT pink!" the mother exclaimed.

When I was leaving I went to Sarah, who was playing with a little glowing bouncing ball.

"So I see pink is your favourite colour," I said.

"Yes."

"Do you like this?" (pointing to my garland around my neck)

"Yes!"

"You want it?"

"Yes!"

I took it off and put it around her neck. It was the same colour as everything else she was wearing. She looked up at me her eyes sparkling ... and went back to playing with her glowing ball.

To market, to market ...?

When I went to the market this morning I was surprised to find it all locked up and like a ghost town. Very odd. I'd never seen it like that. I had to go to a small fruit/vegetable shop fairly near to home. While purchasing a few items I said to the shop owner: "I just went to the market and it was all empty and locked up."

What he told me in response reminded me of this Mother Goose rhyme:

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,
Home again, home again, dancing a jig;
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog;
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog;
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,
Home again, home again, market is done.

"This is what I've heard," he said. "I'm not sure how true it is, but I wouldn't be surprised. Where are the health authorities in this country?! They closed down the market because of a health hazard. HUGE RATS!"

To market, to market to buy a fat rat ...

A Synchronicitous Thanksgiving Conversation

Last night was the opening of a friend's first photography exhibition (Robyn Cross: Breathe). I went with my friend Glen, who was driving. We are not Americans, hence we don't celebrate Thanksgiving, but I thought it would be nice to celebrate anyway by giving thanks for things as we drove into town.

I said to Glen: "How about if we gave thanks - like a conversation? You say something you're thankful for, then I say something I'm thankful for and we go like that until we get into town." (i.e. about a 20 - 30 minute drive).

So we did that.

Glen began by saying: "I'm really thankful for having you as a friend."

I followed by saying: "I'm thankful for having you as a friend also."

We continued, listing different things, situations and people (ourselves included) that we were thankful for in our lives. Sometimes we would just say the thing, situation or person. Sometimes we would add an explanation or give a little story to flesh out why we were thankful.

Sometimes we can have long conversations with people and at the end wonder what we spoke about and why (i.e. empty chatter to fill space and time). But the Thank You conversation felt meaningful and intimate. As friends we were learning new things about each other and our selves through what we were thankful for and why.

At one point there was a lapse in our Thank You stream. Everything fell silent but the radio in Glen's jeep. In that space, the Universe joined our conversation as the synchronicitous words of the song on the radio wafted to our ears ... Alanis Morisette's Thank U!

THANK YOU

How about getting off of these antibiotics
How about stopping eating when I'm filled up
How about them transparent dangling carrots
How about that ever elusive kudo

Thank you India
Thank you terror

Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

How about me not blaming you for everything
How about me enjoying the moment for once
How about how good it feels to finally forgive you
How about grieving it all one at a time

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

The moment I let go of it was
The moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it was
The moment I touched down

How about no longer being masochistic
How about remembering your divinity
How about unabashedly bawling your eyes out
How about not equating death with stopping

Thank you India
Thank you providence
Thank you disillusionment

Thank you nothingness
Thank you clarity
Thank you thank you silence

yeah yeah
ahh ohhh
ahhh ho oh
ahhh ho ohhhhhh
yeaahhhh yeahh

True Love

True Love kept me company in traffic on the way home
(... and N.B. I wore my pink garland today as a bracelet)
*

Today browsing in RIK Bookstore with my friend Moka, I came across the book "True Love" by Buddhist Monk Thich Nhat Hanh. I stood there leafing through the pages, reading snippets and being absorbed by certain passages. All that I read felt true and resonated with things I had been thinking and feeling as well as things I (we) would do well to observe and practise. "Wow, I've got to get this book ..." I decided.

It was the only copy on the shelf and it was a bit dirty from people having fingered it often. I asked the woman at the counter if they had another copy.

She ascended the stairs to their stock room, calling out as she did so to a girl (let's say her name was 'Sally'): "Sally, you have any True Love up there?"

She came back down soon after. "No more True Love. This is the only one. I'll give you for $79."

(Ten dollars discount).

"Can you see if any of the other branches have it?" I asked her.

The woman made a few calls to other branches.

"You all have True Love?" she asked Long Circular Mall branch.

"You all have True Love?" she asked Grand Bazaar Branch.

"You all have True Love?" she asked West Mall Branch.

By that time, I had decided that this one last copy must be meant for me. Dirty or not, it seemed to be the only True Love left anywhere. Plus, I found it endearing that the woman was actually calling stores and asking them if they had True Love. This quaint verbal exchange made the little book seem more precious than a clean one could ever be.

"No one has any more True Love," the woman said to me as she came off the phone.

I told her that I liked the way she had been asking the other stores for 'True Love' and she chuckled - having not realised that by asking for the name of the book she had actually sounded as if she was asking for the thing itself ... True Love which, she then deduced, no one has any more of.

"Well you have it," Moka pointed out to me as I purchased True Love at a further $4 discount (seventy-five dollars).

Raw Communion: Holy Coconut Water

Close up shot of the 5 litre bottle of natural holy water
*

Today my usual coconut vendor wasn't there. He wasn't there on Tuesday either. I hope he's okay. Maybe he's just late or on holiday (although he seems too consistent and hardworking to take holidays).

I was craving noix de coco ('coconuts' in French) though, so I went to the vendor who sells near to the plant place across the road from HiLo. The 5 litre bottle that my vendor sells for $60 is $75 from this other vendor. I bought it anyway, because I wanted it.

While he was cutting nuts, I asked him to also give me some jelly to eat.

He cut the first jelly nut, broke it open and thrust it at me, saying: "Here! Take dis an' eat!"

It sounded like Holy Communion where they give the 'bread' and say: "Take this and eat in remembrance of me."

It is true. I never thought of it that way before. We are partaking in Raw Communion when we eat and drink from the cup of life that is a coconut.

An interesting conversation

The 5 litres of coconut water I bought this morning
*

This morning I went to buy coconut water from the Indian man who sells from a truck outside the pet store along the Eastern Main Road, St. Augustine. He fills up a 5 litre bottle for $60 ... which sounds expensive, but is cheaper than it is in POS and other vendors I've tried ($80 for the same thing). Plus this man's coconuts taste better - water and jelly are consistently sweet.

Usually we just say hello and I ask him a few questions about coconuts - or he tells me things like "The water nuts last longer" and "When you storing your water in the fridge, loosen the cap a bit."

Today as he filled my bottle, I stood next to him eating the jelly nuts he was cutting open for me. They were extra sweet. When I was done and the bottle was full, I asked him: "How long have you been doing coconuts?"

"Forty years," he said proudly.

"Wow!"

"I used to have donkey cart, you know." In those days he bought each coconut for seven cents and sold them at ten nuts for a dollar. Before that, in his father's day, a nut was even cheaper. His father would purchase coconuts at one cent each.

"I even in a history book, you know," he told me.

He couldn't remember the name of it. In fact, he didn't even know he was in a book (used in schools) until his daughter came one day and told him: "Daddy, you know you in my schoolbook?" ... and showed him.

"We have the book home," he said. "Is one day when a white woman run up to me, chase me down and ask to take my picture ... and then I end up in this book. Lots of people did take my picture, you know."

I asked him his name.

"Enal. E-n-a-l."

"And I'm Elspeth. Scottish for Elizabeth."

"You mean like Isabel?"

"No, just like Elspeth."

After a few attempts at pronouncing it, he got it.

He told me that he has worked hard all his life and that he always wanted his children to get a good education. "I didn't want my son to end up in coconut. He get a good education and a big job. My daughter too. Now she married and I have grandchildren."

He told me how he, with his coconuts, and his wife of 30 years, with her domestic work, had supported their little family.

"We do it together," he said proudly. "Two together does make the best one."

He had never been a party man and his wife, never a party woman. "Is hard work and then home every day to the family. And we is Christians. Jesus Christ." He then pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "This is my only vice."

"I used to smoke too, but I stopped seven years ago."

"I don't like to see woman smoke."

"Men too," I added.

"Men too," he agreed, pulling out a cigarette to light up. "But I feel we is human and God does let us have one vice which he does forgive us for. This is my vice. I ent never run down woman."

I found him simple, fascinating and inspiring: this unassuming man with his t-shirt and pants, missing teeth, one cloudy blue eye and little pick-up truck full of coconuts, standing patiently in the hot sun every day to earn a living and support his family.

I thanked him and we shook hands. As I turned to walk off, he blurted out: "And I could still climb coconut tree, you know!"

"Really?"

"And I is 55."

"Young," I said.

"And I still looking good for it!"