The Proper Colour For Love.

Well, my dear, Valentime Day gone again.

Picture this! Parrots are flying high above the coconut trees, screaming an’ hollering, as usual, in the early morning sunlight and the kiskadees are chirping away, Mister steps out of his home, boombastic like in the Shaggy song…wallaaps…he suddenly remembers the date, he rushes to town to line up a set of Hollywood-Hallmark style flowers, perfume, chocolates for his Lady or Ladies, to secure his favours.

What’s jolted his memory?

Red!

Yes, me frien’, on this fabulous, commercialised love day, you will see many a citizen of my lovely native land sporting red blouse, red shirt, to mark the occasion. Call the people smarmy, corny, cheesy, we ain’t care, we love Love, we are the most romantical of all in the Caribbean-West Indies. It’s why you heard Kuch Kuch Hota Hai in shops and from music carts in the streets for over a year.

Normally, red for luuuve ain’t a problem.

Confusion drizzled down when the government changed in 2015.

See, that new government was a little opposed to red. They launched school buses, shinygreen and yellowbright; pennants and banners fluttered and shimmied on lines and buildings like yellow allamanda flowers in glossygreen bushy leaves. (Talking about bush, one of my gal-pals joked that another gal-pal used to hide as a teen in a clump of bush to stalk a boy, but that is another story for another day, weyyy heyyy). The green-yellow party kinda overdo the do though, went overboard a tad too much. The city was beginning to feel a little bile-ish and jaundicey.

Amidst the festoon of yellow and green balloons celebrating something-something months later, up came Valentime.

Lawd have mercy.

What colour should government’s supporters wear? Red was as inappropriate as walking nekkid outdoors but even the nekkidness wasn’t as bad as red ‘cos a mad man been roaming the streets freely without clothes, I did see he with me own two shockid eyes.

Red became true-true trouble because it was the colour of the main opposition party. Their rallies in Kitty Market Square gave new meaning to Red Sea. From market to Atlantic rose a crimson tide. It couldn’t get mo’ redder than that. It was mo’ red than my red glass bangle, mo’ scarlet than the velvet bow my auntie gave me when I was a li’l girl-chile, mo’ ruby than we blood.

See now the dilemma of the green and yellow government, my friend? Heh. So devoted were their supporters that, when they won in 2015, one youth-man sped up an electricity pole on a side street in town and tied a green and yellow flag at the top. Horrors!! The splinters, I thought. Suppose he lose he grip and slip willy-nilly down that wallaba-wood post and the splinters jook and jab!! He possibilities gon end right there and then, no more chance of romance.

I heard a rumour that Someone Big solved the problem. “Our supporters should wear green and yellow for Valentine’s Day,” he announced. I dunno if the rumour was true but, if my mind wasn’t playing tricks, I saw less red on that day of love.

Time passed, sun and rain married, parted ways, moon and sea united, separated. Supporters turned fickle and began sporting red for Valentime again.

Five years onwards, the main opposition party became government. Lo, the people sported red on Valentime without a care for politricks.

Aaah, but election year is here again, my friend. I ain’t know what colour gon be appropriate for the next Valentime.

Far as I care, love shouldn’t have any colour.

What about white, you ask?

Even that got hijacked once.

It was at an open air fashion-show celebrating romance, and the ticket said, Everyone must wear white. Well, I don’t like being sheep, I wore black, and my friend who had something to do with the show, who also worked for the green and yellow party, commented to me about my contrariness. Years later now, I wonder if they’d specified white because, if they hadn’t, women and girls would’ve turned up in red for romance and that wouldn’t have looked good to the green and yellow lovers, right?

So yeah, far as I care, love shouldn’t have no damn colour, it shouldn’t be the hue of money and commerce, shouldn’t have the stain of manipulation with man and woman squeezing partner to stay in check. Love ain’t no games and politics. It ain’t even romance. It’s the doings, even when some days are struggles up a mountain in the Interior, and then we say, Awright, awright, nah take worries, let we stop and eat li’l bit, here, I give you chicken, you give me channa, drink li’l water, and so we nourish one another.

Enough of me rambling, my dear. Lemme go share-out some food for me and the Aged M. Remember to take care of you. Eat good food, dance up li’l bit. See you two Sundays from now. Plenty luuuve, neena.

PS. If you have it in your heart, please send this to friends and fambly who are not on Substack.