A MOSQUITO IN A NUDIST CAMP

Nov 01, 2010 Features / Columnists, Tony Deyal column

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The Trinidadian sense of humour is both a blessing and a curse.  Regardless of the colour of the citizen in question, the humour is as black as a hearse and as funny as a stab in the back.
Yet, even when you’ve been embarrassed or humiliated by someone you respect or think of as a friend, through the miasma of ridicule and the insatiable desire for revenge, the ridiculous stands out like the big flag the last government put over the National Stadium or the loss suffered by the same government in the last election, and while you cannot laugh out loud, you at least grin and shrug.
My father was a Trinidadian through and through.  He truly cared for me but the Trini in him came out like snapshots from a candid camera.  Three examples from a lifetime will give you a sense of the Trini sense of humour – two of them from my father.
We had driven to the beach and as we hit the sands of Los Iros, I jumped out of the car and headed for the sea.  My father called me back.  He said drily, “When you dead they bathe you but they don’t feed you.  Eat your food first and then you could go into the water.”
No arguing with that.  Another time, on a Carnival Monday morning, we were hunting for iguana in the forest around the town in which we lived.  Like other country folk, we could not consider any celebration complete unless there was “wild meat” associated with it.
Iguana or “Rex”, covered with gravy, went well with dasheen or even sopped up with bread.  Since we had no hunting dogs but had a gun and some willing spotters, we were out in the bush while the townspeople played their Monday morning “mas”.
I kept reminding everyone, as I walked along narrow trails in the dark, mosquito-infested forest, that I had promised to meet a young lady in a nearby village where big celebrations were due to take place and the Prime Minister of the West Indies Federation, Sir Grantley Adams, was due to appear.
Franklin, walking in front of me, struck aside a long hollow branch hanging from a tree.  It swung and then struck me on the right side of my face together with what seemed thousands of wasps (“Jack Spaniards” or “Jeps”) that had built their nest in the branch.  That side of my face was red and hugely swollen.  I was really upset and in pain.
My father looked at me and said to the others, “Maybe if we could get some more Jep to sting him on the other side of his face he would look better.”
My third example is a typical Trinidadian joke.  A “Banga” or “Grugru Bef” tree is like a palm tree covered with extremely sharp thorns of “pickers”.  You can get to the fruit but not by climbing unless you want to get “jook” (or “bore” as they say in Guyana).  The story goes that one day some men were gambling when the police raided and one of the gamblers was hit with a “bull pistle” (“bull pizzle” or whip made from a bull’s penis).   Such is the power of the pistle, the man ended up on top of a Banga tree.
After the police left, the man’s friends and family told him that it was safe to come down.  The man looked at them and asked, “What for picker to jook me?”
This is why, when I told one of my Trini friends that I was ill, I expected no sympathy.  “What happen?  Your sins catch up with you?” he asked.  “In a way,” I explained.  “I went as a resource person to a Dengue Workshop and got a bad case of Dengue.”
He laughed, “Is a good thing you didn’t go to a Cancer workshop.”
Before I could reply, he continued, “But hear this.  What you should really do is go to an Intelligence Workshop and you could take all the politicians in Trinidad with you even though I doubt that will help.”
It is the Trinidad way.  The sympathy comes second to the opportunity to make a joke at your expense or somebody else’s.  “So how you feeling?” he asked.  “Not good,” I answered.  “There are four serotypes of dengue and when I had the third one I was in hospital for two weeks on drips and when I went home I had a relapse and ended up in hospital again for another two weeks.  This one is associated with diarrhea, joint pains, pain behind my eyes, ague fever – it is really bad.”
“Well don’t take no aspirin for it or Ibuprofen,” he counselled.  “Take some rum and mix it with a little lime and honey and you good to go – to the washroom at least if nowhere else.”
The Trini reaction (typically “Ah hear youh sick”) was completely different from my friend and former colleague Mike (Dr. Michael Nathan) who was until his recent retirement, the Dengue point man for the World Health Organisation (WHO).  He was solicitous:  “Oh dear, this sounds rough. I am not a physician but this is pretty typical of dengue I would say. Plenty of fluids should also include some Coke (or rehydration salts) as well as water if the diarrhoea continues.
“Your temperature should subside in 5-7 days from onset i.e. soon. Only thing is to look out for signs of severe disease but this would be unusual so late after onset. These might include a sudden drop in temperature followed by cold and clammy extremities and/or rapid heartbeat, weak pulse, lethargy or restlessness, any signs of bleeding, low blood pressure, etc.
“If any of these signs manifest, or temperature, diarrhoea continues for another day or so, get yourself to a doctor without delay just in case of severe dengue (formerly dengue haemorrhagic fever).  Hope you are already feeling a bit better. Likely that you will feel tired and weak for quite some days after recovery.”
I had started my presentation to the regional Dengue experts at the Workshop with my usual attempt at a funny introduction.  I referred to one man who was asked to speak on the topic of “Sex” and when called to the rostrum said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure” and then sat down.
He had not told his wife the truth but said he was giving a lecture on “sailing” so that when a friend told his wife how brilliant her husband’s speech was, she was dumbfounded, “That’s really strange,” she commented.  “He’s only done it twice.  The first time he fell overboard and the second time he almost drowned.”
I then said that the last time I spoke to a similar group I had started with, “I feel like a mosquito in a nudist camp.  I know what I have to do but I don’t know where to start.”  Clearly the mosquito spies who came to gather intelligence at the Workshop knew where and with whom to start.  Maybe I should stop making jokes about them and stick to sex as a safe topic.  Even at the risk of falling overboard or drowning, it might be better than how I’m feeling now.
*  Tony Deyal was last seen  saying that someone had drilled a hole in the fence of the same nudist camp to which he was referring and the police are now looking into it.

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