At The Half: Miss Wilda Does Independence

"Chile, when I was a girl, we didn’t had no Bahamian Independence to celebrate, just Empire Day and Queen’s Birthday, and all school chirren had to go out and salute de Queen and de British Empire," she explains. "Well, if we coulda make time for dem celebrations what wasn’t even our own, why I can’t make time for we own Bahamian t’ings?"

All this is just fine and dandy with me. If Miss Wilda wants to go all out for Bahamian Independence, then more power to her. I sometimes wish there were more people like her to make a big fuss about our special historic day. I believe that some of us have become so complacent in such a short time about our political Independence that we may even be in danger of forgetting what the actual day is truly all about. No, I wish Miss Wilda well in all her celebrations and festivities.

What’s troubling for me though, is that very often, Miss Wilda’s celebrations and good times have direct impact upon my physical comfort and upon my pocketbook. I’m usually the one pressed into service to provide a ride for Miss Wilda and some of her friends. Sometimes, I’m the one who has to actually dig deep to fund the price of the banquet tickets, the steak-out tickets or the admission fee to the gospel concert.

Once or twice, I’ve had to support the wine and other cocktails for Miss Wilda and her gang when they have gone into heavy party mode at the FNM banquet, and believe me, it was not an easy tab to support.

Bearing all this in mind, I was not too thrilled to get a telephone call from Miss Wilda this past Sunday, asking me to come by her produce stall on Carmichael Road so that she could discuss some Independence matters with me. I went yesterday morning, approaching her with mighty dread. She was closing a sale of scarlet plums and early mangoes to a man and his two small children in a white jeep when I pulled up.

I stood aside and waited patiently for her to finish because I did not want to be drawn into the business of providing change for her customer. She never has change you see, and once or twice before I’ve been suckered into giving change to her customers, never to see my money coming back from Miss Wilda again.

Once her customer drove away, I decided to attack first. "I thought you told me that weekends and holidays were the best days for your little side business of selling plants," I said. "How come then, you are making plans to waste time fooling around with holiday celebrations this coming weekend?"

If you know Miss Wilda, you are already acquainted with her great and expressive sighs. She seems to reach deep down inside of herself and bring out a release of breath which says so much about her feelings, her sympathy or lack thereof, or about your great stupidity. Her sigh is a great, unspoken communication which manages to say so very much.

Well, if you think Miss Wilda can speak with a sigh, you ought to witness one of her great stares. She’s got these wonderfully expressive eyes which, depending on the way she contorts them - large and rounded, small slits, crossed, glaring or twinkling - can convey her feelings without her moving any other muscle in her face or body.

She didn’t speak to me for a few seconds after my initial outburst. She simply stared at me, eyes rounded in surprise at first and then slit into twin beams of contempt and disgust. I felt like an nasty insect in the presence of this semi-homeless woman who had seen the world, suffered it’s hard blows and returned home with a proud heart and a fierce sense of independence. Without speaking, she had just chastised me for arrogance and mean spiritedness.

The she spoke. "You see exactly what I always say ‘bout y’all people who t’ink you so high and mighty and so smart? See what I mean? Y"all gat erryting you could possibly want and still you can’t take a lil time out to be thankful and grateful for all what yinna gat. Is a good t’ing da man and his lil chirren didn’t hear you talkin’ foolishness ‘bout Independence is a waste of time."

I was stunned by her attack, and made some efforts to defend myself. After all, I did not exactly say that Independence was a waste of time. I was only trying to suggest to her that her time might be better spent tending to her small plant nursery enterprise.

"Chile, ain’t nothin’ you say right now could make me feel better, so cheap as well you just keep quiet," she snapped. "You ain’t never been livin’ in nobody else country where you just know you didn’t belong. You even ain’t know too much ‘bout livin in dis Bahamas when you just know you and nobody who even look like you was in charge o’ t’ings, You come along in de good days and you just too arrogant and stupid to take time to put yourself in de shoes o’ people like me who done been through so much before dis time.

"When I was livin in de ‘States, all de time I used to listen to dem rich white people I used to work for and how dey used to talk ‘bout we country. Plenty o’ dem didn’t want us to be no true true independent country, you know. Some o’ dem did ‘fraid dat if black people did take over dis country, all o’ we woulda start behavin’ riotous and den dey wasn’t gon be welcome to come here no more. Dey didn’t want their ole time image of we country to change. You t’ink I did like hearin’ all dat?

"Den some people did t’ink we wasn’t smart enough to run no country back in dem days, chile. Dey thought all o’ we was ignorant and couldn’t hardly read and write, you know. Das why I was so glad when Milo Butler and Pindlin’ dem come ‘round and let de whole world know dat we was ready to be independent just like all o’ dem African countries and just like Jamaica and Trinidad and dem.

"I was proud to know dat we was gon’ show errybody dat we was good enough to run we own country. I was happy to know dat we was gon have we own flag and we wasn’t gon have to salute to de Queen no more. And you know what, chile? I still proud to be a Bahamian even to this day. I still love to know we have we own t’ings just like Great Britain and dem used to have. Flag and song and symbol and stamp and erryting else.

"Sometimes, even when I was still livin in de ‘States, I used to have some low moments ‘bout some t’ings I did hear was going on here at home. Some times even today, I still does feel kinda bad ‘bout some stuff I see here today; t’ings like crime and dirty environment and stuff. But you know what, girl? For the most part, I still proud to be a Bahamian. When you put us up ‘gainst other countries around de world what small like us and have the same money we have and de same t’ings we have here, we ain’t doing so bad, you know. Not bad at all. Sure, t’ings could be a lot better, and sure, people could behave a lot better and sure, we could all use some more money, but we ain’t doing all that bad..

"And you wan’ tell me that it is waste of time to celebrate Independence? Dat can never be a waste of time, and as long as God leave enough breath in my body and enough strength in dese ole legs to stand, I gon celebrate Bahamian Independence. I don’t care what you say or what you t’ink ‘bout it."

Thus making her declaration, Miss Wilda packed me a small bag of plums and one stingy mango and marched me to my car. I couldn’t leave without a last word, though, so I still asked her how the plans were coming for the annual Independence cook-out and gathering she usually attended with Miss Flora and the girls from Mr. Bowleg’s laundromat. This gathering is usually held in Miss Florrie’s backyard and neighbours drip in for drinks and the famous jerk chicken prepared by Miss Florrie’s son if he happens to be out of jail during the Independence season.

"Plans are coming along okay so far," Miss Wilda replied. "I already get all the stuff dey need from my son farm, and Miss Florrie boy done clean up de grill for Monday afternoon. Dis year, I even get de Haitian workers from my son farm to get me some fresh cassava and plantain so we could have a boil to go wit de jerk chicken. We have erryting we need, chile."

She kept a firm hand on my open car window however, and held on to my bag of plums for just a few seconds longer than necessary. I know the drill by now, so I simply sat there and fiddled with my bunch of car keys.

"Sweet girl, don’t mind Miss Wilda when she get on her high horse sometimes, hear? You know she’s get lil cross sometimes, but don’t mind dat. She ain’t mean no harm. Now, before you go, t’ink you could spare me one fifty dollars so I could get couple bottles o’ Mudda Pratt for de cook out on Monday?"