“…Another Monday…”

When I heard the gory details from my trusted and worthy informant, I thought again and wondered how it came to be that my bishop-friend found himself smack-dab in the middle of you know who.

But even as I make this point, note well that the good Bishop is mandated to go into the high-ways, the by-ways and the fish-fry joints as He demands.

And so I suspect, Bishop Hall went to the Fish-fry to say how happy he was to be there as the crowd prayed and danced and wept and otherwise cried out for peace.

Here take note that Ancient Man – so I am informed – also cried out in his own lubricious way about the piece he wanted.

Some other Bahamian man made sure that when he got to the place where the artists were calling out for peace, he would have his piece. And so he went armed with one of the ‘pieces’ he owned, his favorite Glock.

Another punk – so I am told – left his piece [a .357 magnum] with his favorite girl-friend. And so it came to be that when this brother was at the Fish-Fry, his girl had the fine task of caring for their first-born son and his favorite gun, the Magnum.

There it goes, homonyms running amok.

But seriously, this Monday was one hell of a day.

This Monday was one hell of a day because like most other Mondays, this Monday was the day when we all knew that we would wake – God willing – to the stench left in the wind by innocent bloodshed throughout this troubled land.

And so, this Monday past, the first information I got early in the morning was to the effect that, "TWO men became the victims of violent murders yesterday in the space of less than three hours.

"A Burger King Manager was beaten and then stabbed to death after being abducted and a Bahamasair pilot was shot dead in his home.

"Both murders occurred just hours after Bahamians gathered for a peace concert at Arawak Cay on Saturday night to protest the "shocking" levels of criminal activity in the Bahamas.

"The pilot, Lionel Lewis McQueen, 29, was found dead in his blood-splattered Golden Palms Estates home, near Kennedy subdivision, shortly after 4am. He had been shot several times. A second man, the pilot's cousin and roommate Martez Saunders, who also suffered multiple gunshot wounds, was found alive in front of the home…"

On another Monday, I heard the news about Bianca Evans and Bones Collie/ and on another Monday, I heard the report in the wind about the people who died in the fire.

And on another Monday, I remember that I heard the story about the Black man who was walking in the Camperdown area of his island and how as he walked someone blasted his guts out and as to how he bled to death.

And on another Monday morning, I read in the Bible as to how Jesus Christ was murdered.

And then there was that other story about my own grand-mother, Viola Sands who was also murdered. That was another Monday morning.

Mercifully, on that Monday morning, I was safe and sound in that other somewhere babies reside before they are dredged up by man and women who believe that they are the ones responsible for knitting sinew to sinew, bone to bone and covering it all with flesh and skin and spirit, most of all.

And as I thought these kinds of things, I reminded myself that, as the Minister of National Security and his Brothers and Sisters of the Table get set to do their thing by sending this or that man to his death, courtesy the government and people of the Bahamas, I wonder to myself and only to myself what they propose to do once they understand that the neighbors, family and friends of the people they kill are themselves voters/ and that when you piss off voters/ particularly when these voters are poor, Black people, you run the serious risk of getting these poor, Black people to understand that you consider them little more than pawns you shuffle around at will – and when you are done with them, you hang some and have a big grill and chill party for the others.

Of course, Tommy and his ilk are going to command that some of the men who are death-row should be killed forthwith/ and they will be killed/ and after they have been killed someone or the other – perhaps Tommy himself – will be reminded of the time when Clayton Dean was shot in the back and sent to Thy-Kingdom- Come with a hole blasted out of and through his back/ or for that matter, Tommy and his ilk might remind themselves of the time when Jesus Christ – another innocent man – was murdered.

What I’m trying to say is that once the bloody deed is done, blood will still flow/ innocent and not so innocent men, women and children will be shot down, some of them chopped up and so very many others – like the students throughout the land – who have school buildings and few teachers – will understand what it means when they are told that they wrestle not against flesh and blood and that they are striving against the forces of evil and yea, that they are up against principalities and powers.

What I’m trying to say is that ours has become that kind of bad and evil place where the littlest are often denied even the most basic/ and where some boast as to how they have made enough money out of the sweated labour of niggers that they can and do choose whether they will live here or there/ or whether they will go skiing this month or next.

Of course, the niggers – as they must – sometimes go ballistic/ venting their pent-up fury and rage on each other’ thus the high and so call rising crime rate that makes the news every day.

And of course, no day passes when some set of idle fools or the other does not rise to its hind-most legs with suggestions as to how the niggers can and should be contained.

More guns/more bullets/ more police cars/ GPS monitoring devices for the police/ GPS monitoring devices for the children/ GPS monitoring devices to be worn a la David Yurman pieces on the ears, in the nose and in the arm-pits/ in other words, David Yurman forever.

And while we are at it, since very many murders take place between family members and close associates, perhaps, perhaps and just perhaps, Prime Minister, the Rt. Hon. Hubert A. Ingraham and his confederate in matters political and in business, the Rt. Hon. Perry Gladstone Christie might just perhaps agree that every family should be fitted with its own coterie of live-in neighborhood police – particularly the ones who now ride around in spanking new Ford Rangers as if they were some kind of Ton Tons Macoutes [dark shades, scowls and all] just perhaps the Cabinet could arrange to have these brothers and sisters put in some over time by having lunch, dinner and supper with any and all Bahamians who might be contemplating getting sick and tired of some one or the other.

And so, just like that – for the cost of a handful of meals – the murder rate would go down!

And Christie would be a real national hero/ and so would Hubert Alexander Ingraham.

Alas! Another Monday cometh.