Never over Tara, the Inner City People's Princess
Recently, Mrs. Clivio wrote some poetry about the plight of inner city people. The title of her article should have been:
"A Vacca Foeda, on What she Thinks Life is Like in Jamaican Inner City Communities".
I wonder if she is planning to write anything else about the plight of innercity people? An epic text, detailing the grinding poverty of her compatriots. God knows they can't read or write to save themselves. Poor darlings, and they are so ambitious. The people of the inner city need Princess Tara, the Innercity People's Princess, to save them. Just one look at her pale skin will quench their thirst and satisfy their hunger. They will realise how poor and hopeless they are, and will stop wanting to leave the inner city where they don't deserve to be, but where they are anyway, sadly, because this is the only way Princess Tara can feel good about herself. I know she enjoyed her tour.
Here are some questions for you, Mrs. Clivio, to frame your epic text on the inner city:
1. Mrs. Clivio, have you ever sat down to have a talk with the 18-year-old girl who is living with her unemployed boyfriend in an inner city community, but who feels that she has no choice but to have unprotected sex with your white lawyer friend from foreign, on that day's issue of the Jamaica Gleaner, spread out on the floor of his office every evening after work so she can pay the rent? Would you offer her free coffee in your fancy uptown coffee shop? Or is it just a service you provide to potential clients who can afford it anyway?
2. Mrs. Clivio, have you ever used the facilities (bathroom, toilet, shower) in an inner city community home? No, not one in a Housing Trust housing scheme.
3. Mrs. Clivio, have you ever sat down in a poorly lit bar/restaurant in an inner city community and had yourself a lunch of fried chicken leg and white rice with ketchup gravy? Did you smell the stench of cigarrette smoke, Heinekin and rum? Did the sound of loud chatter and dominos clanging on the tables ring in your ears?
4. Mrs. Clivio, have you ever had a talented, educated young man living in the inner city make love to you, doggy style, on the bed he shares with his younger brother, with the roar of a rusted fan, the strong odor of cheap cologne, and music from Irie FM attacking your senses? Would you offer him a steak dinner if you heard his stomach growl after you rolled off the bed, with a wide grin on your face, exhausted from two back-to-back sessions of deep thrusting? It's a miracle that he has so much energy, you might think, because he's undernourished.
If you have never done any of the above things, Mrs. Clivio, you don't really know what life is like for people in the inner city. It means that when you write about the housing plight of people in the inner city, it is either out of embarrassment, or for lack of anything sensible to do with your time.
I would like to see what you write about inner city people after you've chewed and swallowed the oppressive need for a better life, and then felt it seeping out through your pores. What will you say after chronic depression, fear, shame, and low self-esteem send shockwaves of orgasms through your body?
Maybe then you will have the proper perspective.