Me memba when Miss Mercy used to come a yard a evening time say she come look fi mama, yuh know, she always come when dinna a share. An when she done she lick har finga an say:”Lawd, Miss Mavis, yuh brown stew chicken taste good. It have any more bone deh?”
An always, mama have one more leg, (me nevah know seh chicken coulda have so much leg) an she full up Miss Mercy plate again. An all di talk Miss Mercy a talk is pure labrish she a give. Dat deh time all mama a do is bow har head an say :”What yuh saying to me, Miss Mercy?”
For nobody mus say mama say. An when she gawn me always say:
“Wha mek yuh no jus run har, mama, all she do is eat yuh food an chat people.”
An mama woulda say:”Ah, mi pickney, a dog will always bark an a cock will always say cock-a-doodle-do.”
Me look pon mama like she mus have taken leave of har senses, for me nuh undastan wha she a talk bout, how dog an fowl get into dis business. But, since me come a Foreign, chile, I begin to see what di goodly lady was talking about. For, no matta wha yuh do, some people will always do what dem do an dere is nuttin to change dem.
Me say, chile, di odda day, go into big-big supermarket, an when me say big, me mean big, for dem yah foreign people no do anyting half an half. No, no lickle corner shop whe yuh haffi call fi serve. Yuh get yuh cart an yuh push up one aisle an dung di nex, an yuh pick up wha yuh want. Chile, if you could see me a step like any cockatoo, a pick up an reject an examine. Anyway, chile, going on like me nice (an yuh ever notice seh a only dat deh time calamity strike), only to hear a voice bawl out:”But if is not Miss Mavis gal Ambrosine. Wha yuh a do a Foreign, chile?”
I was amazed. Nuh di one an only craven mout Miss Mercy an har mawga foot dawta dem call Denise, di one wha look like Chiney. Chile, ah look about me fi see if nobody watching an start fi decide fi put on a Foreign accent an gwaan like me nuh know dem. But di woman was all over me, hugging me like some long lost relative. Chile, I was abased. Ah smile a lickle smile.
“Oh, Miss Mercy, how are you?”
“Tap, chile, yuh talk like a real Foreigner fi true. Den is where yuh live, Ambro?”
Ah had was to tell har. An lo an behold, chile, Sunday evening, who present demself jus as me deh share di lickle food. Oonu see mi dilemma? For she bring di one Denise an har two angel dem, an a young man dem say is Denise fiancé. Chile, ah stretch so til, an when ah done, hear di one Miss Mercy:
“Lawd, Ambro, yuh is yuh modda own heart. Yuh can really fix di brown stew chicken. Ah hope yuh doan wash out di pot yet?”
An would you believe ah find anodda pieca leg, for dat was suppose to be mi lunch nex day. Chile, ah tell yuh, Foreign no change some people at all, no sah, ask Miss Mercy, she wi tell yuh.