Riddim in the park

ONLY in California, yah.

Picture this:

Sunny sunday day in the park by Berkeley's city hall..

4 dudes - definitely of Central American latino ancestry, all tattooed up both professional and prison style, having a picnic on a blanket , with cheese and wine. The good shytte.

SWitching from spanish to spanglish to california-ese (DUDE!!! Some hella shit).

Kicker. The music blasting? Reggae.

Bob Marley man.

Yeah man. California, iyah.

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I lay half-dozing in the grass, reading the latest Toro magazine, and watched a tall young man with full dreads walk by..

"TREVOR!! Wha'appen ute?"

Like most people wearing dreads in California, he is definitely not Jamaican. But he has a Jamaican name. (His mom was fascinated by Jamaica and Jamaicans, this is why this biracial young man who couldnt fake a jamaican accent to save his life, has a Jamaican type name.)

Its because of his name, is why I feel compelled to talk to him in Jamaican. He often has a hard time understanding me, but hey.

After we hugged and exchanged our pleasantries, it turns out he was on his way to the street festival in Berkeley to sell some.. uhh.. truffles.

Medicated truffles. Chocalate, you know. *wink*

The only truffles I know that sell for 5 bux apiece.

The 4 picnicing dudes were very interested.

I let the californians do their thing.
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If I parlayed a Jamaican accent here, I'd get over, BIG time.

Unfortunately, its hard for me to speak in Jamaican fluidly if Im not speaking TO a jamaican (or a rastafarian California kid whose name is Trevor..)

When people around here find out that I WAS born Jamaican, the attitude changes to the warm side.

Altough most folk here will never set foot in Jamaica, they totally identify with it..

There is one young lady who INSISTS I talk to her in patois. (She's got dreads and other coptic accoutrements).

I could sooo get over, rasta.

But I an' I nah go fake nuttin.