Grenada is the best place in the world, surrounded by his compatriots, he boasts, Grenada nice you know, you can hear spice man voice echoing in the room, sunshine beaming from his smile and the whiteness of his teeth, glowing and lighting up the room with every enunciation that he makes Grenada has the best beaches in the world he boasts, the food nice, nobody can make oil down as sweet as a Grenadian, and them Grenadian people real nice you know! You see those houses in Grenada!! Grenada has money you know…………. Truth is, he has no idea if Grenada has money. The problem with Grenada, boy oh Boy! He laments, Grenadians don’t listen, Grenada he shouts, commanding attention in the process like the great American general, Colin Powell once did. Spice man convinces everyone with his elegance and sublime delivery of the spoken words, that he alone has all the answers to solve the Grenadian problems, everyone seems persuaded by him just as the great general convinced the American nation that he had all the answers to Iraq. Spice man claims to knows all the movers and shakers of Grenadian society, governor general, prime minister, minister’s and even the vagrants, he knows them all. If only Grenadians would listen, he laments , Grenada would be a paradise, the truth is the only paradise that he has ever know, is the place called Paradise in St Andrews and that place is not any paradise, things rough in that place. Spice Man resides in London, New York, Toronto and many, many other parts of the Caribbean Diaspora creating a little Grenada wherever you find him, basements, apartments and houses. You can always find spice man if you do not have an address for him, by following your nose, the smell of the sweet aromatic spices coming from his cooking and wafting into the streets will lead you straight to him. His visits to Grenada to replenish his spices becomes increasingly less as the years pass, nevertheless, on his returns to New York, London or Toronto from Grenada his suitcases are noticeable larger and bulging in the middle, just as his waistline has become noticeable larger and bulging in the middle over the years. Once spice man was full of energy and vitality but the irregular shift patterns have taken away the best part of Spice man life, the spring that was once noticeable in spice man steps is no longer. He departs Grenada, suitcase filled with rum, fried fish, mangoes, spices and whatever else he manages to smuggle through customs. In his basement apartment, surrounded by his compatriots he shares all his stories and exploits of outwitting custom, to bring back a taste of the spice isle, for them. His compatriot’s now surrounds him with greater intensity, eyes glued to the suitcase, gazing and salivating at the wonderful aromatic smells coming from his suitcase. Spice man slowly begins the process of opening the suit case whilst His compatriots maintains a stealth like silent, their eyes steadfastly glued to the suitcase; as if frozen in time by a spell, unable to move. The expectation and anticipation at what the suitcase contains is so tense you could cut the atmosphere with a knife, the deadly silence is suddenly broken as silence turns to laughter when the rum is pulled out from the suit case first and someone shouts, get the glasses out! Today I visit spice man, I can’t see spice man, I see all his friends and they all saying nice things about spice man, but no spice man to be found. Finally spice man is rolled into the room, perfectly still and motionless, dressed in black, ready to meet his maker. The smile has gone, so too is the glow of earthly life, gone never to return to him. Spice man only dream was to travel and make Grenada a better, more just and equitable society, not just for him but for everyone; in his travel he built a better life for himself far away from Grenada, but a better Grenada for every one, eluded him to the end. Maybe things could have turned out different, had spice man sacrificed a few years away from the big apple, returned to the land where his naval string is buried, helped with the process of nation building; Things might have turned out different Who knows? Now we will never know. Rest now my friend and compatriot, in the knowledge that your dream to make Grenada a better more just and equitable place is alive and well. Your dream has been passed onto the next generation for completion, your body has gone but your spirit remains, let your spirit guide this generation until the task is done. Men die, dreams never do, rest my compatriot rest Slumber in peace, your work on earth is done. The Reflecting Observer