The bitter taste of fear has numbed her pallet and
Dried out her tongue like a forgotten carpet left out in the sun
Lawd – she crossed oceans to get her life
Umph – she aint even gonna go there
Cause fear will tag up with doubt and anger
And dem three gon woo a stroke
Now gurlfriend is too fly for facial paralysis
Hardliner shivers – as that barely-outta-winter-March-Breeze
Guts her bones – bringing her tear ducts to overflow
She looks up to heavy grey skies – that pimp pisstossity
Yow Spring – bitch you better wake the hell up
Cause a sista needs some hope right now
Since faith bolted like a runaway slave
She gon come out and say – she is scared – like a little gurl – scared

Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen
Nobody knows my sorrow
Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen
Nobody knows but Jesus…

Chile – you betta stop this here foolishness
Taking the Lord God’s name in vain

The fiery energy of Ms. Almah strikes her dome like a lightning bolt
Ms. Almah – not today – a sista can’t today

Who are you in this experience chile
Nevertheless – the red robed Earth Mother ignores her pleas
Hardliner heaves a heavy sigh – accompanied by an eyeroll
How about tired of this here UK experience – cause it aint working right now Ms. Almah
A sista misses the feel of real sun on her back
The melodious surf of the ocean – burrowing her feet into the sand for grounding
Aint no freaking grounding in this frozen earth


Almah side sweeps sista’s woe is me as though swatting a mosquito
Asking again – who are you in this experience Hardliner
Not what are you or where are you
Who refers to your state of being
Who you are in this experience dictates how you manage the experience
And baby – you have flung yourself into bottomless black

Not a good managerial decision she take it – Hardliner pimps deadpan humour
Oh – a sista is being humorous in this here experience – cool

Ooooooooh chile – that tongue gon be the death of you
Rennah’s lilt makes an appearance before coming corporeal
For someone who don’t like fire – well –

The amber robed Earth Mother lets that well play out
As Hardliner warily looks up to meet the fire dancing in Ms. Almah eyes
Leading a sista to check her disrespect at the door
Cause she don’t want no parts of dat
And so – she apologises to the fire-breathing-tornado-wielding Earth Mother Guide
Who gobbles up sista’s emotional landscape with dem other worldly eyes of hers
Get up chile – she commands – offering sista her hand

Thus Hardliner rises from the Yellow Brick Road
And pulls up her big gurl parachute panty
To meet the experience of adjustment to life in the UK
Apart from marriage – her sojourns in Great Britain have left a sista
Battered and bruised by sublime whoop ass
With the word entrapment defining her experiences
Mainly because she felt imprisoned by her mama drama
Made worse by the isolation she felt in having no close kin
To turn to when things were really jacked up
Saint Lucia has always represented freedom
The safe harbour in which she spent a relatively happy and carefree childhood
Until young adulthood collided with the trauma that is her mama
But now as a grown-ass woman she has come to realise that
Her negativity towards living in the UK was in fact – an heirloom of hardship
Disillusionment and limitation bequeathed by her mama
And so – as a grown-ass woman – she chose to surrender that shit
For a life of limitless possibilities
Enter here – the pursuit of her newfound purpose via Britain – to get her life
Where she is still being ass-whooped
Dang mama – what gives – Hardliner raves

Which brings us back to the same question – who are you in this experience

Dumb-ass question she mutters – mulling over the said question
In her dome as they stroll the Yellow Brick Road
Spirt gives her a nudge in the direction of an old school soca jam
Riding the wings of a saline wind
David Rudder’s High Mass christens the air
As Spirit pulls a 360 on the scenery – landing them in a sweet beach spot

Where the sun is holding court in a sharp blue cloudless sky
Adding shimmer to the water that gently laps the golden shore
Yeh – her gut is doing a jelly wobble right now
Due to this here sudden landscape change
Yet Hardliner soaks in this stunning scene
If this was back home – it would be the perfect beach day
Home – the pangs of nostalgia hits her hard
Man – sista would even peel yam and dasheen right now – which is saying something
Cause it would normally take an emotional seismic shift
To compel Hardliner to face a kitchen sink – to peel hard food
High Mass ministers to her soul – adding a potency to the Caribbean flavouring in the air
And Hardliner gets it – this here breakthrough is about identity
Who is she in this relocation experience?
She is a West Indian living in Britain
Sista gurl is not and has never been British
Well now – this awareness is suddenly all up in her grill


And why does this awareness resonate so deeply – Rennah enquires

Hardliner presses pause – to collect her thoughts in this space
She guesses that this awareness of her otherness has always been with her
Although she was raised in the Caribbean – adopting the customs
And identity of what it means to be Caribbean folk
She has always felt apart – knowing that her history began on British soil
With her spending intervals of her life there – tethering her to it

So do official documents dictate who you are – the Earth Mother poses

Huh?

A passport is a passport baby – Rennah continues
But we’re talking about the rhythm and flow of what makes you – YOU
Something you can’t find in a passport or on a Birth certificate

Umph – true dat
The coveted status of British citizenship does not make her British on the inside
Whilst Hardliner acknowledges her cultural disconnect to Britain
She also acknowledges her feelings of not being ‘Lucian enough’
Cause she cah speak Kwéyòl – dirty words – don’t count
She aint too keen on hard food – except when homesickness hits bone
The rhythms of Soca – Calypso and Zuk burrowed their way into her heart
To alleviate the heavy weight of separation from home
Moreover – sista’s waist churns out a hard wine – devoid of that inbred sweet
Rhythm carried by Saint Lucian women
And don’t get her started on that hybrid accent – sticking out like a Brazilian weave
Failing to conceal the kink that is happy to live nappy at the base of the scalp

Ooooh chile – and that is what you take from being a Saint Lucian – Rennah states
Amusement colouring her tone – dig deeper baby – she presses
Whilst moving in a fluid motion to rub circles onto Hardliner’s back
Which never fail to elicit a steady stream of emotional regurgitation
Since their magical effect pushes past flesh and bone
To lay root in her boyo – that place beyond her gut
Sending Hardliner into deep-ass breathing as she burrows her feet
Further into the sand for grounding
High Mass has evoked memories of Carnival – umph – the pageantry – the fêtes
The revellers – the mass camps – the fyah of steel pan orchestra
Culminating an explosion of colour and soca and sin that is the bacchanal of Road March
Though Hardliner also knows that being Saint Lucian is more than bacchanal
More than fluent Kwéyòl – and a fluid waistline
More than the itch of peeling yam and dasheen over a kitchen sink
And in this more – she finds herself
Cause she may have been born in England but she was birthed by Saint Lucia
The land that gave her identity – heritage – ancestry – family
Her Lucian upbringing tinges the way she looks at and moves in the world
Being Saint Lucian is the foundation of her badassery – also an heirloom
Bequeathed by kinswomen who watch over her
So here she with arms outstretched in this redefining moment – fully affirming
I is Lucian – We is Caribbean – and it feels so good

Almah watches with approval lighting up her eyes – yes chile – I is We
I am one grain of sand that multiplies under Serengeti skies
She recites a line in one of Hardliner’s poems – gifting sista a rare smile
You Chile – are that one grain of sand that multiplies
In power – strength and resilience
You carry the imprints of generations in your blood
You carry your kinswomen with you – past and present
And when you multiply – it is their power – strength and resilience
That you also draw from – you are not alone in this experience

Hardliner wants to fold into an fugly-ass cry
Cause this relocation experience has stripped her neked
Exposing her underbelly – the region holding her vulnerabilities
In this full circle moment sista acknowledges the isolation and disillusionment
As by-products of jumping from her little goldfish bowl
Into this here mutha fucking ocean of limitless possibilities

And that tongue – Rennah chides but smiles – so chile
When situations in life intimidate you – cause pee to run down your leg
Carry all those badass women into these situations
They paved the way for you with their blood sweat and prayers to be here
To thrive in the world of your making
In such a world you have no need of bottomless black
The Earth Mother reaches out and gently wipes Hardliner’s tears
Then lightly pats her cheek – you gon be alright baby

Yes she will – cause I is We – and Hardliner is standing strong in her badassery
And she feels warm – soul deep – for the first time in a long time
So gurlfriend gon revel in her otherness – rolling with her hard wine
In two blinks and a wink Hardliner finds herself back on the Yellow Brick Road
Hell yeh – Spring has hit the brick – with trees pimping
Gorgeous peach and butter-yellow blossoms
Whilst sista marvels at Spring’s splendour Spirit gifts her a red flag
Cause Holy Mas has faded out into Bacchanal
Yeh man – that right here is her Spring Road Mach jam
Bacchanal mashing up dat Yellow Brick
And Hardliner is working dat fierce wine – it may be hard but a sista doh care