The Fun Fair has come to town and with it a bit of distress. Last week there were these weird plastic palettes on a section of Southall Park a stumble past the beginning of my morning jog. I knew it was coming but put it out of my mind because the fallen petals of the cherry trees always distract me, as I feel compelled to count the meters between where theyve fallen and their source. TIme changed yesterday so 5 was 4, making it too dark to see the petals as I stumbled past. It wouldnt have mattered anyway because their caravans arrived in the night. Shiny caravans with security lights and barbecues next to SUVs. All the gates were locked when the asshole Sikhs and I arrived at the entrance where we routinely ignore one another. They looked expectantly at me and I did what only another ethnic person would do in that instance, Ill go find which way in is open and come tell you. These guys and I hate one another. Theyre the age and TYPE that consider it a blessing to say, may you be the mother of 100 sons to the bride at a wedding. For months now, weve shared the Park at 5am. They try to run me off the path whether I politely move aside when they approach or not. If I zig-zag, theyll zag-zig to block me. Today was different, we were all irritated because the Park being locked up like this meant White people were in there trying to keep safe from us. Theyre Indian so they get demure in the face of this. Im Black so I get pissed off. After checking four of the gates I found the gate keeper on his way and told him he had to unlock the furthest gate because the old guys were standing there getting cold. There are several spots where the fence surrounding the Park is bent from fallen trees. I rarely use the entrances and we all know it. On principle, the old guys ONLY use the gates. Im too stupid to be afraid of the dark. Part of me believes that the dark should have enough sense to fear me. These people sheltered behind mirror glassed caravan windows creep me out. I dont feel safe from them. 12 hours later Im walking through the park on the way to the spice market for some veggies and the Parks still upset. The old guys are forced into the corner near the playground. Nobody should have to be sucked into such close proximity to screaming brats on a sunny day. My favorite homeless guy is forced from his afternoon cherry tree nap because the caravans are blocking it. I found him lying in the middle of the field outside the tennis courts where the delinquents smoke what they think is weed. The Parks not half as tidy as when he feels at home. Most mornings, I find him picking up yesterdays litter. He cant do that with the caravans around because they yell at him for wanting to keep his house clean. Their kids try to play with the locals but the caravan parents shoo them away in languages other than Hindi, Bengali, Tamil, Urdu and Gujarati.
Posted on: Mon, 31 Mar 2014 20:11:08 +0000
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