My Royalist mother would have been smiling down at me from her seat on the right-hand side of God, as the taxi arrived to pick me up to meet the Queen at Buckingham Palace. Today would have been her seventy-third birthday, so I hope she’s still smiling down at me as I write this little missive.
I was having a discussion with one of my regular taxi drivers the other day. We were on the subject of a depreciating Cedi, high levels of government misappropriation of funds and other social ills in Ghana, when he suddenly pointed to a man walking
Two men beside me are talking very loudly, but I don’t understand what they’re saying. Not even enough to know if they’re talking about me. Another man has joined. They are definitely not talking about me – at least not now. They seem not even to notice my presence. Am I a ghost, a mere shadow of my former self?
To coincide with a new website outlining Sylvester Stein’s interesting life, the Nononsense Press republishes his third novel, written in the early ’60s and called, ‘What the World Owes Me by Mary Bowes.’
Friends told me, ‘DC’ meant ‘Dark City,’ so I packed my bags and headed for a year in “The Nation’s Capital” – Washington, District of Columbia, U-S of A. The day is a Saturday, 12th October, and The Million-Man March is scheduled for Monday.
The term “ESN” was a popular label given to black children, particularly boys, and those new to British schools. As low expectations lead to low achievements, this ‘self-fulfilling prophecy’ may well have become fact had it not been for my mother’s tenacity, regular elocution lessons, and private tuition from a band of strict Catholic nuns.