An Irishman in Paramaribo

The near reflective whiteness of his skin came as a shock to him now that he was suddenly surrounded by people of all colours. Many more variations in skin tone then he could have ever imagined. Even the boeroes, the white descendants of Dutch farmers that lived in this city seem to be a non-white shade of white. Kind of like there were forty shades of green in his country, there must be at least forty shades of beautiful brown skin in this place. And his shade seemed to scream:

'Attention, attention! Totally out of place, vulnerable, delicate, farmwise but not streetwise and very very very white Irish skin passing through.'

It was like he was beaming like a flashlight in a dark forest at night, attracting much more attention then he cared for. He could not see anyone looking, but he could feel their stares on his back, his shoulders and his legs as he walked down the sandy streets of this burning hot city.

Groups of men were hanging around on the veranda's of the wooden houses, at the stalls in the market that had the best food and the little carts on the corner that sold liquor by the shot.

They ate tropical fruits, wiped the juice from their skin. They smoked cigarettes, laughed the loudest at their own jokes and made appreciative sounds when a woman to their liking walked by. Baskets or bags of shopping on their arms or on their head. They walked slowly and the men took their time enjoying the movement of their impressive behinds.

He wished his skin would stop screaming so he could go unnoticed in the crowd and he himself could shamelessly indulge in the abundance of naked beautiful sweaty, shiny brown skin, covering the roundest of boobs and butts he had ever seen and massive thighs that could probably strangle you, and then again the strongest and leanest of girls, fierce like black panthers getting ready for a kill.

He realised he didn't see these woman as weak or needing to be taken care of like he did at home. They were different. They walked different. Talked different, looked out of their black eyes different. He wondered if they were a different species altogether, but waved the thought away quickly out of fear of being inappropriate.

In this city there were Chinese women, Indian women, Indonesian women, black women. And they hadn't been sitting still because there were loads of people walking around where no one could not tell what they were or where they came from. Asian, African, White, all mixed together like they had been playing God and maybe even won. From the faintest honey to black that looked like blue.

'Jesus, Mary and Joseph', he said out loud.

Followed by a quieter:

'If I hadn't seen such riches, I could live with being poor.'

And at that moment he knew he was never going home again, because he had find a new one.

Paramaribo was a small city. The complete country had a population smaller than Cork City. It had in common with his home that no matter how hard people tried to build it up, nature would conquer back what it had lost if one only looked away briefly all stone or wood would show some green again. The only difference was that at home the green would be moss, verns, ivy or mould for that matter and here it was the Amazone jungle responsible for trees, flowers, plants growing abundantly if only you dropped a seed on the ground.

'Hee, bakra!' a guy shouted. 'whiteboy! Come here, whiteboy!'

He did not like the sound of that.

A tall black guy, who had taken off his shirt and tied it around his waist, called and waved him to come over. He was hanging with two other men, drinking beer from big bottles. Bigger then a pint, but not yet a liter.

'Come here whiteboy, I want to ask you something. Don't be scared I won't bite you, I am not a piranha.'

The others laughed like it was the best joke that had ever heard. But he did not find it too funny. He feared what would come next. The guy put his arm around his shoulders and brought his face close to his. He could smell the beer in his breath, and his sweat too. He was getting used to the smell of sweat though. It was so hot, there was no getting around it anyway. Everyone seemed to have gotten over themselves on that topic and there seemed to be no shame about it at all.

'Hee whiteboy…. 'he paused, 'do you like our women?'

The other two screamed from laughter.

'We saw you look, so don't lie!'

'This whiteboy is looking for one blakka rosu! He doesn't know what lies ahead of him!' and again screams of laughter.'

'No, no. No more jokes. Sranang Kondre is the best country in the world and it has the most beautiful women in the world.

'Aaaaai!' nodded the two friends in agreement.

'Let me tell you a story about Suriname.' he started.

'Long long time ago, when God created the world and all the countries in it, he also created Suriname. It was a beautiful country, it had rivers, mountains, forests and even gold in the ground. The weather was always great, if you only dropped a seed on the ground it would grow into a big tree with delicious fruits in no time. And God was very happy with his creation. But some angels looked at the world and said to God:

'God, you always say that you are fair and honest.'

'Yes', said God, surprised and a bit annoyed.

'Well, all the countries that you made have things that aren't good. Some have too much rain, or it is freezing cold. Others have earthquakes or volcano's or hurricanes….'

'Yes….?'

'If you created all countries equal, why does Suriname not have anything bad.'

God had to stop and think about that. Reluctantly he had to admit that they were right. But he liked what he made so much, he didn't want to ruin it. So, whiteboy, do you know what he did?

'Who, God?'

'Yes, God.'

'uh, dunno'

'He created the Surinamese people!!!!'

The laughter was louder then a rowdy pub on Friday night. He got slapped on the back and the men ordered an extra djogo and put it in his hand.

'Welcome to Surinam, whiteboy'

He whiped the sweat of his forehead and took a big swag from the cold beer. Parbo, he read on the label. It was the most delicious sip of beer he had ever swallowed. The men’s attention was grabbed by some undefinable stunner who strolled by. And to be fair, so was his. He noticed his skin wasn't white anymore, but kinda very pink. He needed to drink this beer quickly and get the hell out of the sun. The fear was gone. He would go back there tomorrow. Maybe bring that bottle of Jameson he brought with him.