Of Chickens & Broomsticks

Yesterday I volunteered to help one of my girlfriends clean out her new apartment so that she could move in over the weekend and this led to the most exciting adventure thus far for the year!

She told me it was a cosy, one bedroom apartment located in an idyllic setting. This is how the real estate agent described the apartment to her – this is how she described it to me. Sounds great right? But this is Trinidad! The entire Caribbean is idyllic! When a real estate agent says that to you… be worried!

We arrived at the street that led to the apartment, and though located in Curepe (which is a small town a few miles away from the capital city of Port of Spain) I felt as if I were walking through the village of Moruga (which is about as far away from Port of Spain that you can get in Trinidad).

The entire street had chickens, dogs, ducks and other assorted wildlife roaming freely. There was a LOT of foliage and to top it off we actually had to cross a bridge (yes there was a river) to get to the apartment!

We finally arrived at the yard with the apartment. And I really mean that. It was a yard. With the requisite dirt, stones, grass and three chickens pecking busily about!

Trying to ease my discomfort with unfamiliar territory I jokingly referred to the three chickens as “Sunday lunch” and we started to make all the local jokes regarding “yard fowls” etc. As we got nearer, one of the chickens came towards us sizing us up from head to toe.  I laughed and pointed him out to my girlfriend and started to veer left to avoid him.

Imagine my surprise when he mirrored my change in direction! I paused, and went to the right thinking to myself “this is just a fluke”. The rooster also went right! I stopped walking immediately and started backing up. The more I backed up the more he came forward. And as I was increasing speed – so was he!

My girlfriend, in utter disbelief picked up three stones from the yard and began to pelt it at the rooster. By this time I was screaming at the top of my lungs “what, what, what?” I had no idea the question I wanted to ask, but it was all I could manage.

It was Priscilla, dear sweet Priscilla, who was born and raised in a rural village in Central Trinidad who took the situation in hand.

My girl whipped out the broomstick that we came with and charged Mr. Rooster head on with a war cry that would have put Xena, Warrior Princess to shame.

Just as the rooster and the broomstick were about to be introduced the owner of said rooster came out from seemingly nowhere and scooped him up.

Mr. Rooster

It took us as at least 30 seconds to compose ourselves. We were laughing and crying, breathing hard and buffing the man for not putting a leash on his rooster. He was laughing so hard I thought he might have collapsed.

I turned to my girlfriend and let her know “Never me again!”