I visited Brixton several times last week. A tour of south London taking in Crystal Palace, Walworth Road and Norwood involved the socialisation and education of my youngest two children. I considered that they could spend time with their grandmother and farther, but I was privileged with many more experiences for both the children and myself.

 

The first that struck me was a stall holder selling sugar cane that Malachi so desperately wanted. The stall holder took the time to educate my boys in being able to say £1.20 in three languages other than English. To this he added his life story and how from the Far East he was now in Brixton and why it was that he did not want his grandchild to be standing at his stall. While I took the time for both myself and the boys to listen to these stories (we all have a story to tell) my mother was somewhat impatient. Strange I thought, this woman is a devote Christian (see my next article for that one). To me this was both entertaining and educational (real as I would say) but for my mother she did not have the time to listen. “if you let them they will keep you there all day”. Hmmm!

 

Next came Isaiah’s wonder at seeing half a cow hanging in a shop. While he must have seen these sights before, I think for him it was the wonder of seeing so many of them in a row and not out of his reach. I walked into the shop only to be faced by a stone faced assistant asking if they could help. I explained that I did not want to buy anything but wanted Isaiah to have a closer look at the meat hanging. Should have said I wanted some chicken, for no sooner had the words come out of my mouth than the guy’s face went a degree harder than it was. He stood his ground and baring our way looked past us. Yeah well if you wanted confrontation you got it. I let loose such a long list of condemnation and abuse that my mother had to come and get me from the stall next door. (that was funny). She told me to calm down and forget it as “them kind of people are just ignorant”. I wasn’t going to leave it there. From the stall adjacent I continued to voice my disgust that a child could be treated in such a way just for wanting to learn and examine. Four other members of staff had come out of the stall (they all seem to have ten people working in them) and were urging me to take Isaiah in and let him have a look around. I was more than willing to go in but my mother thought that I had created enough of a disturbance for one visit.

 

To top of that trip we dropped into a continental store as I wanted to stock up on sum seasonings (too dam expensive in Tesco’s), along with some Irish Moss and nutriment. For my entertainment I observed some young girl (unable to even guess at her ethnic origin, the guy’s seemed Mediterranean, again there must have been ten of them in the shop) calling every woman that she spoke to auntie. I had done cussed the shop assistants for pushing past me, if you want my money at least pretend to be polite. Interesting one for me. The only other culture that I have observed doing that kind of thing was Nigerian. Being who I am I had asked what it was that made them all related, I had been told that for one it was the communality of culture and two it was the concept of family supported by that of respect. Should you call someone auntie, mum, brother or other relation then you are showing respect for that individual. Also that male female thing came into it about serving and being served. The girl stood out as there were several older ladies waiting to be served by her rather than others, Hmmm, respect can go a long way!