Tales of the Tropics

Volume 1 Edition 6

A Publication of Stories and Information from the Caribbean

ManPot's

"Tales of the Tropics"

Chapter One

The British Virgin Islands

Big Red, The Gangster

"On your feet'!

About the Author

Manpot and Lilly

Brandywine Restaurant

Shadow Massive, Brenda, Shonda

Sandman and Brenda

Char "Sweet Lassie" and Manpot

(above photos courtesy of Shonda and Sweet Lassie)

Photo courtesy of Walker Mangum

It’s a long haul from Los Angeles down to the island paradise of Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands. But after fourteen hours of flying south to latitude 18 there’s one sight that instantly makes it all worthwhile. Stumbling out of customs and immigration at Tortola’s Beef Island airport into the warm, moist tropical air, I’m greeted by a big white and gold grin and two outstretched arms….one to give me a “welcome home” hug..the other to give me an ice-cold Red Stripe beer.

My longtime buddy’s name is Darkie and in these oh-so-politically correct times a name like that really needs a brief explanation. Darkie is, well, very dark but he comes by the only name anyone ever calls him because his eyes are light sensitive..and he wears sunglasses day and night.

My momma calls me Darkie”, my friend said when we first met and I told him how uncomfortable it made me feel to use that name, “ so if you don’t call me ‘Darkie’ I’ll be very offended.” So Darkie it is..

Seems few folks in the islands have names like Fred, Jim or Bob. My island buddies have names like Bomba, Boots, Sandman, Shadow, Quito, Daddy Magic, Landcrab and of course..Darkie..I even have this weird island name..Manpot.. So how does a white boy from middle class North London end up with the moniker "Manpot" in the Caribbean?

Of course, there's a colourful tale to tell.

I first walked into the now famous Bomba Shack on a very hot summer day back in 1984. The shack hangs over the water's edge of Little Apple Bay..about eight feet above the beach. It’s literally a giant sandbox made of corroding roofing materials, old surfboards, and rusted outboard motors..even discarded computers and stereos..Basically anything that washes up on the beach or ends up on the roadside becomes part of the Shack.

Someone once asked me what would happen to the Shack in a hurricane. I answered that no one could tell any difference..on a good day the place looks like a category five just blew through.

Anyway on my first visit to the Shack I was greeted by a mountain of a man sitting on a giant cooler..He was at least six feet four and hadn't seen the downside of three hundred pounds in many a year. He fixed me with one eye, the other pointing in a decidedly easterly direction..The trade winds blew through the shack mixing a smell of Bar B.Q. stale beer and rum..the smells of paradise in other words.

"Got any cold beer?” I asked.

"Got any money?” he responded.

"Yup," said I.

“Got cold beer," said the man I soon found out was Bomba himself.

That was the beginning of a generally, fond friendship between Bomba and me. OK ..He wasn’t exactly thrilled when a friend of mine took out part of the Shack with his Jeep in the dead of night..but that's tale for another day..

Anyway Bomba loves to give his pal's names and, after a couple of years, a gentleman showed up at the Shack who introduced himself as a sea captain from New Jersey.

He'd island hopped through the Caribbean and landed, like so many of us wannabe pirates, in Tortola…at the Shack. Bomba immediately dubbed him " Seaman".'cos that's what he was. Seaman quickly became a fixture at the Shack, helping out and quickly becoming another of those wonderful Caribbean characters.

Around this time Bomba became famous for his Bar B Q's on Wednesdays, Sundays, and during his monthly Full Moon Parties, where amazing mushroom concoctions are still served (The "Sports Illustrated" Swimsuit issue dedicated four pages to the bizarre ritual a few years ago). To be kind a Full Moon party at the Shack is like a cross between a classic Caribbean " jump up", a frat party, and an X rated version of a Gidget beach bash. Almost anything goes and everyone should experience at least one in his or her lifetime.

Anyway, after those wild bashes, Seaman would dump all the leftovers into a massive pot, add spices and boil up a fantastic stew that Bomba then dished up to the regulars. He called it "Seaman Pot' which, after a few weeks, got shortened to "Manpot."

Of course Bomba, being Bomba, decided that this wonderful, spicy dish had, shall we say," extra special properties that made men extra strong" in the love department. "Manpot”, according to Bomba was the "Altoid of Aphrodisiacs" and any man who sampled it….well you get the picture.

Anyway Bomba one day gave me that name and it stuck like a local's butt to a runaway donkey. So, down island I'm Manpot and my favorite cabbie is still the infamous Darkie.

So there was my fine friend with the funny name at the airport. We hugged, we laughed and then he said we had to drop someone off on the way to my house in Little Apple Bay.

"His name is Big Red the Gangster” said Darkie proudly, as he opened the back door of his Mitsubishi to reveal a large man..fast asleep. He was certainly Big, he certainly wasn’t Red and he didn’t seem like much of a Gangster.

Within minutes we were bouncing through the backstreets of Tortola’s East End. Reggae drifting out of the tin roofed houses filled the air as we bounced down the dirt road with potholes deep enough to swallow a medium size child. Suddenly a booming voice broke the humid air.

”Stop”, Big Red commanded. We stopped and Big Red staggered out and into a tiny, smokey bar. We followed, into the darkness, bought beers and were back on our way.

We repeated this routine, without anything more than the commanding “Stop”, twice more before dropping a very drunk Big Red off at his house.

Together Darkie and I headed on to Little Apple Bay along Ridge Road with the impossibly blue ocean below us, the emerald islands in the background. and sheer drops on either side of us. As he drove, much too fast, Darkie told me tales of Big Red the Gangster.

“He cause a big fight in a bar,” Darkie said, “ and when two policemen come to arrest him he say ‘Where the rest of the force (of course Darkie pronounced it "faarse"?? Take the whole BVI faarse to arrest Big Red the Gangster".

Seems Big Red was so drunk that the two cops needed no reinforcements that night and Big Red slept it off in jail. But Darkie said the one thing Big Red liked even more than booze, and the occasional fight, was the ponies.

Now, believe it or not, Tortola actually has a horseracing track. (in typical island style renovating the racetrack was put before updating the hospital and fixing the airport..these small islands have their priorities right!). And Big Red, it seems, has his own racehorse (Pronounced race 'haarse' with that wonderful Caribbean accent).

“ So”, Darkie said, “Big Red takes his race haarse to the track..but that damn haarse don’t want to get in the startin gate…All the haarses get in the gate..but Big Red haarse back out..they put the haarse back in the gate..he back out.”

GOOO Haaaarse!

Big Red’s watching this from behind the barrier and he‘s getting madder and madder (maybe that’s where the Red part comes in). “ Now Big Red’s real mad,” says Darkie,” he grabs a two by four (faaar), he jumps over the barrier and runs onto the track as his haarse back out again. Just then the startin gates open and de race is on"

"Big Red wind up with that two by four and wack his haarse hard on the ass (aaas). ‘On your feet’, screamed Big Red at the poor haarse. That haarse take off down the track..runs past all the other haarses and win the damn race!!”

There’s got to be some moral to this tale but, to me, it just reminds me how wonderful, and whimsical, the islands can be.

By the way now, whenever I see Darkie, he just leans out of his Mitsubishi and yells “On your feet” before bursting into gales of laughter.

As for Big Red the Gangster, last I heard he was sleeping under a palm tree somewhere near East End….and one race haarse knows never to back out the starting gate again..

As for me, I'm just happy to answer to 'Manpot' and join the cast of colourful characters in the Caribbean with crazy names..

Malcolm Boyes can be reached by e-mail at manpot@britishvirginbeer.com

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Photo Courtesy of Walker Mangum

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