when, while
filling them patent forms, he feel desperate to pee and run to
toilet only to discover that his tool has vanish clean off him. Me
I know all this but I don't go paparapapara showing off like
Aleck.
Banda is big man. But sometimes his magic don't work as
expected. Especially with them other things that is not the winds.
Like when he shrink cattle down to the size of grain of sand and
sweep them into envelope. In some cases, even if the cattle reduce
in size, they weight remain the same, so people find that the bus
they board, under weight of tons of cow, either break down or is
not able to crawl out of the bus terminus.
6
Me I get £2.45 per hour. Eight hours per day. Five days per week.
That make £98 per week. But after they do emergency tax code
it come to about £68.
You spend them weeks shifting mud with shovels and sweat
beads come out of every pore in the body because you is putting
out heaps of effort while your buttocks point to high heaven and
migrant flesh start to stink around you as shirts and underpants
get damp. Here you quickly know that the weight of your buttocks
increase by the hour and come down only by night when you is
sandwiched between blanket and mattress.
Then one day you hear: Take them your things and move it.
That's what they say to us in Wimbledon. The graft end without
warning. Everyone on the site have to move it now after we go
to work one morning to find the site closed. One servant come
out of the house, and looking pleased, tell us that there is disagreement
between the owner of house and our employer because them
pavings that we have lay and the retaining walls that we have build
is not up to standard. And most of them plants that we have plant
in the past months have dead, he add. He have been tell to advise
us to contact our employer, in Romford, if we have any issue to
complain about.
We have been stitch up, I know straight away. But there is
nothing we can do, so we scatter without quarrel.
Samuel, who is from Senegal, tell us that there is another
company in Finsbury Park that is looking for labourers. There is
also one street corner in Mile End where if you is foreign labourer
you can go and hang around with your toolbox. Soon some van
come and someone, sitting in the van, will point at people that
look like they is up to hard graft. If you is lucky you get picked.
We don't have no toolboxes to pose with on this street, so we
don't go there. Also there is now too many Polish builders to
compete with there, someone say. And they all have toolboxes.
Finsbury Park is better, that's what everyone agree as we wait
for bus. But with this kind of graft, now I see there is big danger
that you can work until you grow horns and still you won't catch
US$5,000. But Shingi is keen on Finsbury Park so me I keep
quiet.
If you find graft as porter at some hotels that is visit by Saudi
princes then you can land your native bum in butter because them
princes give good tips and can drop £1,000 in your pocket if you
is sweet when you carry they luggage for them. That's what I
have hear. But right now I don't even know which hotel to look
out for.
The bus arrive and we queue up to get in. Suleiman is first.
He flash his fake bus pass and immediately put this hard-set look
on his face, looking straight ahead rigid as he march like soldier
past the bus driver.
'Excuse me, sir, can I see your pass?' The driver stop him. It's
at moments like this that the city can get chance to break your
disguise with them questions: what's your name, sir; where did
you get this, sir; you know this is crime offence, sir?
'Where did you get your card from, sir?' the driver say playing
big mischief with politeness. This title that the mud-shifting boy
have been given is too heavy for him now.
'Sir?' The driver pull down his glasses in professor-style so they
sit low on his nose.
This 'sir' thing put Suleiman in proper straitjacket. His tongue
weigh same as hippo and he can't lift it now. He turn his
filling them patent forms, he feel desperate to pee and run to
toilet only to discover that his tool has vanish clean off him. Me
I know all this but I don't go paparapapara showing off like
Aleck.
Banda is big man. But sometimes his magic don't work as
expected. Especially with them other things that is not the winds.
Like when he shrink cattle down to the size of grain of sand and
sweep them into envelope. In some cases, even if the cattle reduce
in size, they weight remain the same, so people find that the bus
they board, under weight of tons of cow, either break down or is
not able to crawl out of the bus terminus.
6
Me I get £2.45 per hour. Eight hours per day. Five days per week.
That make £98 per week. But after they do emergency tax code
it come to about £68.
You spend them weeks shifting mud with shovels and sweat
beads come out of every pore in the body because you is putting
out heaps of effort while your buttocks point to high heaven and
migrant flesh start to stink around you as shirts and underpants
get damp. Here you quickly know that the weight of your buttocks
increase by the hour and come down only by night when you is
sandwiched between blanket and mattress.
Then one day you hear: Take them your things and move it.
That's what they say to us in Wimbledon. The graft end without
warning. Everyone on the site have to move it now after we go
to work one morning to find the site closed. One servant come
out of the house, and looking pleased, tell us that there is disagreement
between the owner of house and our employer because them
pavings that we have lay and the retaining walls that we have build
is not up to standard. And most of them plants that we have plant
in the past months have dead, he add. He have been tell to advise
us to contact our employer, in Romford, if we have any issue to
complain about.
We have been stitch up, I know straight away. But there is
nothing we can do, so we scatter without quarrel.
Samuel, who is from Senegal, tell us that there is another
company in Finsbury Park that is looking for labourers. There is
also one street corner in Mile End where if you is foreign labourer
you can go and hang around with your toolbox. Soon some van
come and someone, sitting in the van, will point at people that
look like they is up to hard graft. If you is lucky you get picked.
We don't have no toolboxes to pose with on this street, so we
don't go there. Also there is now too many Polish builders to
compete with there, someone say. And they all have toolboxes.
Finsbury Park is better, that's what everyone agree as we wait
for bus. But with this kind of graft, now I see there is big danger
that you can work until you grow horns and still you won't catch
US$5,000. But Shingi is keen on Finsbury Park so me I keep
quiet.
If you find graft as porter at some hotels that is visit by Saudi
princes then you can land your native bum in butter because them
princes give good tips and can drop £1,000 in your pocket if you
is sweet when you carry they luggage for them. That's what I
have hear. But right now I don't even know which hotel to look
out for.
The bus arrive and we queue up to get in. Suleiman is first.
He flash his fake bus pass and immediately put this hard-set look
on his face, looking straight ahead rigid as he march like soldier
past the bus driver.
'Excuse me, sir, can I see your pass?' The driver stop him. It's
at moments like this that the city can get chance to break your
disguise with them questions: what's your name, sir; where did
you get this, sir; you know this is crime offence, sir?
'Where did you get your card from, sir?' the driver say playing
big mischief with politeness. This title that the mud-shifting boy
have been given is too heavy for him now.
'Sir?' The driver pull down his glasses in professor-style so they
sit low on his nose.
This 'sir' thing put Suleiman in proper straitjacket. His tongue
weigh same as hippo and he can't lift it now. He turn his
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