A spliff, a mango and a football

I remember moving to Almond Drive, Morvant as a young boy. This was a time of great excitement for my family and me, for after years of scrimping and saving, my mother finally managed to buy a place that we could call home. It was not Trincity nor was it Diamond Vale, but it was the best that she could do in her circumstances.

Many a wise and trusted head questioned her judgement to move to a place so notorious for crime and violence. Who could blame them? However, I was to embark on one of the most enjoyable and memorable journeys of my young life. For it was here where I would feel a sense of belonging like I had never felt up until that point and consequently, have never felt since leaving. It was here that in the absence of a father, I would look up to men like Booty, Choko and Lato for strength and guidance. It was here that I would meet many of my life-long friends and many others who helped shape and mould me into the person that I am today. It was here that I met Obatiye Bruce.

I first met Oba shortly after he and his family moved to the area from Laventille. His mother Dianne is the typical Trini matriarch; big, bubbly, full of life...and mouth too I might add!! Oba was the only boy in a household of four siblings. He had two older sisters, Mara and Makeda, and a younger sister called Orchid. Oba was unique in that he was the only boy around our age who had a dread. I am not talking about any ''picky-head'' business...I am talking about locks down to his back!! Like many around him at the time, Oba wasn't really interested in school or academics, and to be fair, school and academics weren't really interested in him either. His passions lay elsewhere. Oba was no saint and it was not long before he became involved in petty crime and larceny and started having his first brushes with the law. It was a route that would eventually lead to him being imprisoned twice. Despite his shortcomings however, he was a popular and well-liked personality in the "drive".

It was the summer of 1995 and my friend Colin ''Pa'' Roper had decided to set up an under 15 football team in the area. The team was to be called Brotherhood United; Pa would be the coach and I would be his lieutenant. For the few weeks before the Queen's Park Savannah League started, we would train twice a week in the Morvant Savannah. The team comprised players of varying skill levels and I can just about remember some of the key players in the side. Shurland Reid was our tried and trusted goalkeeper (nobody else wanted to keep!!) At sweeper back was the man-mountain Rocky Bridgeman, while pulling the strings in the midfield were Obatiye ''Oba'' Bruce and Darrell ''Jimmy Swaggart'' McNicoll. Up front was none other that the mercurial Indian, Marcelo ''Madinga'' McNicoll. At well over two hundred pounds, Pa was no Leo Beenhakker though. He would sit in the stands, smoke hemp and bark out his orders. If he had to get up from the pavilion to come down onto the field then you knew that trouble beckoned. Oba, Madinga and Swaggart were the ones who felt his wrath often enough. The team managed to secure a sponsor to donate fifteen T-shirts, while a local benefactor made the pants. Socks and boots were down to the players and their parents.

Living in one of the more deprived areas in the country, money was always going to be a problem. The morning of the first match saw organised chaos. There were about ten different shades of blue socks, while the football boots, salvaged from God knows where, were in varying states of disrepair. Many in the squad couldn't even afford the $3.00 needed to take them into town and back. We ended up 'mopping drops' from vehicles passing over the Lady Young Road on their way into town. Accompanied by a battered Panasonic tape-deck blaring out Buju's ''You cannot carry it on a plane, you cannot take it on a train'' we traipsed across the parched Savannah to take on the Samba Boys from Carenage with our chests puffed out and our heads held high. By the time the final whistle went, Brotherhood United had lost 10-0!! It was back to the drawing board. We practised and then practised some more. For boys who up until that point had only ever played ''small goal,'' this was a steep learning curve. Pa even started coming down onto the playing area during training sessions. By the end of the season we had improved dramatically...we were only losing games one and two nil!! Our outstanding player that season was without a shadow of a doubt, Obatiye Bruce. His determination to succeed overshadowed all. No matter the scoreline, he would never give up, while his enthusiasm and understanding of the game was beyond his tender age.

Oba also had a taste-or should I say thirst- for mangoes. He was the most daring and prolific mango thief in Almond Drive. He would 'tief' mangoes morning, noon and night; rain or sun; storm or calm. He could climb any tree in any condition. As the owners of a starch mango tree, we more often than not felt the effects of his pilfering hand. On the many occasions that he was caught red-handed, he would sheepishly grin and offer a casual ''sorry''. He would leave without fuss, but not before offering us the spoils of his ill-gotten gains as renumeration. However, both we and he knew that before long he would be back again. For the life of me I couldn't understand at the time what he did with all those mangoes. The answer was simple really. I later found out that he was stealing mangoes from us in order to sell them and support himself. Mangoes that we would never have eaten anyway. Mangoes that would have simply ripened, fallen and rotted in our back garden. It is only now when I think about it that I wish he had taken more. Oba was also the local 'chemist' and he was the man to take with you if you were going to buy any 'herbal remedies'. One sniff was all that he would need in order to tell you if your ten or twenty dollar purchase was money well spent. There were few who could wrap a joint faster, and fewer still who could wrap a joint better than Oba. As a rule, Oba would have a smoke when he got up, after each of his three square meals and before he went to bed. Anything less would have been sacrilege.

To many people, the murder of Obatiye Bruce on Tuesday 15^th August 2006 passed without so much as the batting of an eyelid. His life was over in the short time it took a lone gunman to pump eight bullets into him. In all likelihood, it probably ended slightly sooner. His murder followed the all too familiar tale of a young man killed in cold blood in a seemingly motiveless crime. Many will trumpet their 'live by the gun' and 'no smoke without fire' philosophies for all who would care to listen. However, in the tiny community known as ''9-storeys,'' there will be much sorrow and sadness at Oba's passing. A few will recall Oba as being a bad egg...a troublesome child who grew into a troublesome young man. Most, however, will remember him for his fondness and enthusiasm for life, his willingness to help others and above all, his infectious smile.

Rest in Peace dear friend...

********In memory of Obatiye Bruce********

1980-2006

the prophet