The Caymanian Voice

In spite of popular belief, it doesn’t sound like this anymore, my dearest friends.

Isn’t it sweet?  Doesn’t it bring back beautiful memories?  But is this the sound of your thoughts?

Not if we are honest with ourselves.  The sweet wail of the fiddle and the gently drawled out words of the young days of our lady nation are good and gone.

This is more representative of the Caymanian today.

Now now now… don’t lie.  This is a safe place.  No need to be playin fool to ketch wise with me.  I speak your language and I hear your livid screams.  Don’t hide behind the “well bred colonized position of polite timidity“.  Not wit me bobo.  Not.  Today.  Bobo.

This is the tone of voice you save for the hammock in your Granny’s yard.  This is how you speak about your supervisor or your lecturer or that sonofabitch police officer that beat up your first cousin to your friends.  This is how you see the sale of land and the exploitation of immigrated and local people.

Now that you are revealed gorgeous, powerful and naked, what do you do?

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