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A Virgin Islands Funny Tale: ‘The King of Scamps’

- The following story is part of an anthology of Virgin Islands Funny Tales titled ‘Adventures of a West Indian Villager’
Dickson Igwe. Photo: Provided
Sea View. By Nazima Mohammed
Sea View. By Nazima Mohammed
Gaston Tabois, Jamaica. Image: Provided
Gaston Tabois, Jamaica. Image: Provided
DICKSON IGWE

Pig Farmer is the most formidable scamp in the Virgin Islands. His schemes are legendary. The man is extremely imaginative. He is also a colossal liar and conman. He is furthermore an unscrupulous wheeler dealer, with a string of victims that have fallen for his dishonest schemes. Paradoxically, Farmer is a coward without any shame whatsoever. He is the classic hypocrite, and a villain without equal.

The “colossus in infamy” is a man who possesses a “street corner charisma” that allows him to “get away with murder.” He has crafted the “passing of the buck” into a fine art. He talks from “both sides of the mouth.” His eyes are in a perpetual squint, and he winks deceptively whenever he speaks. Lying is so natural for Farmer that he panics whenever he tells the truth. He is the most slippery and evasive character ever to have walked these Virgin Shores. With friends like Pig Farmer, one does not need enemies.

Farmer is a fat but fit man, built like an ox. He possesses the enormous appetite of one of his larger pigs. His three greatest pleasures are wine, women, and song, with food the close fourth. He has a way of ensuring that most of the work done on his farm is the effort of family, friends, and neighbors: especially the formidable Country Bumpkin. Pig Farmer is Country Bumpkin’s nearest neighbour. The men are cousins. In Ballast Bay everyone is related.

OK. Farmer lives further up the small mountain from Country Bumpkin in the veritable Caribbean Eden of Ballast Bay. The peninsular, from coast to mountain top is very fertile and thickly forested, giving the houses and homes perpetual shade from a hot midday sun. Pig Farmer’s large home of stone and wood, built from the products of the environment, sits sturdily on a steep precipice. Most of the labour that built the structure was that of Country Bumpkin.

A number of vegetable patches, fruit orchards, livestock holdings, and various farm structures surround the home. On the east side of the home, there is a holding for his large stock of pigs, and another for his goats and sheep.

On the west side, Pig Farmer has another holding where he keeps his cattle. Within this holding is a smaller area that resides a number of very aggressive bulls: these Pig Farmer uses for bullfighting. He gets two bulls to fight each other every Saturday afternoon in a field by the village square. Sometimes he fights three and even four of these beasts.

This is great entertainment for a time when there was no electricity or television. Naturally, most of the effort put into this local industry is courtesy of Farmer’s cousin and “pal” Country Bumpkin.

During these bloody duels the bulls gore each other until just one animal survives the ordeal. Bets placed on the surviving animal win the rest of the pot. People from all over the island pay good money to bet on which animal will prevail over the other. A local bullfight is always a crowded and rowdy affair. It is just as popular as horseracing which Farmer is also involved with.

Sometimes, a bull is so badly wounded in the duel it has to be put down, shot. Farmer will frequently sell its beef in the local market and in St Thomas across the Channel from Tortola. Farmer also fights chickens. He possesses some of the most dangerous cocks in the country. His birds have been known to attack natives with awful results.

OK, this is another spectacular afternoon in paradise. The sun smiles above. The breezes from the Caribbean Sea out yonder are truly refreshing. It is a very hot afternoon. The sweet lush smell of bush and foliage is strong. The smell is mixed with the smells of the produce from the various farms. It is perfectly affected by these breezes, making for a natural and all pervasive perfume.

The breeze ascends the steep hill cooling the homes, and blowing out the heat. Add to the weather mix the sound of wind rustling leaves and rattling palm fronds, and a typical hardworking farmer, which Pig Farmer certainly isn’t, will be best lying on his back or belly in slumber or rest. An afternoon nap is a powerful elixir on an afternoon such as this.

Farmer is in bed with his woman, the pretty, fair, rotund, and attractively fat Latina “Hot Potato.” Farmer is knocked out. He has engaged in energetic and hectic lovemaking all that afternoon. His snoring is so loud it can be heard by his neighbors, who before farmer fell asleep, had to bear the groans, screams, gasps, and grunts, emanating from Farmer’s bedroom window.

This is a religious community, and Farmer and Hot Potato, and their frequent and primitive bouts of passion and ardour is shocking to many. The sea breeze carries Farmer’s ZZZZZZ snoring sound, up and away from the bedroom, out the window, and far and wide.

The Lovely Latina gets up lazily from the bed and proceeds to the outhouse for the obvious. She hears a butting type noise coming from the bull confinement. She quickly goes in the direction of the bull holding, and is horrified to see one of the bulls slamming itself against the wood posts holding the animals in captivity.

The beast succeeds in tearing the fencing down and gallops out the farm, as the rest of the fence crashes to the ground. The beast gallops away and swiftly down the hill towards the marketplace that is usually crowded at that time of day. 

Hot Potato screams in terror and desperation, and despite her big size bolts towards the house. A wild bull at the market square would cause chaos, not to speak of potential loss of life. She enters the bedroom and wakes up Pig Farmer telling him the terrible news. Farmer is terrified. He scrambles towards the bull pen wearing khaki shorts and clenching his shotgun.

He is horrified. The bull that has escaped is his prize fighter. He looks alarmingly at the destroyed fence. He can only think of one thing.

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2 Responses to “A Virgin Islands Funny Tale: ‘The King of Scamps’”

  • bvi (09/04/2016, 14:23) Like (0) Dislike (0) Reply
    boss local stuff politics please
  • Wise Igwe (09/04/2016, 16:43) Like (2) Dislike (0) Reply
    Igwe, I Greet You. You are Wise Beyond Measure. I can see you’re bringing it in slowly but surely. I am sitting back drinking some palm wine in the village while reading this one. This sends the situation on the grounds straight home. The people better look around and realize that the prized bull has already started creating havoc in the marketplace. Igwe!


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