Glimpses into the world of Bandi Payne – Part I

by Dr Richard A Byron-Cox

As the bus sped on the flat and generally good roads traversing the Ethiopian section of what is the great African Rift Valley, stretching from a once war-beleaguered Mozambique all the way to a now war-engulfed Syria, my brain was working overtime. I demanded that my mental faculties did the totally useless and somewhat foolish exercise of trying to comprehend the language(s) being spoken around me (a pleasant melee of inter alia unpronounceable syllables); ensured my eyes constantly darted from left to right, front and back in a vain attempt to photograph everything met and passed by the speeding bus; and, couple these with controlling the more than slight anxiety I felt about my mission.{{more}} This angst popped up every 10 seconds, reminding me that my knowledge of Bandi Payne was miniscule, and I was virtually on my way to a planet hitherto unknown to me. But the die was cast!

Bandi Payne is special, being the only Vincentian to take up the offer of Emperor Haile Selassie and transplanting himself to Shashamane, Ethiopia. I had a million questions: What made him do it? Is he a “most coarse” Rasta man? Is he a visionary? I alighted from the bus to be greeted by the shouts of a young man from across the road, “You come from yard! You looking for the Rasta Museum?” I was disturbed that I was so easily recognizably alien, although doing my ace camouflage act. I trekked down the unpaved road and before long saw him about 500 yards in the distance in the white long-sleeved shirt and blue slacks he had described. He gave a wave of and for recognition. I acknowledged, reminding myself the thousandth time, “You are here to learn. Don’t go babbling!! You know nothing about the man and his journey.”

Standing at his tall galvanized gate, he shook my hand with mild skeptical warmness. I introduced Dr Asmamaw Legass Bahir of Addis Ababa University. They shook hands, Bandy saying with measured pride, “I am Ras Hailu Teferi.” More greetings were exchanged in Amharic. Opening the gate he ushered us into a small green front yard, populated by a variety of trees. As we made the few steps to his little front porch, an average sized dog, which seemed harmless enough, matched his master’s welcome of me with the same hint of skepticism. I determined I needed to open every pore in my skin to take in all around me, aware that eyes, ears and brains were insufficient to record the uniqueness of this, my Columbus mission. In one glance I noted his modest existence, proclaimed by his dress, house, and porch furnishing.

“Welcome. Sit down,” he said, motioning Dr Bahir and me to a small wooden bench and chair. How was your trip down? It’s a long ride. Four hours.”

“Yes, but a learning experience,” I assured.

“So, you is Berry little brother,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” I affirmed, “Frankie is my elder brother.”

“That is why I don’t know you. You are one of the little ones. You are younger than the twins?”

“No, I am two years older. Oh, but nobody knows me; I am invisible as regards my family. I know about you through your banana art and comic strips in the Vincentian newspaper.” I said all of this with one eye on him, while trying to scope out my surroundings with the other. His smile refused to break into laughter, but his skepticism seemed to decrease as he looked me over from head to toe. “Then you disappeared,” I continued, “and next I heard you are in Shashamane, the only Vincentian…” I deliberately implied the question, rather than asking directly, ever conscious that yes, I’m Vincentian, but a stranger. I could enquire gently, but intruding would be rude! He took the cue.

“It’s a long story. I have not seen St Vincent in more than 25 years and I will never return there!” This categorical finality stung me in the heart. But outwardly, I made a head inclination and squint-eyed look of enquiry, encouraging him on. “I have been living in Ethiopia for 24 years now. I have a wife and four daughters. We have been married for 19 years and still together.” There was an unmistakable pride.

“Sorry,” I interjected, “but you said you have been away from St Vincent for more than 25 years, so…”

“Well, let me start from the beginning. I left St Vincent and went to England. From there I came here, thanks to His Majesty, Emperor Haile Selassie. I will never leave. I am done with St Vincent!!”

Yes, I had come on a mission of discovery!

Part II: “Exodus: Road to Shashamane!”