Speedeet and Wilar are 12-year-old best friends from Pike Street, Kitty, Georgetown. Speedeet is Black, Wilar is East Indian. They get into adventures every Sunday.
Wilar was sitting on de front step reading something on he phone when Speedeet come running down Pike Street like he late fuh school.
“Yo! Wilar! You hear wha happen?”
Wilar look up slow. “Wha happen now? Somebody goat get loose again?”
“No, man! De newspaper close down! Stabroek News! Ma was reading it on she phone and she start crying!”
Wilar scrunch up he face. “You Ma does read newspaper? Since when?”
“She does read it on she phone! And she say is de last one closing. March. Done. Finish.”
Wilar put down he phone and think about it. “But wait… if de newspaper close, how people gon know wha happening?”
“Dat is wha Ma say! She say when she was small, she grandfather used to buy de paper every morning from de lady on de corner. And he would sit down on de gallery and read it front to back. Every. Single. Day.”
“Even de boring parts?”
“ESPECIALLY de boring parts. He used to read de court notices and de obituaries and everything.”
Wilar scratch he head. “My Nani used to keep newspapers too. She used to cut out articles and stick dem on de fridge. One time she cut out a article about rice prices and it stay on de fridge fuh THREE YEARS.”
“Three years?!”
“De rice price never change. De article was still accurate.”
They both sit quiet fuh a minute. De Pike Street breeze come through. Somebody dog bark two streets over.
“You think we could start a newspaper?” Speedeet say, quiet-like.
“We? A newspaper? Wha we gon write about?”
“Pike Street news! Like… Miss Persaud cat had babies again. Old Man Doodnauth fix he gate but it still lean. Aunty Devi make de biggest pot of cook-up in recorded history last Sunday.”
“Dat ain’t news, Speedeet. Dat is just… Pike Street.”
“Wha you think news IS, Wilar? Is just people telling other people wha happening where they live! Dat IS news!”
Wilar think about it. He pull out a old exercise book from he bag. “Alright. We need a name.”
“De Pike Street Press.”
“Too boring. Wha about De Pike Street Informer?”
“Too scary. Sound like we reporting people to police.”
“De Pike Street Gazette?”
“Too fancy. We ain’t fancy.”
They think and think.
“De Pike Street Seh.”
They look at each other. They grin.
“DE PIKE STREET SEH.”
Wilar open de exercise book and write de name big across de top. Speedeet grab a pencil.
“First headline: MISS PERSAUD CAT POPULATION REACHES CRISIS LEVELS. Neighbours concerned.”
“Second headline: OLD MAN DOODNAUTH GATE STILL LEANING AFTER SEVENTH REPAIR ATTEMPT.”
“Third headline: LOCAL BOY WILAR ACCUSED OF EATING LAST TENNIS ROLL — DENIES EVERYTHING.”
“HEY! I ain’t eat no tennis roll!”
“Dat is wha de accused always say.”
De Pike Street Seh lasted exactly one issue. They printed it by hand, made four copies, and sold two to Aunty Devi (who bought them both to be supportive) and gave one to Miss Persaud (who was not pleased about the cat headline).
The fourth copy blew into a drain during a rainstorm.
But for one afternoon on Pike Street, two boys made a newspaper. And for one afternoon, everybody on the street knew exactly what was happening.
Even the boring parts.
Speedeet & Wilar is a weekly feature. De boys does get into something every Sunday. 🇬🇾