SO, Buju’s “full” remains untold. Ole Pharaoh is not minded to let this one of our people go without a second trial. Our hero is once again sitting there in the limbo of a Florida jail house until the scene shifts to December, when renditions of “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire” will make him wish he was Going Back Home. Instead, “Jack Frost nipping at his nose”, he will have to face once more the hounds of the US legal system.

Our hero might be able to take comfort from the outbursts of prayer and fasting and expressions of concern which swept Jamaica, as well as our various colonies in Distant Lands. Now, as the days dwindle down to December he will return to face another jury. His supporters are hoping that it will be second time lucky.

There is some lesson-learning for us, some cautionary tales from Trial A. LESSON ONE: Mind how you talk to strangers on planes. It is very tempting — and easy — when you’re thousands of feet up in the air, soaring above everyday reality, to spill your guts to someone you’ve never seen before and do not anticipate seeing again.

A friend of mine, who was a very frequent flyer in his time, once confessed that he’d found himself sharing opinions with the person in the seat next to him, although neither of them knew each other. The person shared in like manner. The fact of being in a confined space, travelling long hours, dispelled some of the reservations which would have been the norm on land. Could this account for why Buju responded the way he did to the man to whom he was a target, most likely picked out long before?

LESSON TWO: Learn from the Book of Buju. Avoid making jokes when you have nothing else to say. Because of the gag order placed by the US justice authorities forbidding jurors from making any public revelations about the first trial, we’re not likely to know — not for now at least — what they thought of his defence. Did they buy it, when he said that he was only joking when he told the undercover agent that he was looking for drugs to purchase? Ha! Ha! What was joke to Buju may yet turn out to be death to his career and life as he knew it.

Did the jury find amusement too in his confession that he was “talking crap”? Did anyone translate it into “It’s a Jamaican cultural thing to chat foolishness”? Bet you that not everybody knows that we also “play fool fe ketch wise”. A word of caution which Buju may have missed: Never joke about anything to do with drugs.

LESSON THREE: If you ever find yourself desperate for a defence, think twice before you gwaan fool-fool. Why would one who has been four times nominated for the Grammy, popular music’s most prestigious award, trust a man he barely knows to find someone to get him a recording contract? It must have been a joke but it really wasn’t funny. Was that the best defence in such a serious situation? As it is clear now, that freedom is not going to come easy, his defence team had better start working from now — and very seriously too.

The final recommendation goes to the don’t-have-nutten-fe-doers who kept posting false information about the outcome of Trial One. Read my lips: wishful thinking doesn’t make fact of fiction. When the next trial comes round, could we ask the self-appointed conveyors of the verdict to restrain themselves from spreading wrong news? We really didn’t need the panic last weekend. So, next time, spare us the truth — and nothing but the whole truth, please.

It has become fashionable to blame the rot in the body politic almost entirely on the elders, sins of the father visiting the children and all that. Indeed, the changing of the guard is inevitable. With the electorate so disillusioned, new strategies make sense. What doesn’t is the plotting and scheming to get to the head of the line by hook or by crook, preferably the latter — even if the new vision seems to be that this is time for youth and youth alone.

A correspondent to the Observer praises the new generation of political activists for their initiative in seeking to send the old people packing and commends this to be done across the Caribbean. The writer even suggests the setting of definite timelines for the departures…but who is to go?

The writer was particularly enthused about the promise of the 30-40 age group, the new saviours of the world, going forth to conquer with laptops and BlackBerries (The L and BB Brigade, according to an elder). Of course, the skill and talents of most of the new brigade is like nothing the generation before has seen.

The mistake which could be made, however, is to think that one han’ can clap… Don’t take lightly the injunction “Old age and treachery can overcome youth and skill.”

As youth gets ready to rumble against their elders in one of our political tribes, Dr Christopher Tufton was smart enough to be heard on TV news warning a recent constituency conference against making the youth-age question another divisive issue for the party. When the camera panned to the audience, it showed no one in the 30 to 40 elite. It is still the elders who hold up the base, who provide the real grassroots support.

I hardly think anyone told those old faithfuls who would still follow Bustamante till they die, that they have passed their sell-by date. One thing they do know is the ancestral saying, “Young bud nuh know storm.” It would do well for the young hotshots to tek time mek haste , or as granny sey “the race is not for the swift.”

STORMY WEATHER: Whatta piece-a rain and breeze hit Tuesday night into Wednesday morning! It swept across the length and breadth of the land, mashing up left and right. Once again we see the price we’re paying for lack of respect for the environment. The earth, battered by over-building and abuse, melted into mud in no time. As for the trenches and crevasses which we now have to navigate, will the authorities finally stop the chat and begin the road-mending programme, without the partisan chupidness, thank you please. When will we learn?

gloudonb@yahoo.com