by Andrew Allen
At breakfast and lunchtime on any given weekday, the long-term parking lot at Nassau international Airport becomes a hive of business activity, as groups of entrepreneurial ladies set up tables and umbrellas and unload an assortment of delicacies from their vans and station wagons.
Long lines of patrons, which seem to include a solid majority of airport workers and managers, as well as curious tourists, attest to the generally high quality of the foods on offer.
Inside the adjacent domestic terminal, an outsize, generally empty ‘café’, with shabby décor and mediocre service does a comparatively meager business. In fact, given the costs associated with its ‘concessionary’ lease, it is a wonder that the poor establishment has managed to remain in operation at all in the face of the competition from the parking lot.
It is fair to assume that those who originally conceived the design and management of the airport did not anticipate that the concessionary tenants, whether vendors of drink, food or perfumes, would have to contend with unlicensed, unregulated competitors who could just pitch camp and operate rent-free and hassle-free from the parking lot.
Like so much else in The Bahamas, the original plan for the airport would have been designed after a model conceived elsewhere. And in the places where Bahamian government planners would have seen and wondered at the model (North America, England etc.) it actually works. An informal vendor at Heathrow or O’Hare would last little longer than a man with a rucksack in an Osama bin Laden outfit.

On the Taste of Sand
by Nicolette Bethel
The ostrich is a lovely bird. Big. Flightless. Beautifully feathered (as we should know, as many of their feathers adorn Junkanoo costumes). Fast.
And much maligned.
Ostriches, according to legend, ignore danger by burying their heads in the sand. (The fact that they do not do this in actuality is neither here nor there; what matters today is that people think they do.) So, according to legend, instead of running or fighting when they're threatened, they simply stick their heads underground and wait for the problem to go away.
The ostrich, not the flamingo, should be our national bird.
I'm not talking about the size of ostrich eggs, or the fact that an ostrich can outrun even Tonique Williams-Darling (they can apparently clock up to 31 mph in speed), or even the fact that an ostrich could be turned into a great Junkanoo costume. I'm talking about the head-burying thing.
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