As told to BC Pires

My name is An­tho­ny John­son but I A-K-A as "Strongy". Un­for­tu­nate­ly, I am a de­por­tee. I came back from Brook­lyn, New York, 17 years ago.

Boy days in Laven­tille was fun, kick­ing ball, play­ing bas­ket­ball, fly­ing kite. But the most best part was when you put a glass [on the toe of your shoe and put it by a girl's shoes] and you sit down [and look at the re­flec­tion]. Kids will be kids. And all that is part of life.

I get my up­per body de­f­i­n­i­tion from hard work. Pure hard work. Plen­ty hard work. When you work hard, you see im­prove­ments. And it gets the body clean.

I have a col­lege ed­u­ca­tion, nuh. I went to school in New York, nuh. I took an as­so­ciate's de­gree in psy­chol­o­gy.

You know what is called, "a bro­ken home"? That's when you're raised by one par­ent, not both par­ents, nuh. And that is force them to be led astray by male fig­ures who are adults, who are old­er. I was mis­led in that way. But I burn to learn, you know?

I have plen­ty re­grets about leav­ing Brook­lyn. I left a wife, chil­dren, house, car, every­thing. I miss my chil­dren. My wife mar­ried again. It's all good.

I groom back in­to my coun­try now. I's a na­tive here. I wasn't brought here, I didn't come here, I was born here.

I come from a very big fam­i­ly. My moth­er had nine boys and three girls. My fa­ther had five boys and one girl. That is a big fam­i­ly. And I's the ba­by. I have three chil­dren in New York and one here.

Since I had a lit­tle ac­ci­dent here in Wood­brook with these gy­ro-men, I haven't been able to go and see my son. It scar me men­tal­ly and phys­i­cal­ly, men­tal­ly most of all. I don't know how to deal with my son, be­cause of the bruis­es I suf­fer from my head and the stitch­es and thing, nuh. And I felt I should have been com­pen­sat­ed for it. And I didn't get it.

I not racial, you un­der­stand, but these fel­las feel, be­cause they're white, and they come in a Third World coun­try that's run by blacks, they feel like we see­ing pover­ty. So they feel they could pay they way through. And put us against one an­oth­er, for them to see their way. They suc­ceed­ing in a lot of ways, as far as it goes with the au­thor­i­ties.

In some ways, I face hos­til­i­ty on the Av­enue. They try to make it seem like is a joke but is to­tal dis­re­spect. You don't pay peo­ple to put hu­man fae­ces on peo­ple' clothes. You don't pay peo­ple to de­stroy peo­ple's things. To dis­re­spect peo­ple and laugh! I live on al­most every street in Wood­brook and it was nev­er so. As these fel­las come, Wood­brook changed.

I earn most of my mon­ey in the week. Some days you make small mon­ey. Some days you make noth­ing.

Hear my way of re­lax­ation: I go in the mid­dle of the Sa­van­nah or in a ceme­tery and sit down. Or in the park where the moun­tains near­by. Where it qui­et, nuh. You hears noth­ing. I sit down and get a peace of mind.

I take in Car­ni­val from a dis­tance. Labour Day in Brook­lyn, my wife and chil­dren par­ty­ing, but I don't par­take. Is a pa­gan hol­i­day to me. Plen­ty blood does pass in those days, peo­ple get hurt.

I used to func­tion as a Mus­lim but it come like I back­slid­ing. Start back eat­ing pork and thing. But I try to keep that dis­ci­pline, nuh.

I charge $30 to wash out­side a car. I know peo­ple will do in­side and out for that mon­ey. But some­times men watch the job I do and give me more than $30. Some­times a man give you $100!

The best part of the job is when you get­ting pay! The bad part is when you not get­ting the work you want to get. Is very frus­trat­ing.

A Tri­ni is a na­tive. Be­ing a Tri­ni is be­ing Tri­ni to the bone, all the way in­side. In Brook­lyn, I was red, white and black in­side.

Trinidad & To­ba­go is a uni­ty to me. No one is bet­ter than one. We stand for the same God and un­der­stand­ing.