Random Tales From De Man Len

I head out, late from having hung out with my nephew, but insisting I won't be long nonetheless. See, I've already been there once. Whistles for sale raising money for Haiti relief efforts, overpriced booze, cheap toy prizes and knife awareness missions.

It's all good despite the strange balance. Mobile metal detectors on the entrance, to pick up on the contraband, coupled with awareness missions highlighting the dangers of gun/knife crime. If you've been here long enough, you already know it first hand. No bus will bring them back. But it might stop someone else feeling what you do...

But I'm late anyway. Late enough, but close enough that you could break it down to seconds. 120 to be precise. But still 120 secs too late. Denied entry, I can't meet up with D and Tash. So what... leave?

Nah, I hang out at the gate, chatting with the security employee in charge of the contraband box. At places like this, they have a policy: No alcohol, no glass, no guns, no knives, no weapons. Fair enough.

I got chatting with this girl, and she's a little worried. Most of the security is on the gate denying entry while she's stood alone by the Banned Box. Sure, the focus is on keeping people from getting in, but this pretty little petite is in charge of keeping an eye on all the things they've confiscated throughout the day.

It's nothing special. Just a cardboard box, about the size you'd use while moving house. Like the ones they deliver packets of crisps in, only beat to half its' worth. Inside there are knives of all shapes and sizes; some meant for damage, some meant for subtlety. What gets me is the homemade weapons: prison style shanks and long bladed scissors with the blades held tight by electrical tape. Basic household tools clearly adapted for efficient stabbing.

The majority of the box's space is filled with alcohol; bottles and cans people have tried to sneak in for the sake of saving money, but it's the minority of it's contents that reveals the real dark side of man.

A fun festival celebrating culture and yet still we have people carrying weapons streetbought or homemade, with or without intention to harm. It's sad really. A part of me wishes I hadn't seen it, and could've left with nothing but memories of good times.

Instead, I'm reminded of how we still have so much to learn.