Red Lips and Lizard Lap

Beautiful Place
I love My City
Freedom Street P.O.

Dear Mary,

It is me, Maggie, again.  How are you?  I am back in Brooklyn after another trip to Jamaica, my Caribbean Jamaica, not the Jamaica in New York.  The airline carrier that I travelled on was American Airlines, which of course warranted connecting flights in Miami.  Getting to Jamaica was such a hassle.  The fact that I was not wearing my red lipstick when I landed in Jamaica must have been a telltale sign to one of my keen-eyed nieces.   She, including other people, often assumes that something must be awfully wrong with me whenever my lips are not polished fire red, as they would say.  I guess the truth of the matter is that they enjoy calling me red-lips.

That being the case let’s get back to the airline carrier.  The fare was extremely expensive.  Overall, I believe every jack man should query the rising costs of airfares because soon or later most of us will have to mortgage our properties or pawn items that are dear to our hearts to meet the costs.  It’s either that or we should make up our minds to do our getaways by boats.  Mary, this is no joke!  The situation is very alarming!  Should we hold oil as the culprit in all of this?  Or, is it greed among the airlines?  Speaking about greed, the airlines have become blatantly stingy in feeding their passengers.  Mary, I am not ashamed to tell you that it was only a beverage of choice that was served on my round trip.  Obviously, the party is over.  Done!  Finito!  Gone are the days of hot meals, chips, biscuits, cookies and nuts.  To travel on an airline with an empty stomach is no good.  We fly at our own risk.   

Mary, I will depress neither you nor me any further with the inevitable.   Instead let’s see if we can find enough joy to sustain sanity.   I can certainly tell you that the trip to Jamaica gave me that and much more.  Girl, I had a bonononus  (great) time.  As you know, August 6, 2012 marked Jamaica’s 50th year since it gained independence from England.  The celebratory mood was detected from the moment the plane touched down at the Norman Manley International Airport in Kingston.  Columns, walls and ceilings were draped with the colors of the country’s flag: green, black and gold.  Mary, I wish you were there to witness the roadways, vehicles, and people along the route as I made my way to rural Jamaica, my paradise.  The colors black, green and gold were brandished in every shape, form and fashion.  As it were, the 50th independence birthday wasn’t the only celebration.  There was the yearly Emancipation celebration on August 1, to honor the day all slaves were freed; coupled with that was the hype surrounding Jamaica’s track and field team at the 30th Olympics in England.  Mary, it was the clash of three celebrations: 1, 2, and 3 as in the famed results of the men’s 200 meter.  The people of Jamaica in every nook and cranny exploded with excitement when tiny Jamaica entered the finish line with Bolt, Blake and Weir finishing first, second, and third in that order.  A grand historic feat and birthday gift for Jamaica’s 50th. 

Mary, I had planned to make this a brief letter but I find it impossible to comply.   Hence, please bear with me as I continue.  Frankly, on a personal level, the excitement in Jamaica got a hold of me to the point where for the first time in my life I attended night service at an Apostolic Church.  The lively music, I noticed was a recipe for vociferous behavior.  It had the members of the congregation up and about the pews stomping, dancing, running, crying and jumping.  It turned out that they were all of the “spirit”.   As for me, I had entered the House with the residue of a certain spirit which had me in a mellow mood.  Mary, do not allow your thoughts to go in a negative direction.  I did nothing wrong.  People are allowed to go to that type of House just as they are especially if they require spiritual fixing and food.  Furthermore, somewhere in the Good Book it is mentioned that the Lord takes care of fools and babies.  Go figure that one for yourself.  In my opinion the spirit which led to my mellow mood was a blessing in disguise as the Pastor ended his sermon.  It enabled me to focus on a well groomed lady who stepped out from one of the pews and slowly made her way to the podium where she stood weeping and moaning in a sanctified manner.   Others quickly followed her and one by one the leaders of the church toiled over them until they were silent with the exception of the well groomed lady.   She must have been there to create excitement just like a pint-sized youngster who was dressed in a New York Giants cap and jacket and kept dropping his phone on the floor.   A little later, at home, I found out that the lady was trying to tarry.  As I understand it from the church’s perspective tarry means to stay at church all night praying, singing, and weeping all in the name of the Lord.

Mary, my next statement may sound out of place but there is truth to it.  The Lord is such a busy and called-upon man.  He is involved in everything.  I call to mind the following hymn:  “All things bright and beautiful, All creature great and small, All things wise and wonderful, The Lord God made them all.  Each little flower that opens…..”  Well, girlfriend, as faith had it, I witnessed two creatures making love on a relative’s verandah in Mandeville, Manchester.   I knew that something funky was about to happen based on the tenacious behavior of a big lizard that was chasing one smaller in size.   I rushed for my camera and waited to capture the most talked about position in love making, the lizard lap.  After about a minute, the lizards cuddled on the floor under one of the verandah chairs.  I tipped toed closer, held my breath and in the best way that I could I pointed the camera and clicked several times, hoping that a good shot would be among the lot.  I was amazed at the length of time they stayed on the floor marinating…hehehe.  Maybe they were trying to tarry like the lady at the church.  Wow!  Finally after what seemed to have been a long wait they pulled apart and ran their separate ways back to the wilds of nature I suppose.

In view of this, Mary, I will confess that it took a Jamaican vacation to make me realize that Mother Nature is really a funny creature.  Sometimes in her quest to teach humans the rules of life she will resort to the bare facts without any qualms.  To defend that, I had also taken a picture of a flower which resembles a certain part of the female anatomy.  I also call to mind, while in Jamaica, the few days when rain threatened to spoil some outdoor fun with family and friends.  On one such occasion, the day that I celebrated Emancipation at Maidstone, Manchester, my childhood village, I looked up at the ominous clouds and begged for the rain to go away but some of the farmers had other thoughts.  They chanted “fall rain fall” because the dry weather had their crops at stake.   In time they had their wish and more as a few days later hurricane Ernesto was heading towards Jamaica and in the process dumped lots of rain and wind.

 

Well, Mary I will not tarry any further.  This is where I wrap up until next time.  Enjoy the pictures.

Your faithful friend,

Maggie

Tah-tah!   Explore, observe and conqueror when necessary.

Grace Dunkley-Asphall, Copyright © 2012

A View from the Land of Wood and Water

Lovers Leap. The beautiful sunset, reggae music, farm animals and delicious foods. The soothing sounds of water rushing over the rocks at Noisy River; The lively sounds of Lititz and Junction; The laughter and chatter of farmers from Carish Brook as they reap their peanuts. Now, stop day dreaming about the places in St. Elizabeth, Jamaica and read Mattie’s important letter.

______________________________________________________________________

Dear Mattie,

Good day! I write to you from under the biggest mango tree at my niece’s home. Or, with due respect, the people from back in the day would have written: Greetings in the precious name of our Lord and soon coming King. I hope when these few lines reach you, they will find you and your family in his tender loving care and the best of health. Gosh! It was always a treat to read their sincere salutations. Today in our society people just go straight to the purpose of their missive. Having mentioned that, I guess by now you must have heard that I am in the land of wood and water, yard, the rock or little paradise otherwise known as Jamaica. My 78 year old sister has been ill so I decided to take a trip down here to see her. It’s better to see her alive than in her death. No use saying I love you when the body is lifeless.

First and foremost the airline carrier is now Caribbean Airlines. No more Air Jamaica. It has been sold. Caribbean Airlines, according to the news, is making a lot of profit but to me they are no grand prize. The flight was good but the landing wasn’t up to par at all. The pilot put down the plane with one big thud, just like when a big ripe breadfruit falls from the tree to the ground. I feel like cussing now because it wasn’t a bunch of orangutans sitting on that plane. Mattie, this is no joke because the landing rattled my heart, not to mention my nerves especially now that I am up there in age. I had never experienced anything like that when our lovely Air Jamaica was around. The pilots were great. As a matter of fact they were the best. They landed those airplanes without a flaw. I wonder if Caribbean Airlines has given any of them employment? Mattie, I would do anything to fly with those pilots. I really miss them now. My granny would have said “cow doesn’t know the use of its tail until it cut off”. They are of the highest caliber and are wanted all over the world. It is my understanding that a few of them are living in Dubai and flying planes in the United Arab Emirates.

Mattie, looking into the situation my little bird brain has figured that Jamaica is suffering from all kinds of drain: brain drain, money drain, land drain every drain except politician drain. I wish some of them were the ones leaving the island. Let them go wreck some other place. Back-in-the-day leaders such as Bustamante and Daddy Manley would be very disappointed at the political arena and the fanfare that comes with it now. Frankly, I believe that majority of the nowadays politicians sit in office and spin around on swivel chairs all day until they become dizzy rather than go into the communities to meet and talk with the people who had voted for them. Mattie, inasmuch as you may have a low tolerance for lazy people please note that it wasn’t my intention to stir your anger. It is also possible that unscrupulous behaviors have a hand in the economic and financial decline of our beloved island. Look at the rapid rate at which Jamaica is being sold. Bit by bit and piece by piece. Can you imagine! I wonder how much of Jamaica really belongs to Jamaica. Soon enough Jamaica will be documented as All that parcel of land named Jamaica which is located in the said country is now owned and operated by small island governments and other foreign countries. Mattie, do you see what I am seeing? Rumor even has it that Dunns River was on the sales list. Ahahahaa this is the biggest joke of the year and I hope it continues to remain a joke. It would appear as if the decision makers are out of their minds. Dem lick dem head! I can’t believe that our good-good Jamaica is going, going until it soon gone because of mismanagement and arrogance. I feel so ashamed. Tell me, what is left to gloat about?

Mattie, to tell the truth I don’t even know how well the country is faring from tourism. So-so sea and sand cannot rectify the situation, according to the people who are voicing their opinion openly. I sit and listen to them daily while I move around town and rural areas. They have expressed that we Jamaicans should exhibit our culture in a more laudable manner, especially now that we have so many champion runners and bobsled on our credentials. Also not to be forgotten are the late Robert Nesta “Bob” Marley, great musician and renowned ambassador of reggae; Louise Bennett-Coverly, Miss Lou, who took our local language, patois to high places. Sadly today it has no honor in its country. How do we expect to go forward if we don’t know where we are coming from? There should be no fear because we Jamaicans are a versatile and unique set of people. The use of Standard English, our official language, is not a problem among us. We always rise to the occasion whenever it is necessary. Take for instance since I arrived here in Jamaica I have observed the heavy use of the American “Yeow” when calling out to someone. Follow fashion is overriding our heritage. What has become of: Hey deh, Oye deh, or Psssst. Many of us will remain ashamed of our dialect until strangers snatch it and put it to good use. They are so hungry for knowledge that they will go through any means to research the Jamaican culture especially if they have a keen interest in Cultural Anthropology. Yes, Mattie, Cultural Anthropology. It is a mouthful and a great field of study these days. In the end a book or a documentary will be produced much to the detriment of our pretentious behavior.

Mattie it is about time that we Jamaicans accept who we are and pump up the volume on the songs Peel Head John Crow and Carry Mi Ackee Go a Linstead Market as the visitors arrive. Let us use our Otaheite apple in the hotels instead of granny so and so apple or so and so delicious apple from foreign. Do you agree? Our wide farming community has more than enough foods and fruits to entice the visitors to our shores. Natural vitality beverages are also produced by the locals. I have heard of one such beverage which is called the “front-end lifter” an alleged miracle worker for the men who are involved with several women at a time, poling them, according to the old timers, until their manhood is damaged. Mattie, I can see you rejoicing at the demise of the womanizers. He who feels it knows it. We will talk when I see you because this letter can get into the wrong hands. Eh-eh! Mattie, it is getting dark and the mosquitos are swarming me under this mango tree. They are out to eat me raw. I haven’t even updated you on the medical progress of my sister as yet. It’s hard to believe that venting about a not-so-pleasant plane landing could have led to so many things.

Well, Mattie the venting is over now and I give God thanks that my sister is no way worse than when I had arrived. She is home from the Black River Hospital and continues to be in her right mind although on one of my visits to the hospital I thought she was travelling, you know what I mean, going to her end. The eyes looked distant and her conversations weren’t sober. She mentioned that some ugly people next door to her were making a lot of noise. Don’t ask me why she described her imaginary people as being ugly. Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe as a child she used to call people ugly. Who knows, Mattie? Some behavior is hard to escape even on the sick bed. Or, it could be that the saying “Once a man twice a child” is really true. Mattie, my friend, you can tell the world that Black River Hospital “little but it tallawah”, great. It is tops when it comes to patient care. My sister was brought back from the brink of death. The doctors, nurses and porters are excellent. They are true professionals, deserving of many medals.

Luckily her husband and children didn’t take her back to Mandeville Hospital where she was first. It is a very modern hospital and would have been good but it is very far from her home in St. Elizabeth. Thank God Black River proved that they are capable because if that D word had taken place it would have caused an immense eruption. Everyone close and dear to her, including me who had just purchased plane fare, would have to fork out money in these hard times to send her “home” in style. Hard times have become a worldwide crisis and so are the medical bills. My sister had taken x-rays, blood tests and all kinds of scans which took a good size of money from her savings. The family should be grateful for the little farming that she had done alongside her clerical work at the Post Office. With this insight my sister should have been a politician, having displayed this impeccable sense of planning. Mattie as a matter of fact, pause right here, grab a glass with some special water and mek wi toast Black River Hospital and staff. My glass is always in a toast and cheers mode especially when I am in Jamaica. Yes, it is true. Hick! Ooops! Excuse me, please. It seems as if I am drinking too much.

Mattie, I know that you are curious to find out if I am having fun in Jamaica. Girl, I sure am. The sun has been in a brilliant mood which has put more pep in my step. Ahahahaha. I am eating all the good foods and seasonings, nothing artificial. The foods and fruits are gathered from the trees or dug from the ground in my presence. I visited a few sorrel fields and I am having a daily fill of sorrel drink. Steamed fish and bammy are also on my menu. For relaxation I visited the river yesterday, sat against a stone and let the water caressed my total being. People were at the river washing and cooking. I also saw a man with his pig walking along the banks. Mattie, the Jamaican people are still filled with laughter regardless of the hullabaloo that is taking place about an early election. There are no changes in my fellow Jamaicans’ styles of walking: slow, not so slow, hardly going and walk and stop. It is a pleasure to watch them compared to the movements of the people in New York City. The laidback behavior of those who constantly sit around tables placed under trees, playing dominoes, drinking beer and listening to music reminds me that there is more to life other than work.

Mattie, nature never ceases to amaze me, especially among lower class of animals. Two days ago I saw some goats trying to get frisky, you know what I mean, and by the time I reached for my camera the performance was finished. I felt so disappointed because capturing a picture of them in the act would have been good for wild life documentary. Ahahahaha. Liza’s wattle and daub house is still standing, from the eighteen hundreds. It is stronger than some of the modern homes. Girl, most interestingly, mongoose is still alive and rampant here, lots of them. They are very boldfaced. One almost bit a little girl. Mattie, it is such a great feeling to be here in Jamaica. Maybe one day soon I will be back to live and with the hope that I will be able to keep up with the lifestyle. Believe it or not, the Jamaicans are trekking off to China and Japan as if they are going to their backyard. They have come to realize that America is not the only place on planet earth to visit, go to school or live. Talking about that, Mattie, do you recall the days when Chinese were rampant in Jamaica, doing business. Well it is happening again. I guess we are learning to “foster relationships between countries”. I must say that regardless of all the bad decisions Jamaica has come a long way. Adding to that, last week I heard one of my nieces speaking Chinese language. You should have heard her: Ching fong ding don dung dung fuk do. Don’t ask me the meaning because I write according to the sounds I had heard.

Finally, Mattie I have lots of pictures to show you. Among them is one that was given to me by Ms. Holly. It is a picture of me at a wedding more than fifty years ago. I have enclosed it and others. I was the lead flower girl who sprinkled the flower petals along the aisle of the church while the bride walked behind. I am the tallest of the flower girls. The picture is fading but if you look good you will see me holding the basket of petals. How do you like my hat? My hairstyle was drop curls. Mama had combed it. See how pretty I looked then, and still do to this day. To prove it I still get wolf whistles from the males. Aahahahahaha. I bet you are laughing as hard as you can. Laughter is good medicine.

Hope to see you soon.

I remain your best friend,

Grace

Tah-tah! Show some love every day. It will make someone happy.

Grace Dunkley-Asphall, Copyright © 2011

Details of an Irie Vacation in a Coconut Shell

Dear Readers,

I bring you Irie greetings from the tropics, Jamaica! By the time you receive this letter November 2010 will have already reared its head and I will probably need another vacation. I withheld writing to you much sooner because vacation is always exciting especially when it’s a trip to Jamaica. I move to the beat of the island…No problem man, cool runnings and the entire laid-back attitude coupled with reggae music to activate muscles and bones.

I set out from JFK, New York and arrived safely at the Norman Manley Airport in Kingston, Jamaica. My carrier was Air Jamaica now operated by Caribbean Airlines. I will assume that you like me have either read or heard about the change. Mh! To tell the truth as I boarded the plane and took my seat I felt a tinge of sadness, Jamaica’s pride and joy of the sky dubbed the iron bird went like butter against sun. As soon as the plane sat steadily in the sky I decided to host the sweet memories of the old Air Jamaica by purchasing a glass of mimosa, which by all account used to be free of cost on the flights. Can you imagine? I had a few sips of the concoction and then slipped into a relaxed mood, letting my mind roam freely. I gave thanks to Air Jamaica for all the good times, free foods and beverages and believe it or not for its occasional tardiness which no doubt was necessary or within good reasons. Unfortunately, the sorry present came to mind fast as I salivated in Air Jamaica’s glorious past. The change was real. I then said to myself, may the pilot of this plane be an Air Jamaica old timer because bumpy landings are not my forte. I wanted my landing as per usual… smooth and easy like a hot delicious creamy bowl of Jamaican cornmeal porridge. Needless to say I got my wish, and took it as an overture to my vacation.

I stepped from the plane with my natural hair combed in two plaits. Each plait hung from the sides of my head, covering my ears. This would have been an unwelcome site to my mother if she was alive because she always referred to that hairdo, when I wore it, as a donkey dressed with its two hampers (smile). Anyway whether she was around or not I would have still kept it that way because I wanted the tropical sun and wind to hit my scalp as I deplaned. To my surprise that wasn’t the case because the airport has been modernized. I had no breeze, wind nor sun to my disposal until I had cleared customs and entered the outdoors where everyone roamed freely. Heh! This isn’t gossip but between you, me and, the door-post I believe the modernization is a master plan to contain people who conjure far-fetched ideas... lol or bobl (buss out big laff) as taken from the Jamaican dialect text messaging vocabulary.

At the airport I saw many fancy vehicles which bring me to speculate that there is only a small amount of walk-foot people left in Jamaica. Check this out! In Jamaica I heard that the imported used cars are called deportees…lol. Keeping up with appearances one of my nieces was at the airport in her fabulous vehicle, ready to be my chauffer. We made our way in fine style from the airport, stopping a couple minutes later at a coconut vendor to have some coconut water. We were served two huge coconuts which were no match for our grasps. Anyway we handled them well. We drank and gossiped about family members and in doing so I noticed that I was in the vicinity of a beach which I used to frequent at nights during my happy-go-lucky years. This was a popular thing to do back then. Sadly, that beach is not the same as before and even if it was the coconut vendor told me that I couldn’t venture there at nights. By the way it is said that coconut water is the only water that goes straight to the heart. Maybe it is true because I felt instant rejuvenation after my indulgence. I also ate the delicious white jelly meat from the coconut, savoring every bite.

Moving away from Kingston, our next stop was Portmore where I came under heavy attack by mosquitoes but being a straphanger/subway rider from New York I wasn’t deterred by their fierceness. I looked at them and with a cool American accent I said, “Yow man, whasup! You all ain’t go feed off a me today.” Within seconds I was able to crush some of the blood suckers to naught against my fabulous skin. It would be a sin to let the tiny pests spoil my surprised visit with my Portmore nephew and his family also my trip to Rodney’s Arms restaurant where I sat in one of the gazebos and watched the sea rumbled and tumbled as I feasted on steamed fish, bammy and a bowl of conch soup for stamina, vigor and vitality. Oh how I wish you were there with me to enjoy the lovely sea breeze and food. To aid digestion I had a glass of something on the rocks, special amber the name my father used for Appleton Rum. Tee hee hee! I can’t laugh too hard because pastor would be very upset at me for indulging in ravenous drinks. My niece and I left Portmore pregnant with food. Night time was now in place with lots of speeding drivers on the road. Nonetheless she maneuvered her way well and at some point stopped to pick up her high school student son who was waiting at a friend’s home in Spanish Town. We then made our way to Old Harbour where I spent the night in comfort with my niece and her son in their lovely home.

The next morning I awoke to a splendid Saturday morning village welcome from all sorts of creatures…donkeys, cows, goats, pigs, roosters, birds, and lizards doing their individual performances to keep things real and rural. Adding to that, my niece made a scrumptious breakfast of ackee and salt fish, roasted breadfruit, yellow yam and boiled bananas. My plans for the day were hefty. I had places to go and more family to see so I ate and then left the dining area to get dressed. My niece being the perfect host entered the bedroom to see how I was doing and as she did so I noticed her staring at the bed with her mouth opened wide in dismay as if she had seen a ghost. What’s the matter with her, I said to myself? I turned, looked at the bed and saw a dark speck on one of the pillows which was easy to see because it’s a trait in our family to use pastel shades of bed linens. “That is a fly and not a bed bug,” I said, reading her mind. “Thank God it’s a fly. I was wondering about that,” she laughed. “I do not have bedbugs at my place in New York,” I told her. “Well, you may not have but your luggage was among other peoples’ on the plane. “

“You have a point,” I said and then quickly shut my mouth. I was on her terrain and not at a hotel. Besides that the news was far and wide in Jamaica that New York and other parts of America were experiencing a bedbug crisis.

Talk about experience! My vacation was of such that it would take a marble cover composition book to write you all the details. The details in a nut shell would be a good choice but on second thought it’s too small. A coconut shell is more appropriate…ahahahaha! Here we go. I ate roasted yellow yam and salt fish purchased from licensed vendors by the wayside as I journeyed from my niece’s home in Old Harbour, St. Catherine to Mandeville, Manchester. While at my relative’s home in Mandeville I ate well. I had juices made from, cherry, guava and june-plum. All these goodies were highly appreciated because natural home grown foods don’t come my way often. According to the old saying “make hay while the sun shines” and that’s exactly what I did, ate all the good foods everywhere I went. It was great to be in Mandeville again, the home of my High School. Walking around Mandeville I saw familiar faces and friends. The town has become so congested with traffic, much different from the days when I attended High School. The supermarkets are so American; I thought for a moment that I was still in New York. There is hardly anything Jamaican in them anymore. You would never imagine the big influence that America has on the tiny island. Jamaica needs to keep its culture alive. Travellers admire this. Sssh! It’s none of my business but the dress mode of some follow-fashion people look rather ridiculous for the tropics...lol. On a rather interesting note I was invited to visit a lab in Mandeville which has been running a sickle cell trait pilot program. Within the few minutes that I was there I found some of the dynamics about the program rather interesting. Before I forget I should tell you that I have pictures but they are mostly of relics, antique things, and scenes from nature. However, at one of the shopping centers in Mandeville, I took a picture of writings found in a stall of the public restroom. The writings obviously done by two people read “Chris Brown is hot”. “Jesus is hotter and sweeter said Princess”. I tell you things of this nature are everywhere these days. People scribble and disappear without been seen.

Forgive me if I am incoherent in my delivery. The vacation fever is still in me. I had several nieces all sitting behind the wheels of their fabulous vehicles, taking turns in transporting me around. I really considered myself a lucky aunt. I cannot forget my seventeen year old grandnephew from Old Harbour sitting behind the wheel of his mother’s truck; he handled the roads and the vehicle like a pro. My other relatives did well too on the winding narrow country roads. Sometimes I wished they had given me the opportunity to use my “foot mobile”…lol. Lord knows I needed the exercise but unfortunately they refused to understand. Their action was all about love, respect and concern. As a matter of observation, the people in Jamaica seemed rather happy despite the contagious hard times and the fact that tropical storm Nicole had ravished the island. Areas remained flooded. Homes immersed. Roads damaged.

I went from pillar to post in Jamaica…here, there, everywhere. I visited the Blue Mountain 22 acre coffee farm which is owned by one of my nieces. I also visited Cinchona Gardens which is in the Blue Mountain Range. It is the most gorgeous place on earth. Beautiful trees, plants, indigenous flora, fauna, and a great house. On a trip coming back from Montego Bay after visiting one of my brothers and his family, we stopped at Border in St. Elizabeth to feast on fish soup, fried fish, and bammy. To complete the feast I drank Red Label wine, a popular wine used for baking needs. When in Jamaica I never leave home without it. I love the taste on the run. Honestly, vacations sometimes court antics, and experiments, maybe because of the freedom or relaxation involved.

My main highlight was a visit to Roses Valley, or the Land of Look Behind as noted on the map. It’s a cul-de-sac village which is located in St. Elizabeth. The way leading to this village is the same way out. It has many mountains, and valleys. I had promised that on my next visit there I would tour the surrounding villages but first I had to attend a relative’s tomb building and then his memorial service. This was a grand two day event which involved going to church, lots of foods, music, humor and family. As soon as that was out of the way I then visited the villages of William Piece, Tanancy (Tan an si), Jenkins, and Lookout. I washed my face with dew drops found on cocoa leaves at Look Out. It felt so refreshing! I sat by the wayside and chatted with the villagers, listened to music and drank and ate. At William Piece I met a lively 103 year old man with memory like an elephant’s. If you think that modern technology has replaced the age of rote in this community, think again. I was invited by the Principal of the Roses Valley Primary school to give a brief address to the children and in doing so I engaged them in some memory gems and let me tell you, the children were stars. I was very surprised but was even more surprised when I was presented with a certificate of appreciation for the contribution that I had given to the school over the years.

My maternal roots belong to Roses Valley. As a result I found it necessary to visit the family burial sites. Following tradition and to make the “spirits” happy I armed myself with a bottle of over proof white rum also taking along with me a couple of family members as tour guides. We had cups, snacks and water as if we were going on a picnic. We started from Look Out to Class House to Chapel Hill. At each site I washed my face with some rum. I gave some to my relatives to do the same. One relative thought it was a waste. He was concerned that the rum would be finished before he got a shot of it but I assured him that it wouldn’t be finished and if it did I had some red label wine as backup. He finally got his shot of rum. I then held the bottle firmly with the remainder and proceeded to sprinkle the white wash mounds with it and toss it recklessly. Ha! Ha! While the rum went east west north and south I said to the silent bones, “Here take this and be happy and share it with the others. I am not promising to do this each time I visit Jamaica.” To see me in action you would believe that I had power to cast spells and advise…lol. It came time to eat. While we snacked on cassava chips I commented about a dead relative who in his drunken stupor had said that “the bible was written to calm slaves”. Had he been alive today and made such a remark in public, rest assured that he would have faced serious opposition from the Christian world and others. We disregarded his remarks and continued to have fun, reminiscing, talking to the spirits not the ones in the bottles…haha! “We are just passing through we didn’t come to stay,” shouted one relative. “Yes, is true,” I said, laughing at our silly behavior. As we left I had a last minute request for the old bones, “Give me some winning numbers for the lottery. It’s about time I become a millionaire.” The moments at the burial sites were priceless. Where else but in Roses Valley, St. Elizabeth, Jamaica could I have had such expression of self. I was loved, accommodated and well fed by my relatives not only in Roses Valley but also in two major environs, Oxford and Balaclava. We bounced stem wares to good health, wealth, laughter, and longevity.

From Roses Valley I went to Paradise District, St. Elizabeth to visit my 77 year old blind sister, and her 83 year old husband who remains as fit as a fiddle. My sister filled me in on all the current affairs and news that she had heard from the radio and TV. To my amusement when being opposed on a subject or topic, she made it clear that she is right because she read about it in the Gleaner (daily newspaper). Over the years my sister had read the Jamaica Gleaner so much that even in her blindness it is difficult to separate the source from whence the news and information come. Before she became blind I remember her being very spic and span and obviously this trait has followed her into her blindness. She accused her husband of handing her food without washing his hands and for not giving her the proper cup to drink from. She also mentioned that she would never eat cabbage, scallion and callaloo because she can just imagine that every toilet was flushed when Tropical Storm Nicole ravished the island. Hush! Peculiar lady... At this point I can say that my sister has her own style. Her behavior doesn’t bother her husband one bit. He moves about smiling, and takes care of her with lots of love and patience. I took those moments away with me as I left, to put to good use.

My vacation would be incomplete without a visit to my childhood village, Maidstone, Manchester. It is one of the first free villages in Jamaica. I viewed the mountains which have been equated to the breasts of maidens. I could go on and on about this place until thy kingdom come. Maybe one day you will have the opportunity to visit this farming community. I stopped by the Moravian Cemetery where my parents and a brother were laid to rest. I visited the Nazareth Infant and Nazareth Primary Schools. As the secretary of the NOSA (Nazareth Old Students Association) New York Chapter, it’s expected that on my return to New York a full report on the progress of the two schools will be presented to the members. Our organization over the years has been a support for these institutions as well as the community. My time in Maidstone culminated with a visit to the ruins of my childhood home. I then returned to Mandeville.

I had one more day to spare and so I left Mandeville, my strategic point, and returned to my niece’s home in Old Harbour. A few more visits were pending, this time they were in Kingston. As soon as that was done, we went to Portmore for another meal of fish and beverage. We left Portmore and returned to Old Harbour, awoke early the next day and then headed to the airport in Kingston. I checked in, purchased souvenirs, bought a couple bottles of over proof white rum, and Appleton Rum, ate a breakfast of ackee and salt fish and fried dumplins, drank a glass of cherry juice, read a few pages from the book “Usain Bolt…My Story… 9.58…Being The World’s Fastest Man”, boarded Jet Blue. New York bound! Wow!

Yours truly,

From Here To There With Grace

Tah-tah! All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.

Grace Dunkley-Asphall, Copyright © 2010

Love Letters of Yester Year - Part I (by the girls)

Roses are red violets are blue sugar is sweet my love but not as sweet as you. This is undoubtedly the most popular love verse of yester year and probably is today. It could easily be dubbed the love pledge of all times. It was the main ingredient in every love letter and it was massacred at every opportunity seen fit as love.
____________________________________________________

If I should define love, this is how I would: love is respect, love is sharing, love is caring, love is kind, love is giving, love is blind, love understands, love is a passionate affection for someone, love is love.

Back in the day is a prevalent phrase used by my daughters whenever they converse with me about what it was like growing up as a Baby Boomer. From their dialogue I fathomed that they being in the category of Generation X and Y believe Baby Boomers led uninteresting, dull and difficult lives. Or, maybe they are under the notion that Baby boomers were born big. They believe we know nothing about love/romance, lies and mischief just to name a few traits of the rampant raging hormones of adolescence. Sometimes my mind tells me that Generation X and Y believe they invented everything. In plain language to them we are not “hip”. Hello! In our own way, we have been there, done that and are now taking a dim view. After all in this era of modern technology and amenities it would take great influence to change their way of thinking.

In my place of origin, boys and girls had a way of communicating with the one they had a crush on. We had no television, no electricity to rule our world. However, all was not lost because we had battery operated radios, gramophones and lots of books and more interestingly we had the most romantic light of all...kerosene lamp with the home sweet home lamp shade. We had commons to run free and we had some of the most superb creative minds which led us to write some daring love letters. Looking back, we were very naughty maybe much naughtier than Generation X and Y but of course we made sure that we remained discreet and respectful…never flaunted our bad habits before the public’s eyes. Romance, sex or love was not originated in Hollywood. Thus it is on this premise that I have decided to share, through letters, the raunchy side of a female Baby Boomer living in a village far away from the bright lights.

Broken Heart District
Lovers Lane P.O.
June 4, 1960


Dearest Harry,

It is now midnight as I lay in bed amidst the glow of the kerosene lamp, writing this letter about our friendship and wondering when I will see you again. Honey, my heart is aching ever since you have been gone. I cry myself to sleep each night when I remember the way you kissed me tenderly behind my uncle’s kitchen, with the moon above and the shrill sounds in the background from the creepy-crawlies as they made their encore. I never knew what love is and what love could do until I felt your tender lips against mine and the sweet taste of the star-apple you were eating. My stomach was in sweet turmoil. As a result my knees weakened and if you were not holding me in your precious arms, I would have fallen on the bed of tomatoes or against the patch of cow itch (scratch bush).

Harry, my darling, you shouldn’t have kissed me because I am now bonded to you by that kiss. How could you ever leave me? It is not right. It was my maiden kiss. You knew all along that I could never be free to see you as you would have liked. My parents are always watching me like a hawk. They often told me that boys suffer from swelling skin and I should be wary because it could lead to something dangerous if I got in their path. I don’t know what my parents mean nonetheless it scares me. Another of their sayings which always puzzles me is: it only takes one kiss to lie down. Maybe they mean the way I am feeling now, lying in my bed with tears in my eyes.

Darling, I really don’t know what to say. However, I have come to the conclusion that I wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to perform my first and only tongue bath if my parents weren’t at Uncle Sammy’s home, grieving over his death which resulted from stoppage of water (prostate cancer). My parents didn’t even notice that I had sneaked out of the crowded room to the back of the wattle and daub kitchen to be with you until Cousin Peter caught us and made an alarm. It was an embarrassing moment especially as he cursed and chased you with his cutlass (machete). Adding to that was the commotion from the onlookers and the fiddle my parents played on my rump with the belt, shoes and bucket-pan. Also, my brothers who flung stones at me as I cried and made my escape up and down the yard, behind the fowl coop, around the pig sty and through the coffee-piece (coffee grove). Nonetheless, to be honest with you my sugar plum, the hurt that I am feeling now is of greater depth than all the embarrassment.

Sweetheart, whilst I rumble with my thoughts, I do not know if you still have the same loving feeling towards me. I wish we could have kissed a bit longer before being caught. Regardless of the embarrassment that we both went through, I am begging you to reconsider our friendship and wait for me until I am finished with my schooling. Your wait will not be in vain. I want no other one but you my darling. My love for you is like a steady flow of cool water rushing over rocks and that is why my darling, down by the river in a secret spot, you will find a rock with a little dot which means forget me not.

My precious, as I turn and look at the inscription Home Sweet Home on the glass shade of the kerosene lamp and the little moth hugging it, I would like you to latch on to the memory of our kiss until we can be together in our own home. Baby, I cannot write much longer because I am blinded by my tears. Hence, I must close this letter now. In doing so, I send you all my love and I hope when you receive this letter you will hold it close to your heart.

Your broken-hearted lover,

Ruth



2 Leg Street
1 Center Cut
Bushy Park P.O.
December 20, 1962


My Ever Loving Darwin,

I hope when this missive arrives in your hand it will find you thinking about me in the same loving way that I am. At this precise moment, I wish you were here holding me tight. Your kisses are like drops of dew…sweet, soft, alluring and saturating. I cannot wait to see the day when we will be together, forever, in a big house with a big backyard and a car. We will also have a family of our own. First we will have a baby boy and when his hair begins to curl we will have a baby girl.

My romantic flame, if you could only see me now lying in bed under my blanket. I am dressed in pink flannel pajamas that my mother made and I am holding and squeezing a pillow, pretending it’s you. Every night before I go to sleep, I read some of your romantic letters that you have written to me. The words are so powerful and precious. I get jolts, almost making me want to pee. Your letters have become my keepsake. I have tucked them in a shoe box and placed the box under the shelter of a huge rock in the hill behind my house, hoping that my parents won’t find them because if they do, my bottom will be on fire from their many licks.

Honey, I know that you are two years older than me which should be the least of our concerns. The most important thing is I am in love with you. Darling, I adore your deep-set eyes and your hue. I hear the older girls saying that the blacker the berry the sweeter the juice. One day, I hope to find out what this means. I also admire your bow-legs. They drive me lovingly crazy. I noticed how pronounced they were as I stood under the guava tree and watched you play cricket with the village boys. Oh, honey, how I wish that you were from my village and not so far away. You are so perfect for me. If I should find a fault in you, it would have to be your accusing me of being shy and afraid. You mostly say this when I brush away your hands in your attempt to touch my tits. I have explained to you before that my older cousin, Mavis, told me not to let any man touch or feel-up my tits because they will grow big, soft and out of shape. I hope you understand this. Furthermore, I do not want my parents to look at my tits and then say something fishy is going on. Dearest, you can do all the feel-up when the time is right. For me it will be the day of our nuptial. On that day you will also pick my cherry. So let’s just kiss for now.

Dearest, before I close this letter, please do not try to kiss anyone besides me. As it is now I am hardly eating because I am thinking about you each time the clock ticks. So can you imagine my condition if I should hear that you have kissed another girl. Please, I beg of you to be true to me. I am saving myself for you. This is the gospel truth. Honey, I find it hard to resist your kisses. Never let them become tasteless so Sugar your coffee, sugar your tea and sugar your lips when kissing me. Before you go to sleep at nights, always remember that I love you once and I love you twice. I love you next to Jesus Christ.

Sweetheart, I end with hugs and kisses and may your dreams be about me.

Your future and darling wife,

You know who


P.S. This missive is for your eyes only. Keep it in a safe place where no one can reach it. I would be very ashamed if the contents are shared with others. Also, continue to give Dexter my letters when he comes to his father’s farm in your village. Don’t send them via Post Office because the Postmistress delivers all the mail to my parents.



Tah-tah! It is said that the pen is mightier than the tongue


Look out for love letters by the boys in Part II


Grace Dunkley-Asphall Copyright © 2009