Relative values

I increasingly enjoy my visits to Jamaica for the chance to hear people talk about events. Their conversations rarely cover major events of the common news variety. Talk about elections, politics and world events are often about how the personalities behave themselves and usually with a jaundiced eye (with comments such as "Look how dem mek fool o' dem self." ) and distrust ("Bway, dem can lie!"). The conversations I like are about happenings in the districts and stay close to what sticks in the memory for its humour, personal significance, example of someone's character, etc. As I usually spend time in rural areas I rarely hear direct accounts about the hardships of life in the Kingston ghettos, and the escalating national murder rate and brutal violence, which is hitting the headlines every day (over 1400 murders already this year!). I get to hear more of these stories as I talk to my older relatives, but sadly not nearly as much as I would like and not as much as I would have heard had I not emigrated.

In my case I love to hear about the life I missed when I was not living in Jamaica, especially about my family. A cousin and I have separately started building family trees and these stories help to flesh out the personalities. I started the process late but better that than never. My father reminisces a lot and he does this more since his stroke last year, but he is starting to confuse the details (not a real surprise anyway for a man nearly 80) so I need to really pay attention to what he says. He often talks about his life in Cuffy Gully, St. Mary (a land rich in hills, agriculture and rivers). He has great stories about his three uncles (Levi, Consie, and Mas' Will), for whom no woman seemed off limits. For instance, one uncle went to Kingston to visit his sister (my grandmother) at the house where she was a domestic. He was left alone with the girls who were preparing gungo peas (reputed to make people feel aroused) and by the end of the afternoon this uncle had "made three babies". True or false, that is some reputation.

Life in rural Jamaica in the 1920s through 1940s sounds like it was really sweet. A river ran through the land owned by my great grandmother so the children all became swimmers, especially the boys. They also used the river to play and to catch shrimps and fish (something I vaguely remember doing also when I was a boy). My father would help to sell herb medicine (bought from the husband of an aunt for two shillings and three pence [about 15 pence in current English pounds/30 US cents] and sold for three shillings and six pence, and the profit helped pay for his secondary school education). He would also help one of his uncles make shoes, managing all the steps needed; in those days with no electricity in the rural areas machines needed real manpower. The money my father made from this work also went towards his school fees.

The uncles were typical men of the time and mainly artisans. One was a builder, who later went to Kingston and "made a fortune" through government contracts in the 1960s, but wasted it all on women. Another uncle was a shoe maker, who could do wonderful work but was a wizard when he drank: one time he had to change the two left-footed shoes he had made for a man's wedding on the day of the marriage and the wedding went off well. The third uncle was a tailor. All of them started and ran their businesses from their mother's house, which became a pathway for men needing fine clothes and shoes. I guess that as business was good the stream of men was also a source of distraction for the sisters in the household.

It is a great pity that we have no pictures of these men, and I only have pictures of my paternal grandmother and one of her sisters. Somehow, however, the family will try to keep their memories vivid.