Part Three: "Single Women Over 18" Table
Trip Start
Aug 10, 2008
1
8
16
Trip End
Sep 30, 2009
Kingston,
Jamaica
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
"You must come to our home for dinner sometime," they insisted. "Our nephew is looking for a roommate in London, actually. Perhaps...?" Numbers and emails were exchanged. We've since emailed and seen each other several times. I'm expected for dinner this Wednesday evening.
Yesterday, I asked a fellow shopper within the grocery market if she had any recommendations for a wine that would be appropriate for a traditional Jamaican family gathering.
"Something sweet," She suggested, and smiled. "Where are you from?"
"California."
"On vacation?"
"Student. At U-Tech."
"Ohh," her smile broadened. "Studying...?"
"International relief work."
"Ahh. I work in international development. We should exchange information."
Two weeks ago, after picking up a birthday package at the post office (and enduring a $45US fee from the customs department), I crossed the street in front of the building, only to have a truck screech to a halt in front of me. Damien, a young man that had helped me on a rainy afternoon with a ripped bag of groceries, jumped out.
"Heather, it is so good to see you."
"Damien, what are the odds that you would be driving by -"
"We work in customs actually. I see you've picked up a package. How much did they charge you?"
"Forty-five U.S."
"Forty-five! Mention our names in the future. You won't have to pay another fee. My boss, Carl...he's a Canadian. He's in the front seat. Can we offer you a lift home?"
By the time I was dropped off (fifteen minutes later), Carl had proudly shared news of the birth of his granddaughter, provided multiple examples of Damien's trustworthiness and impeccable work ethic; and with a not-too-subtle cupid impersonation, insisted that I join his wife, Damien and he for dinner sometime. ;)
The café where I study is no exception to the above. It offers a mean cup of coffee and some of the nicest wait staff this side of the Blue Mountains. For the past several weeks, several of the staff have provided me with their insight into the Jamaican culture, filling in gaps or reaffirming social norms noted in my class assignments and lectures. They and their kindness have been invaluable.
Tammy, one of the waitresses, has taken a particular interest in my literature class since we met, offering opinions on the authors or cultural subtexts of each novel or poem, and offering assistance when I stumble in Patois. This past weekend, she invited me to a family reunion at her aunt's house. Touched by the invitation, I accepted.
At her aunt's home on Sunday evening, cousins, nieces, Rastafarian grandpas and uncles were quick to welcome me into the fold and include me in conversations, piling my plate with steaming goat intestine stew, braised pork, fried chicken, rice and peas. Much like in my family gatherings back home, groupings at the reunion were segregated by age and/or marital status. Tammy and I were at the "Single Women over Eighteen" Table, and the only females without suckling babies in tow. Regardless of the presence of newborns, the mouths of the women rattled with family gossip, unbridled wit, brash expletives, and lightning Patois. It was great.
When dinner was over and the dishes were ready to be washed, I was delegated as a "guest" and sent to the living room with the men to watch the Portmore soccer team battle the Spanish Town players. An hour later, I was on a bus, crossing into Kingston, stuffed and smiling at the conjured memories of Anderson, Farrell and Somple family gatherings back at home. Such an evening (along with all of the above experiences) has made me feel very lucky to be here.
Memories of the Anderson Get-Togethers
Memories of the Somple Get-Togethers
Not-Too-Distant Memories of Farrell Get-Togethers
