CATCHING BEES BARE-HANDED!

I loved my brother, Orien, so. He was 5, and I was six years old.

We had great times together, with children from the neighborhood, wherever we lived.

Everyday, after daddy left for work, and our brothers and sister went to school, we would have our own adventures.

Every morning, we would sit on the front steps with daddy's old fashioned, square razor-blade. Anxiously we took turns, using it to shave the hairs off our legs, the way daddy shaved his face.

We shaved every morning AND practiced tying our shoe laces, on the front steps.

Another, favorite pass time of ours, was bee catching with neighborhood children.

Who could resist the hum of bees on a sunny day milling around the bushes, along the entire length of our fenced-in yard? We loved locking our prisoners into glass jars after puncturing tiny holes into the lids. It was on the second day of this adventure that we learned how Orien caught more bees than the rest of us. He was catching them bare-handed, and got stung!

As playmates, we scarcely ever stopped to make sure that all the rules were spelled out to younger companions.

More to come on our innocent misunderstandings.

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WE NEVER HAD FOOD ON FRIDAYS

My younger brother was a handsome wide faced boy with a pug nose. Kind and playful. He loved to play cowboys and Indians. He was smart and he made friends quickly, wherever we moved.

Mr. Harris (daddy), was a thin man of very light complexion. he had a narrow face with almost Chinese-like dark eyes. His black hair was so tightly curled that it appeared to be straight at a glance or from a certain distance. He always seemed to be insecure or nervous. Daddy was a well paid executive accountant, who did the work of five people, but he was a poor provider. I discovered that Fridays were his time to buy rounds of drinks for the entire bar, when Yvonne once sent me to a local bar to fetch him one Friday evening. Details in the upcoming book.

We never had food on Fridays.

Orien, who could not go for long without food would ritually vomit on Friday nights. Right after his first bite of buttered bread and a gulp of sweet milk.

Before this book is completed I'll find out why we moved so often. Might be the same reason we never had food on Fridays. I never liked to eat, so scarcity of food was never a problem for me.

What would we usually have for breakfast?

We would have peppermint tea with bread and butter. Or scrambled eggs with fried dumplings. On rare occasions we would have short link Vienna type sausages from a can. Weekend delight!Whenever, my sister served us Cerasse tea I felt like it was a punishment, because it was so bitter (she picked it).

We picked these teas off the fence that separated our yard from the business, next door. The ripened fruit of the Cerasse tea was delicious, though (see pic. of the green fruit above). I never got a good look at the fence underneath the thick foliage of teas and what-not.

What we had for lunch on the average day, was cold Lime-aide with dry crackers, buttered.

Sometimes we would have a Bulla-cake(large cookie) instead, which was nice.

Some days we'd have a steaming hot bowl of porridge, either cornmeal or green-banana, I like that, these porridge were made with coconut milk. So delicious! I disliked oatmeal, because it had those specks of different dark things, that I couldn't identify. Disgusting. It seemed like I sat at the table for hours trying to brave that porridge.

Dinner?

One of my favorite dinners is codfish and Ackee (tree grown vegetable), over white rice. If it were a weekend breakfast, codfish & Ackee would be served with fried dumplings, and tea. Yes weekends were special! A weekend dinner would be browned and stewed chicken, served with rice and peas(red kidney beans). Yum, seasoned rice, was a nice dinner, too! Like fried rice. Recipes in upcoming book.

Anyway, My oldest brother Tony, was a looker with clear blue eyes! He had all the girls eating out of his hands. So much so that one of them left his first born in my hands when I was only turning 8. That story in detail, later. Stafford, was the family brains! I can only remember him studying all the time. You will learn why later.

Scientists have identified several active proteins in the cerasse bush are potentially cheaper alternative treatments for HIV/AIDS.
All over Jamaica, the cerasse bush (Momordica charantia) grows wild, unaided by human device. Though it produces bright, yellow flowers and an orange-coloured fruit, it is often viewed as no more than a nuisance, creeping through the garden. Tea brewed from the leaves is popular among rural folk but considered too bitter by most Jamaicans.

Ackee is a poisonous vegetable if it were to be picked before full maturity, when it opens up while still on the tree.

Please leave a comment before visiting the Link on cerrase tea, below. Thanks.
http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://alumniroundup.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/bitter-melon.jpg&imgrefurl=http://alumniroundup.com/%3Fp%3D2538&usg=__pa3Hx_PO2DJyI5VfpZDhYIkHRlQ=&h=333&w=500&sz=84&hl=en&start=16&tbnid=VR9d7kCIfMc1vM:&tbnh=87&tbnw=130&prev=/images%3Fq%3DJamaican%2Bteas%26gbv%3D2%26hl%3Den

Where did Orien and I fit in?

A SIX YEAR OLD'S SENTENCING

Independence is a cold truth. Only a small child can accept such a position with brevity. What is brevity? Is it the other face of denial? Was my 5 year old brother bothered? Unanswered questions, live in the minds of youngsters who seem to adjust. Yes. especially when adjustment is the cornerstone of survival.

My brother Orien took refuge in food, and bawled when he was hungry. I took refuge in solitude, because, I felt safe there. Power? What power has a 6 year old girl, whose mother walks out without no more explanation than"good bye"? Especially when mother orders her to obey a sudden-reunited teen sister without question. Talk about a sentencing.

Withdrawal? Obstinate? Depression? Call it what you wish. I had trouble eating. Food was hard to swallow. What a bother. Nowadays, it's called separation anxiety.

And bless my sister, Yvonne, who was thrown into a world of responsibility, way out of her league. Was she ready? No. Did she have a choice? No. Was she resentful? Yes! She did the best she could under the circumstances. I grew to admire and respect my sister as only a faithful sister, could. Hindsight is 20/20

My Yvonne was a good girl. She was delicately built. Fair complected. A cute button nose, and an affective smile with dark eyes. Her hair was tall, thick and black. In Jamaica long hair is referred to as "tall.") I used to love to watch my sister get gussied up for a Friday night on the town with her friend, Marie. She would have her french manicure. Groomed eyebrows, and black eyeliner. Did I mention her up-swept do, with the french twist in the back of it?! Of course she wore her favorite little black dress. We didn't have much but my sister managed to get a straightening perm from time to time. I thought she was so beautiful.

At the age of six, I admired my sister, so. My brother on the other hand, wailed aloud, on Friday nights as she was about to leave. It was painful for him when she left us. Me? I stayed quiet.

I remembered wondering when it would be my turn to help out with chores like sweeping, and more. Yes. I got my chance....oh-boy did I ever?

More to come...

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WHEN MOMMA LEFT...

I remember the sunny day when momma, left, Jamaica. It was our first Taxi ride from the countryside of Portland, to the city of Kingston. The trees danced with the cool breeze on a sunny day. As we approached a strange home with a wrap-around veranda(porch) and a wide yard with children at play. Some were swinging on homemade swings of rope and wood, that hung from a sturdy limb way up in the tree.

I was quite shy. My mother instructed my brother Orien, and I to "go and make friends with those children, until I call you." As she went inside, my brother wasted very little time making friends. I just stayed to myself and observed.

Later she called us inside and told us "you must obey the rules of your father's home and do as you are told." Inside the home was warm and welcoming, with shiny wood floors. It was sparsely furnished. The atmosphere was fresh and light. When momma said goodbye, I must have been apprehensive, but knew I had to keep my feelings hidden, and accepted what was happening without comment. The witnesses to all this were friendly neighbors.

One neighbor named, Miss Betty, reiterated momma's sentiments, " don't give your big sister any trouble, she is like your mother, now. Do as she says."

I met my older siblings, Yvonne about 18yrs. old; Tony about 17 yrs. old and Stafford about 15 or 16 yrs. old. I have to guess, because I do not know their actual ages.

That was the last time I saw my mother, for the next eight years. Although we kept in touch through letters, over the years.

CARRYING WATER ON TOP OUR HEAD

The water bucket, I carried was designed to hold just enough for 1-2 uses. So, water fetching was a daily chore, to fill up the water barrel, located beside the house, to catch rain water.

Balancing the water bucket on my head was a feat in discipline and poise all at the same time. Not to mention walking downhill from the roadside to where mammy lived below road level. The worn path had natural steps that were grooved from bare root vines that laid across small rocks. So, you only had to slowly place your feet one in front of the other, never looking down, for fear of tumbling forward down the steep hill.

That water was cold! It was important for my cousin, Sharon, and I, to bathe by the river or in the spring. Washing-up, by the water spicket on the roadside, was all we could do in the early morning, before others would show up to catch water, too.

Google picture of anonymous girl carrying water for her family.

My cousin, Sharon, was a year younger, than me. She was fair skinned, with a round face and a mischievious smile. Her nick-name was Panchy, and her baby sister, Jacynth' s nick-name was Puunchie. Puunchie had a velvety dark complexion with a doll baby face and bright eyes. These were loving names given by their mom (aunt Esmay). She was a strict church woman with a curvy figure and a formal disposition. Always neatly dressed. Picture coming in bio.

I remember back when Puunchie first got her new teeth, that she loved biting other children. Maybe she liked to hear them scream. My mother and her mother(my aunt), would argue about the biting and what to do about it. Looking back, it was quite funny. My younger brother, Orien received a good bite from her. He was about 4 yrs. old.

Kingston was nothing like the countryside that I loved to visit. We had running tap water, although it was cold. Kingston homes had indoor bathrooms and kitchens.

The life back home in Jamaica, was the best. I got my first cold when I came to America. However, some hardships there, makes me appreciate that my mother was good enough to send for us when she came to America. More on why in my upcoming bio.

My mother lived in England for about 6 years before she came to America. So, I must have been only 5 yrs. old when she went abroad. My brother was 4yrs. old and my youngest sibling, Carol, was a 1 yr. old infant. Mmm. Writing does seem to clear up a lot of confusion.

EARLY BIRD GRANDMOTHER (Mammy)

My grand mother, mammy, was an early bird. She was loved by, and known to locals as Miss. Matey. Mammy, believed in rising before the birds at 4:30AM every morning. And yes, she woke and sent us to go collect water for the day, a mile up the mountain road at the public faucet(pipe). It felt like we walked two miles each way, though(might've been).

We would get to the road-side pipe and wash-up, before filling up and returning with the water buckets. Trying to keep the water from splashing our little faces as we came back down. You know we were lucky to make it down off the country road into mammy's property located below road level, with 3/4 of the original fill-up!

Mammy was so beautiful! She had a milk chocolate complexion, with very soft naturally curly hair. Mammy's lips were heart-shaped, with apple cheeks when she smiled. A curvy, energetic little woman, she stood nearly 5' tall. Her eyes twinkled, a hazel brown, like a baby dolls. I sure miss her. Mammy was self employed, and enjoyed working the fields for produce that she took to the market, every weekend.

I'll tell you more about mammy in my upcoming bio.

WISHED I NEVER HAD TO EAT

I was a thin child because I refused to eat.
At the tender age of eight, I lived to draw, so food was an unwelcomed distraction.

I remember thinking that I wished I never had to eat. Although, I loved some foods and fruits. The only thing was that my favorite dishes were seldom prepared. My favorite dishes were stewed peas and rice, seasoned rice, cod-fish and ackee... mmm-mm, yum! The look of that dish reminds me of chocolate-covered raisins over rice! If you ever go to a Jamaican restaurant, ask for stewed peas and rice! The recipe will be found in the back of the upcoming auto-bio.

My favorite fruit is mango, I will tell you what I would give up for it, in my upcoming bio. You haven't lived until you have tasted jack-fruit. I ate so much of it in one day when I went to the country with mammy, that I got so ill, and swore it off. These are foods and fruits and drinks, that I could possibly die for, they are so delicious. You have not tasted lemonaide as delicious as the one made with sour-orange, and brown sugar. DELICIOUS! OMG!

Anyway, the usual fare back home was ackee, and codfish. That explains why I never got sick with the common cold, or anything else while I lived in Jamaica. Another common dish was mackeril and banana, these dishes are tasty, when they aren't salty.

However, too much salt or too much pepper for a youngster, can be daunting. Not to mention the punishment of watching a glass of water that I could not touch until I ate my entire plate. My sister, Yvonne was a disciplinarian. I acquired my discipline and patience from my early experience at the dining table.

MORE to come.

MY FAVORITE UNCLE, Alan

My favorite uncle, Alan, has a heart like an angel. To this day he shows almost no signs of aging. in his early seventies. His skin is a deep coffee. He is kind hearted with a healthy temper, if pushed too far. he has a strong muscular build from years of hard work. He possesses a kind chiseled face. His eyes are deep and warm. He is known as a man of great honor in all his ways, business and personal. He is respected and loved by all respectable locals in Portland, Jamaica.

Anyway, let me tell you how he saved my life. On the occasions when mammy(maternal grandma) would come to visit me in Kingston at my father's home, I would beg to return with her. On those return visits, we would not get back to the countryside until deep in the dark of night. Mammy would, usually stop to visit uncle Alan, on her way home with me. It was on those occasions that uncle A, would prop me up on a stool at his dining table and mix me a drink of Guinness stout(beer) with sweetened condensed milk, garnished with cinnamon and nut-meg.

"Mammy, my God this child is starving to death." he would remark as he placed the drink in front of me to drink. As usual I would take a sip and then hesitate... at which point he would drag off his strap from his waist and order me to , "drink it up, now, Miss. D." Timidly I would suffer one more gulp, then he would strike me, once to assert his position. Mammy's protective launch would cause him to turn on her with his threatening strap over his shoulder, shouting, "you want , take lick, mammy!" Immediately, mammy would back off. The threat of that belt, forced me to gulp down the bitter, sweet concoction.

After several days of this nourishing drink, I would start to feel happier. On my returns home after such visits, my sister's friends would ask in exclamation; Yvonne, is dis you little sista, Miss D? My sister would say "Yes, man it is Darachie." "Lord king, a how she swell up, so?" "She look good!" It would not be much longer before I would lose the weight, again, as usual. My uncle, literally, saved my life.

I'll tell you why I was a thin child in the next posting. Thanks for your comments, friends.
Uncle Alan's picture will be in the upcoming auto-biography.

SCARS IN MY HAND

One of my fondest early memories from Jamaica was riding into town, with my uncle Alan on the crossbar of his bicycle. I found it to be all at once mesmerizing and hypnotizing. It was exciting because it appeared that the road was rushing up and continuously disappearing under us.

I remember, being a bit of a daredevil.

As usual, going to the shop was my opportunity to be a big girl. Only I was not so lucky on one of my runs to the shop.

One dry sunny day with a cool dusty breeze, I ran uphill to the roadside. Barely, looking from side to side, I dashed across the dirt road with the stubby gravel and dirt under my bare-feet. Soon I was sprawled in the middle of the road, with cuts and bruises. Embarrassed, I quickly brushed myself off and continued on my way to make my purchases, and return to deliver my goods to my folk. I might have been between five and six years old. To this day I wear the scars in the palm of my left hand. A one inch gash across my palm and a quarter inch bulls eye just before my fore-finger. The one inch gash is less visible these days.

Back in the country woods of Portland Jamaica, life seemed effortless. I learned to roll with exciting storms and endless summers. There was no television. So, I enjoyed playing with my little chicks.