“Books and all forms of writing have always been objects of terror to those who seek to suppress the truth.” ~ Wole Soyinka.

There is something in the light of a Jamaican pre-dawn.  For those who leave a country and live away from it for many years (at this point, many decades), there are things that hit you and make you wonder.  Is it that you never noticed it before?  Did you know and forget?  But revisiting the land where you lived as a child, as a teenager, makes you pay attention in a way you never did before.  Because it is strange.  It will be light outside (not bright light, a subtle lightness to the sky) long before your weather app says the sun will rise.

Yes, I know you may be observing this from up in the hills (if you are lucky, if you have friends in high places), and I know the sun still has to climb up over that ridge over yonder.  So how does the sun manage to illuminate the soft, pale blue sky long before it climbs over the horizon?  The roosters certainly will be up and reminding you it’s time to get up way before your smart phone does.  There is about that time of day a pregnant pause, time for you to breathe, meditate, stare at the dew collected on the cane leaf as it gathers the strength to drip off to the grass below, and gather your own strength.

That great migrant of a poet knew it and spoke it best in his line: ‘So much I have forgotten in ten years…’ On this trip to Jamaica it was not the ‘…poincettias red, blood-red in warm December…’ that caught the eye.  It was the poinciana trees, though not perhaps as prolific as they would have been earlier, that shocked in dazzling scarlet; flamed in tender orange; and occasionally, was that, could it have been the yellow?  As a friend posted recently, she would stop and stare and ‘wow’ at such profusion, only to have Jamaican residents puzzled at what had stopped her in her tracks.  What else do we miss when we see things every day?

A visit to Jamaica is full of pitfalls for those who may be watching their caloric intake. Especially if the visit falls in mango season.  Another interesting fact you may not have noticed when you lived there: every type of mango (and there are dozens of varieties) does not grow everywhere.  So the cute Millie Mango apparently is commonly found in Clarendon, especially around Chapelton, where I grew up.  My personal favorite is the Julie Mango (not the female comedian of that name!), which has a distinctive smell and flavor, and leaves far less residue between your teeth (got floss, anyone?).  I had heard about the famous, but hard to find, Bombay mango, one which not only has its own distinctive flavor, but also can be eaten with a spoon, with no (zero) residual string or fiber.  Matter of fact, you might even have thought you were eating an ice cream, or a pudding that melts in your mouth.

But it’s not just the fruits that tempt you on every corner, it’s the cooked food: the fish; the breadfruit; the seasoning; the roadside conch soup.  It seems as if the whole goal of most Jamaican hosts is to fatten you up, sure you have not eaten food like this in days.  Jamaicans belong to a culture that equates a little ‘meat on your bones’ with living good, as in not suffering.  As a young teenager I spent a year living in England with my parents.  When I left I was a gawky tomboy.  When I returned I had ‘filled out’ a bit.  I was greeted with: ‘Lawks, England ‘gree with you!’ (England agrees with, or is good for, you). 

But if, as a returning traveler, you wish to revisit your childhood, there is no better way than seeing it through the eyes of a child.  I was fortunate enough to spend some time hanging out with kids who are as happy climbing trees and feeding goats as checking out a you-tube video.  Kids who still create play worlds using their imaginations rather than Tik-tok.  This week I revisited the world-famous gem, a secret hidden in plain sight in the hills above Montego Bay.  If you ever get the chance, you must visit Ahh Ras Natango Gallery and Garden.  We took a seven-year-old boy with us, and his senses were tickled by the variety of flowers, the sensation of humming birds passing through your field of vision so fast you missed them; the smell of a freshly cut rose; and the feel of a doctor bird perched on a finger as it sipped nectar.

It was a special time of day that we visited, that rushed time when dark clouds loom, thunder rumbles in the distance, and the threat of rain is a smell and a feeling.  So our tour guide quickly led us up and down her terraced garden (built essentially on a cliff face), testimony to the labor of love that created it from next to nothing.  This is a holistic, healing garden, one which is dedicated to an appreciation of life, love and nature.  It doesn’t hurt that the family that has nurtured it is a family of artists, so whether it is the painted rock faces (was that a lion? Is this a shark? Oh, Tutankamen!), or the plastic jugs turned into exotic planters, or the actual paintings in the gallery, you are treated to a feast. 

But I received my most powerful lessons spending time with a nine-year old who is deaf.  She communicates with sign language, and is starting to read lips, but when trying to get her point across to those of us who don’t know her language, she has the loudest body language you have ever seen!  I tried to help her with reading a book, a Disney book about princesses.  And soon realized that learning the sign for objects is easy – you can point to a table, pick up a fork, or even spell a word out letter by letter (if you know the signs!).  But how do you convey an abstract concept like ‘polite’?  By the end of the session I definitely felt as if I came away knowing way more signs than I did before (did you know that the sign for apple involves twisting your index finger knuckle in your cheek?), but had I helped my young friend?

Another book we tried was set in Jamaica with a young protagonist ‘Leroy’.  It introduced him by saying he came from Jamaica, also known as Jam-Rock.  Well, my friend showed me the sign for Jamaica, but how then could I explain the concept of Jam-Rock!  Worse yet, how about ‘Yaad’, that word which has become synonymous with Jamaica for those who live abroad. Talk about lost in translation! She was quite patient with me as she showed me the correct position for my fingers for various signs and letters, frowning and fixing when my fingers weren’t just so, smiling in delight when I got it right, laughing at my mess-ups. 

This Friday morning, with the colors, sounds, smells, feels of Jamaica wrapping around me, I give thanks for the ability to travel, whether it is to revisit old haunts, or discover new ones.  I am grateful for the opportunity to see the world through the senses of children.  I am restored by acts of generosity and kindness that still exist if you are open to them.  And I am inspired by those who dedicate their lives to improving the world around them, whether through art, nature, or working with children.

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.