The Goats
They stood like sentinels on top of the graves, staring at us. “Eerie,” Stephen said. And they were. In island folklore a goat might well be a duppy, the patois term for a restless spirit or ghost, and usually a nasty one. Jamaica loves its ghost stories: tales of departed souls tormenting the living, haunting mansions, taking animal forms, terrorizing people at night. Most of the island’s superstitions stem from a long history of African folk magic that once made white captors fearful of the sorcery slaves might wield against them. Share...
Read MoreFalmouth’s old church
St. Peter’s Anglican Church had weathered its share of storms. It was the oldest public building in Falmouth, a single storey of brick and stone constructed on Barrett lands in 1795. We took it in while waiting for the rain to stop. Share...
Read MoreFinding our first Crooks
My mother was suddenly beside me, nudging in front of me, my father too. We were all of us sandwiched between the idling bus and the gate’s metal bars, captivated by the familiarity in a stranger’s face. Share...
Read MoreThe fisherman
Troy turned around and followed the dirt path that led down to the sea. Two men toiled under the generous shade of a majestic old tree, fashioning a lobster trap from netting and whittled branches. Troy turned off the engine and he and I got out. By now we had our routine down pat. In patois he told the men we were looking for people named Crooks…They answered, and Troy translated. Follow the road past the cemetery, they told us, past the store. Share...
Read MoreIn Henrietta’s garden
We had driven back down to Henrietta’s cottage, triumphant in the afterglow of finding the tomb. We ate ackee, cut fresh from one of Henrietta’s trees. Share...
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