Rogue goats and chatty vendors in YALLAHS

So as I drove through Yallahs, St Thomas, last week, I was surprised by how busy the place was. It was no later than midday on a Wednesday, yet the town centre was as active as I'd expect it to be on a Saturday. Men in pointy hats were standing over modified oil drums jerking chicken and vendors of a variety of goods were shouting their sales pitch to anyone who would listen. Meanwhile, a seemingly exhausted policeman was standing at a corner lazily waving vehicles by. Oddly, he maintained his waving motion even when there was no vehicle in sight.

Now, admittedly, all the goings-on might have distracted me from the driving task at hand, if only for a few seconds. The moment I snapped out of it, I was surprised by a line of goats crossing the road not far away. No worries though, I was driving slowly and they were moving quickly. They would be safely on the other side by the time our paths would cross.

My analysis would have been right too, if not for one pudgy straggler at the back of the pack. When all the others had crossed the road and disappeared behind some bushes, this one goat apparently realised it had forgotten something on the other side and made a sudden halt in the middle of the road. Screech! I had to jam on the brakes to avoid a hairy collision. The car rocked forward from the sudden stop. I stuck my head out the window only to see the goat skipping merrily back from whence it came, uninterested in the calamity it had nearly constructed.

"Lick di ram, man! We will eat him!" yelled a woman. I didn't see her, but the voice came from somewhere behind me.

I parked the car near a patty shop and hopped out. The first thing that I noticed was the smell of the jerked chicken. I walked over to one of about four men attending to poultry. He was wearing a white chef's hat, an apron and blue jeans. He had set up his drum on the sidewalk, near a church. His face was sweaty.

"We ah di original jerk man! No pork or chicken nuh jerk less ah we jerk it," he said, hitting his chest as he spoke. The man gave his name as Prado and said he lived just outside Albion.

"Mi really was a mechanic, yuh know," he said. "But business dry up so we just decide fi come deal wid some meat\ wicked when time tings slow."

When Prado opened the drum, thick, white smoke escaped.

"Yuh smell dat, bredda?" he said. "Ah di seasoning dat yuh know."

A woman wearing a green, black and red tam walked up. She was a large woman with plump cheeks. She too, was sweating heavily.

"Prado, look from when mi tell yuh fi send di meat come," she said. She seemed cross. Her voice was surprisingly deep.

"Oh, ahm, yes Marva," said Prado. I was struck by the sudden change in the man's demeanour. His confident pronouncements gave way to a quiet, almost timid whisper. He hurriedly tore a piece of foil from a box and scooped up a giant piece of meat with a fork. He wrapped the meat with the foil and handed it to the woman. She grabbed it, held it up to her nose and smiled.

"Nuh meck mi haffi waste mi time come dung yah again," she said. "Yes Marva," Prado replied.

'Everybody ah sell'

The woman walked off. I looked at Prado. He was mumbling something under his breath. Then, he cleared his throat.

"Anyway, yeah man. Ah we run di place, man," he said, his voice now back to its pre-Marva pitch. I asked him how sales were going.

"It can pay light bill," he said. "Sometime it slow dung, but it nuh too bad."

A man holding about 10 boxes of crayons was walking by.

"Wah gwaan mi uncle?" he said, looking at me. The man must have been close to 70 years old.

"Sell yuh a box a crayon fi yuh nephew?" he asked. I declined and he dipped into his shirt pocket and pulled out some pens. "Buy two pen fi yuh son," he said. Though it sounded more like an order than a request, I again, politely declined. He walked away.

"Everybody ah sell," said Prado. "Sell, sell and more sell. Mi nuh know why everybody waan sell," he said. I light-heartedly pointed out to him that he too was selling.

"No man!" he said. "Dat different. Mi ah di original jerk man. When me jerk pork or chicken, it well jerk!"

Where should Robert go next? Let him know at robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com

Feedback

The following is feedback to last week's Roving with Lalah.

Sitting here in Detroit, Michigan, I had forgotten that this was Tuesday - 'Robert's Day'. What a lovely way to end a stressful day.

- CS

I really look forward to Tuesdays. It is my favourite day of the week ever since I found your column. My husband is not a native and he swears when he sees me rolling that I am crazy. I can't wait for the next one. It is like a good Jamaican Sunday dinner.

- Sandra

The bags and caps are looking so good, I will look out for Nutsy and Steve next time I visit. Robert, keep up the good work, I do look forward to reading your article each Tuesday and, I must confess, sometimes they make me feel homesick. God bless you.

- Mccormacklindel

That's one handsome Rastaman. If we both weren't married, I'd give him a call on his cellie to ask if him waan fi come live a farrin! Robert, I look forward to your column every Tuesday for my nostalgic trip home to Jamaica. God bless.

- Jamdel51

I'm halfway across the world for the summer. Every Tuesday morning I turn on my computer and head straight for your column. I'm not in Jamaica, but reading your rovings takes me back home every week. Thank you, Lalah.

- Miss malcolm

I enjoyed reading this one. Takes me way back.

- Alison

Absolutely perfect! Thanks!

- Del