Munching away at Melrose Hill

There was a moment of awkward silence. I looked at the woman, then at the man.

"Ask him, man. Him might have it," said the woman. I hesitated.

Something just didn't seem right.

I was standing inside one of the small cookshops at Melrose Hill in Manchester. It was early evening on a cloudy summer day and I had a craving for some jerked chicken.

Oddly enough, finding a piece of chicken there was proving much more difficult than I had anticipated. Apparently, sales that morning were great, so there was nary a leg or juicy thigh left to satisfy the cravings of peckish late-comers not unlike myself.

It was the third vendor I approached who suggested I ask the man if he had any chicken in stock. I found this strange since the man had dreadlocks and a bushy beard. I mean, call me old fashioned, but I felt a little uncomfortable asking an apparent Rastaman for food of the non-vegan variety.

But, assuming the woman knew what she was talking about, I took her advice and walked over to the man. He was skinny and had on a green and red merino.

"Ahm," I started to say.

"Yes, mi cousin," the man replied. His voice was raspy. He had friendly eyes and noticeably small ears.

"Oh, I was just, ahm wondering..." I couldn't get the words out.

"Anyting yuh want, cousin, mi sell it. Sweetest yam in town. How much yuh want?" he said.

Encouraged by the sales pitch and the man's amiable ways, I finally spoke up.

"I'll take a juicy piece of chicken with a hearty slice of bread on the side, thank you very much!"

His eyes widened.

"None ah dat!" he said louder than I expected.

"I nuh deal wid dat! Strictly yam and sweet potato I deal wid. Mi have steam fish if yuh want it though," he said, the last part in more of a whisper.

A bit red in the face, I apologised for my misreadings and scurried over to the opposite side of the place.

The area was smoky but it wasn't the uncomfortable kind. This was flavoured smoke that carried with it the sweet smell of roasted corn and yam. Faced with the scarcity of poultry, I decided instead to have a go at the roasted yam.

A man with neatly braided hair walked up to me, as if on cue, holding a large piece of yam wrapped in foil. He had a knife and cut the yam as he came closer, sending steam into his eyes.

"Yam, boss? Sweet roast yam right here," he said, his steps hurried.

I asked him the price.

"Cho man, gimmi $700 and gwaan, cho," he said. At the same time, a woman ran over. "Any drinks? Mi have yuh drinks right here," she held a bottle of fruit juice up to my nose. I declined and returned my attention to the man with the yam. I told him that despite my hunger, that piece of yam was more than I was willing to tackle. "Cho man, mi will give yuh $500 worth man, cho. Fish and butter, everything, " he said.

I nodded and he ran off, I assumed, to go prepare the feast.

While I awaited his return, up walked another man.

"Any yam today, boss?" he said. I told him I had already made arrangements. He looked me over with apparent curiosity then walked away.

A young boy was sitting on a crate nearby munching on boiled corn. Meanwhile, a woman wearing an apron was sitting next to a pot. She used a towel to fan away a giant fly.

A small, grey van pulled up and about four vendors immediately surrounded it, sticking yam, corn and drinks inside. A woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat was sitting inside and was frantically waving them away.

Just then, the man with the neatly braided hair returned. He was clutching the yam wrapped in foil. The smell was heavenly.

"You dis mi boss," he said, handing it to me.

I paid the man and gratefully took it from him. It was an alarming display of gluttony when I finally delved into that yam. Every morsel was savoured. Memories of it still infiltrate my dreams.

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.

I love your style of writing. Keep up the good work. With your words I was drawn into this cas-cas car wash world and started laughing so hard I startled everyone around me. There I was looking all serious and business-like with a stack of papers at my desk and just burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

-- Ettajoan

Lalah, this one should go down in the annals as a classic. Your description made it easy to picture the acting supervisor, with her pen and clipboard, being very officious but not getting the respect, to which she feels entitled, from the lowly workers. What a hoot! Then to top it off, that prim and proper elderly gentleman finally losing it and switching from refined English to patois to emphasise his point. What a beautifully expressive language is Jamaican patois! Keep these stories coming, kid!

- Charles

Always a profound pleasure to read your stories! Keep them coming! You are an awesome writer!

- Tracy-Ann

Simply the best! I enjoy reading your stories which I share with all my friends in my country of residence. I will be back for more.

- ND