A run through Central Village

It wasn't the most thought-provoking conversation I ever had, that's for sure. But what Johnny, the callaloo vendor's, discourse lacked in content, was certainly made up for in sheer enthusiasm.

Johnny is a dreadlocked fellow with whom I found myself speaking for close to half an hour on a recent Wednesday morning, not far from the Mandela Highway in St Catherine.

"Ey, ef mi did ever have two long pipe yuh see, mi woulda set up one watering pipe fi gwaan water di callaloo dem," he said.

"Straight rain water!" he added, looking excited.

I scratched my head, pondering the mechanics of the venture. Johnny lifted a bundle of callaloo and waved it over his head.

"Yuh see dem wave yah? Yuh haffi wave meck dem see seh yuh selling, yuh know?" He started dancing around.

I looked around but there was nobody there. No vehicles were passing, no people were walking. Just me and a dreadlocked man waving callaloo over his head.

I slowly slipped away when his back was turned.

About a quarter of a mile down the same roadway, I came across two women sitting in the shade of a small tree. They had red and white igloos at their feet.

"Any juice today, please?" one of the women asked. She had a protruding belly and thick, black hair. The other woman was much thinner and had red and blue hair. "Any water?" she said.

I told them both that I was OK and was in no need of refreshment at that time.

Dispatched unceremoniously

I was ready to stay a while in the company of these two fine women, eager to dissect the pros and cons of their roadside establishment. Just as I was about say something, though, the portly woman interjected.

"Alright den, have we excuse, cause yuh blocking di road," she said, dryly.

Dispatched unceremoniously, I continued walking along the roadway until I saw a sign indicating that I was in Central Village. A group of men gathered under a tree erupted in laughter at a joke one of them had apparently just told. Meanwhile, three women leaning on a fence beckoned for me to join them. I hurried over there.

"Yuh look like Mavis big son," said one of the women. She had a prominent nose. The other two regarded me in contemplation.

"No sah!" said one of the others. "Mavis bwoy ears more pointed."

Boom! Clop! Boom! Clop! A stomping sound interrupted their assessment of my likeness to Mavis' offspring. I looked down the road and saw a group of soldiers fully dressed in fatigues jogging our way. They were moving at respectable speed and some of them were carrying guns. It's not exactly something you see every day. Everyone nearby turned to look at the approaching soldiers.

"Wait! Ah excursion!" someone shouted.

The group of men who had earlier been lounging under the tree spotted the soldiers and, to my surprise, in one dash they all scattered. Some ran across the road, others to nearby stalls. A curious move, considering the soldiers appeared to have other things on their minds. None even glanced in the direction of the men.

"Ah wah do dem bat deh?" a woman shouted.

Boom! Clop! Boom! Clop! The soldiers were now in front of us. The people who were around all went quiet. Soon, the soldiers passed, everyone's eyes following them along the way.

The women who had summoned me earlier, spoke up. The one with the large nose laughed. "Eh eh, dem bwoy frighten when dem see di soldier dem," she said. One of the other women looked at me.

"Yuh know, yuh really favah Mavis son fi true," she said.

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