Caught on the Devil's Race Course

Well, this couldn't be good. Standing alone on that lonely, narrow roadway, I heard a squeak. I looked up to see three or four fat, black vultures flying in circles over my head. I could have sworn one of them looked right at me. There must have been a sudden breeze, because I felt a chill up my spine. There was nothing but green bush on either side of the roadway and not a soul in sight. No one else, it seemed, was silly enough to find themselves alone at a place called Devil's Race Course.

But I was there, and now I was eager to find the quickest way out. I had arrived there purely by chance. After making a right turn somewhere near Linstead in St Catherine, I found a roadway lined with neatly pruned orange trees and decorated with majestic mountains in the distance. That, though, soon disappeared, and I ended up on a winding, desolate roadway decorated with little more than potholes and hungry-looking scavengers. A clever ruse to lure the unsuspecting wayward traveller, I thought.

A rusty sign on a long-abandoned wooden house gave the name of the area. At first, it was so quiet there that the sound of my feet hitting the pavement seemed to echo. I looked behind me, pondering whether I should go back the way I had come from or press on with the hope of arriving at another community without much delay.

'Mannas!'

My decision was made easier when I heard a loud sneeze. Then, the exclamation: "Mannas!"

It seemed to be coming from just around the corner, a little further up the hill. I walked up there. It was a big surprise for me when around that corner I found a ragtag group of men sitting comfortably under a stall crudely made of zinc and wood. In front of them were ackees, breadfruits, coconuts and plantains. The men seemed a happy lot.

"Oy man! Come yah man!" shouted one of them. He had on a red shirt and a black cap. He gestured for me to join them, so I walked over there.

"Hail up, man. Come hold a reasoning wid di man dem," said a dreadlocked man with tired-looking eyes. He smelled of smoke and seemed the merriest of the bunch.

Welcoming

I sat on a bench and looked around. It was a motley crew to be sure, but they were quite welcoming.

I asked out loud if this was some sort of Devil's Race Course market. They all laughed.

"Yeah man, we grow and sell right here," said the man in the red shirt. I asked them if they lived in the area.

"Yes man, we is farmers who live amongst di place. When we reap two ting den we just come out pan di front page and sell, so we can get two shilling," another man said. He had on a striped hat. I wondered out loud how good a spot it was for selling. After all, there weren't many people around.

"It alright, man!" said the man in the striped hat. "A nuff people use dah road here, for it can carry yuh back ah Guys Hill and Ochi," he said.

I asked them how the area got its strange name. "Well yuh waan hear seh is di pure turning turning. Di road wind up wind up, so dem ah seh well, di place wicked lakka devil," said the man with the tired- looking eyes.

The men told me that Devil's Race Course was really the name of the roadway. The road ran through several communities.

"Dem give we a bad name, yaw," said the man in the red shirt. "Dem seh we ah devil but nuh mind dat. We alright. Nuh devil nuh on yah. Hardworking people live round here. No devil, only God," he said.

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