Election or no election ... always di same'

It's election day and all across the country people are excited by the goings on. But at a shady roadside spot in Milk River, Clarendon, a discussion on matters more interesting to those involved is taking place.

"Den yuh mean fi tell mi seh if mi give Sheldon my good good shoes fi fix, mi can't get it back before two weeks pass?" said a tall man wearing a yellow shirt. He was a frail-looking fellow who, it seemed, might succumb to a strong gust of wind at any moment. The man he was speaking with was much shorter and had a round head.

"Foolishness!" the tall man shouted. The short man grinned. "Mi caan carry my shoes so far only fi go wait so long fi get it back," he said.

I interrupted the pair with a hearty hello. Their greeting was equally cheery.

"Howdy, man. Howdy," they both said.

I introduced myself to them. The tall man told me to call him 'Dean' and the short man told me to call him, well, 'Short Man'.

I had travelled from Kingston that morning and was somewhat surprised by how long it took me to get to Milk River. It's nowhere near any main road, as far as I could tell. I noticed a lot of open space. I asked the men where I might be able to find more people to speak with.

"Dem deh bout, man. Memba seh ah election, so dem gone vote. Yuh woulda haffi go polling centre fi find people," said Dean.

I asked the men if they had already voted. They both chuckled.

"Before cock crow!" said Short Man. Dean nodded.

"Yeah man. We have wi ground fi deal wid, so wi haffi deal wid dat early so it free wi up," he said.

Narrow country road

The men suggested that I head up a dusty road to our left. They said I would certainly find more Milk River residents there to speak with. I thanked them for their suggestion and was on my way.

Now there's something about walking alone on a narrow country road that is a bit unsettling to me. Maybe it comes from spending too much time in Kingston, but those lonely roads with nothing but bush on both sides aren't exactly the most welcoming of places. This one though, turned out to be more unsettling than most.

After I had been walking for about five minutes, what looked like a colourful sign nailed to a tree caught my eye. The tree was around a corner, so I walked closer and suddenly felt like I had stepped into a bad dream.

There were, what appeared to be cow skulls, all over the place. They were painted red, green and yellow and tiny bottles full of something-or-the-other were set up on wooden tables. Words like 'Badmind' and 'Rasta' were written on nearby trees. It was eerie. I didn't see anyone and was already taking slow steps backward.

"Nuh meck it frighten yuh!" someone said. I whirled around to find a woman holding a plastic washtub. She had chubby cheeks and her hair was slightly grey.

I pretended I was unbothered. "What? That?" I asked, pointing to the skulls. "No man. I see that all the time," I said, with immediate regret. The woman chuckled. "Alright, cause some people see it and get nervous feeling," she said.

I asked her if she was the one who had created the eerie scene.

"Me? No sah!" she said, emphatically. "Is a Rasta man. People see it and think is obeah, but is not obeah. Him just love when people see him. Him nuff," she said. I asked her if the man was around. "No him gone out from morning. Him might nuh come back till night," she said.

I walked over to the woman and told her my name. "I am Pat," she said. I asked Pat if she lived in Milk River. "No, but my husband mother live around di other side, so mi just come spend likkle time," she said. I told her that I expected to find a more active scene in Milk River, it being election day. She laughed.

"After dat ah nuh nuttin. Milk River people have dem ground fi work pan and dem clothes fi wash. Election can always gwaan," she said.

"Election or no election, Milk River is always di same."

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