Finding hope in a garden

On a hotter-than-normal Wednesday morning not long ago, a man wearing a wrinkled grey suit hobbled into Hope Gardens in St Andrew. He seemed distressed, perhaps by the heat, as he paused for a moment to retrieve from the pocket of his jacket, a small, white rag. Wiping the sweat from his furrowed brow, the man sighed.

"Is what mek di sun ah gwaan so today? Ef mi did know mi woulda leave out from mawning," he said. I was about to walk up to the man and share in his lamentation of the morning heat, but a shriek from behind caused us both to whirl around.

There, a small but diverse group of persons were gathered. Men, women, and two sleepy-looking children. They were standing in a circle and in the midst of them stood a short woman dressed in white from head to toe. Her head was wrapped with a white scarf and a pencil was stuck behind her right ear.

The man in the suit rolled his eyes, shook his head, then walked back in the direction from which he had come. He was saying something but I couldn't hear what it was.

A spirited bout of singing, hand-clapping, and gyrating then ensued from the group, their voices loud with energy. Shouting words like 'glory' and 'amen' the woman in the middle of the circle appeared to be the leader of the bunch.

About 100 feet from where they were, an elderly woman was sitting on a bench under a yellow poui tree. Much of the tree's blossoms had fallen to the ground, creating what looked like a rug of gold and green.

Regular visitor

As I walked up to the woman, she removed her spectacles. It struck me how large they were.

"Den is how dem see mi here siddung good, good and dem just come wid dem noise," she said. It seemed she was talking to herself so I didn't answer. I went straight into introducing myself and asking her if she had come to the gardens for some peace and quiet. It was only after speaking the words that it occurred to me that if that were so, I wasn't doing much to help. Luckily, the woman was too kind to point that out and instead told me that she was a regular at the gardens on Wednesday mornings.

"I am the secretary for the church where I worship and today is the only time I have can sort out certain things," she said. The bench she was sitting at was joined to a table. On that table were a number of papers, a pencil, and an eraser. The woman put the spectacles back on her face and looked me over. Apparently not particularly enthused by the results, she leaned over the table and started reading from a paper.

Calm atmosphere

I bid her goodbye and took a walk to the opposite side of the gardens. There weren't many persons there, I suppose, because it was a weekday, but scattered all around were people actively involved in various tasks. There was a couple locked in lovers' embrace, a dreadlocked man wearing a tam with a hole at the top, and a woman sitting at the root of a giant tree with her eyes closed. The flowers in bloom all around created a sweet scent and the song of the birds provided the perfect score.

Having left downtown Kingston that morning, where a minibus driver of questionable visual capabilities nearly ran me off the road before insisting that it was I who was the culprit for not making room for him and the vehicle, I found Hope Gardens quite inviting, almost comforting.

Even as the chorus from the worshippers got louder and the glare of disinterest from the bespectacled woman sitting at the bench got colder, I walked out of Hope Gardens that morning feeling considerably refreshed.

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