Red dirt, friendly folk in Paul Mountain

There
was red dirt everywhere. My shoes, pants, hair, everything was red.
After walking around for about half-an-hour in Paul Mountain, a
community in St Catherine (not far from Kitson Town), it was
unavoidable. I had never seen so much red dirt in one place.


I presented myself in a cloud of red dust at the window of the community postal agency and before longtime postmistress, Miss Pat.

"Den is how yuh red and placka placka so?" she said, her eyes full of curiosity. I dusted off my pants, giving rise to another cloud of red, while apologising to the woman for the dusty intrusion.

Miss Pat used her hands to fan the dust away from her face. A few seconds later, when the air was clear, I introduced myself to her.

"Yes man, welcome," she said, smiling. I asked Miss Pat about her role at the postal agency.

"Well, I only come here on Wednesdays, yuh know. For the rest of the week I am at home," she said.

"I stay here and issue mail and pension and so forth," she said.

It would be easy to miss the postal agency. It's a tiny building that's joined to a small shop where biscuits and boxes of juice are sold. I glanced behind her and saw some stacks of white envelopes on a table. She saw me looking.

"Dem envelope here fi years and nobody don't collect dem. Mi still dust dem off and keep dem should in case somebody decide fi send fi dem," she said.

Community postmistress

I told her that was noble of her and asked her how long it had been since she assumed the role of community postmistress - a title she seemed quite proud of. She couldn't recall exactly how long it had been, but assured me that it was a long, long time.

Miss Pat asked me what time it was. I glanced at my watch and told her. "Alright, mi have to go leave yuh now. Mi have to go look bout some food," she said.

I thanked the woman for her time and headed back on to the dusty road. I walked alone for a while along a red, rocky path. There was little more than green bushes on either side. A mongoose ran across the road not far from where I was. I came upon a building that looked like a church. Yellow and red flags flew high above the building and there was a table set up outside on which there was a pan and bottles of what looked like water.

As I stood looking at the flags, I heard some footsteps behind me. I turned to find a man wearing a red cap walking up the road. He was carrying a bag over his shoulder. I waved hello and he returned the greeting. As he got closer to me, he swung the bag around and dipped into it. "Sell yuh some tobacco?" he said, pulling a handful from the bag.

I declined and the man smiled, putting the tobacco back into the bag. He looked up at the flags. "Is your church dis?" he asked, tentatively. I told him it wasn't and that it was my first time in the community.

He seemed uncomfortable.

"Oh, cause mi don't really come dis side more time," he said. "Is true mi nuh get nuh ride why mi walk dis way today." He gestured for me to walk with him, away from the building. We walked together for a while. The man told me that he doesn't live at Paul Mountain but visits every day, selling tobacco. "Mi have mi regular customer dem. Mi always have to pass through. Ef dem don't see mi, dem get bex," he said. We passed a number of churches. I wondered out loud how come there were so many churches in the community. The man snickered. "Ah true. Everyweh yuh tun is a next one," he said.

The man spotted a dreadlocked woman sitting on a wooden post near a house and told me he would catch up with me later. He walked over and the pair started chatting happily as I walked on.

In a little while, I came upon three men sitting in the shade of a large apple tree. There were no apples on it. I greeted the trio and the they smiled and waved hello. The men were all well over 50 years old, and they all held machetes. Two of the men wore waterboots and the third had on no shoes at all. I introduced myself and asked the men if they all lived in Paul Mountain. They all nodded. I asked them what life was like there. The tallest of the three, a wiry fellow called Jackson, spoke up.

"It is a hard-working place, yuh know. Is a place dat don't have no big company and ting, so yuh find dat yuh have to work fi eat a food," he said. The other men nodded. "Paul Mountain people don't faas wid people. Wi plow di soil and do what we have to do. We not into di Facebook or dem tings," said Jackson. I wasn't sure what exactly that meant, but thought it best to leave it alone. I told the men that I had met some very friendly people in the short time I had been in Paul Mountain. They chuckled. Again, it was Jackson who spoke.

"Yes, well we glad to know, but it nuh shocking. Paul Mountain people nah go deal wid yuh hash. We deal wid everybody wid respect," he said.

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