A Journey through Fern Gully

He was convinced he had a point. His only problem was that he was alone in his conviction.

"Mi ah tell yuh, man! It mek sense!" he yelled to the three other men sitting nearby. None of them seemed interested. The speaker, a hat-wearer with a greying beard, apparently realised this, and simply hissed before leaning back in his chair.

The four men were sitting together near the entrance of Fern Gully in St Ann. Well, entrance if you're heading to Ocho Rios, exit if you're going the other way. The men, who were all wearing short pants for some reason, were shooting the breeze in apparent tranquility when I showed up. I had nothing but innocent intentions when I asked them about Fern Gully, but the conversation took an unexpected turn when the hat-wearer suggested that the design of Fern Gully was little more than a clever plot meant to disorient drivers.

"Yeah, man!" he said. "Dem mek di road wind up-wind up so dat yuh kinda get giddy headed. Dat way, by di time yuh ketch outa main street, yuh need fi stop fi cool off yuhself. Ah so dem get yuh fi spend yuh money inna di town."

It clearly is an odd theory, but to hear him tell it, with all that passion, you could be tempted to believe he was on to something.

The four men now sat in silence, the hat-wearer noticeably peeved over the lack of support from the others. I felt guilty for having caused discord where there was once harmony, so I tried to change the subject to more agreeable matters.

"So, has it rained recently?" I asked.

Silence.

I waited a bit, then tried again, this time asking if the men were vendors like those sitting near stalls about 40 feet away.

The youngest of the lot, a chubby middle-ager wearing a T-shirt that was much too small for him, chuckled.

"Den boss, yuh nuh woulda see wi wid tings inna wi hand if we did ah sell?" he asked. The others giggled as well. It was at my expense, but I was still relieved the tension had been eased.

"No man, we have craftsman bredrin still," said the hat-wearer. "We nuh really deal wid di craft like how yuh see some man build craft and sell to tourist. We really just ah cool out."

The men told me they were from a place called Harrison Town, which was apparently nearby. They are all farmers and had spent the morning tending to crops. It was now time to relax.

"We done di toiling, so we ah teck it easy till tomorrow now," said the chubby fellow.

I thanked the men for their time and walked into Fern Gully. It was my first time heading into the area on foot, which I must say, is not a good idea. The combination of narrow, winding roads, lack of light and speeding vehicles could easily have rendered me road kill. But it was only when it was too late to turn back that it really sank in, so I made my way as carefully as I could along the side of the road till I got to a section where there was more room. There were a few stalls there with vendors selling beach towels, craft items, and swimwear. One of them, a large woman with a round face, took pity on me.

"Den ah how you look so?" she asked. I attempted to brush it off, but she figured it out.

"Oh, ah true. Dem nuh tek time drive through di place. Never mind still, just stand up over yah so," she said, pointing to beside her.

I took her advice, and when I had cooled off sufficiently, asked her how sales were going. "It nuh bad, yuh know," she said. "It soon get better too, like into di Christmas time."

The woman, who told me to call her Rosie, said she had been selling in Fern Gully since she was in her early twenties. She's now close to 40.

"Mi see my madda sell out here when mi was going school, so mi know is a good ting fi do. Mi give thanks now dat me can do di same ting fi my pickney dem," she said.

Rosie told me that she chose to sell inside Fern Gully, instead of at the entrance or exit, because she wanted to distinguish herself. "People know what dem sell at those side. Dat is not what me sell, so mi just give dem some space," she said.

She told me that vendors in Fern Gully had developed a reputation for being sellers of figurines with disproportionate extremities. And she didn't want to be associated with that sort of thing.

A white minibus zipped by. Toot! Toot!

"Rosie, oh!" someone inside yelled. Rosie waved and smiled wide as the bus disappeared.

"You see what mi saying? People come to know me. Is dat mi like. Mi nuh seh a man caan sell what him want, yuh know, but there is space fi more dan dat, and dat is why mi like Fern Gully and will stay here as long as God is willing," she said.

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