Chipping away at our pride

By Robert Lalah

Early last week, I happened upon a grave-digging in northern Clarendon. As you might know, this is often a big event in rural Jamaica. The community comes out to cook, share drinks and engage in general merriment as the grave is dug and the vault constructed.

The more highly regarded the deceased, the greater the festivity. Well, judging by the crowd at this grave-digging, it's a safe assumption that the dearly departed was well liked.

I got to chatting with a few of those gathered and ended up staying for a while. I can hardly say that I regret the visit. However, something that happened not far from where I was standing was unfortunate.

A woman of close to 80 years (I know because she proudly volunteered this information when I met her) was sitting on a rock, resting, in the shade of a withering pear tree, when up walked a fellow about 60 years her junior.

"Beg yuh a smalls, Miss Lilly," he said. The woman gave him a stern look. "Look at me, a old woman like me, and you tough, old, grey-tone man really begging me money?" she said in a high-pitched but no-nonsense voice.

The man waved off the comment. "Just gimmi a bills and nuh badda wid yuh long talking," he retorted. This sent the elderly woman into a mighty fit. So upset was she that a lethal combination of Bible verse, rebuke and condemnation was hurled at the offender with surprising energy.

The man, apparently stung by the words and realising that his quest for money had hit a dead end anyway, simply hissed and walked away.

'PRIDE DEAD NOW'

I was a little concerned about the woman, who was still panting heavily from the disturbance, so I went and sat beside her. When she had calmed down a bit, she explained why she had got so upset.

"When we was young, you would never see a big man begging women money," she said. "People always beg money because life always hard, but there was a thing called pride. Man wouldn't go to a woman and ask for money because of respect and pride. Dem tings change now," she said, shaking her head.

"Pride dead now. People just give up themselves. Look how much woman yuh see walking on the big big road wid setters into dem hair. My God!"

Miss Lilly's words got me thinking of all the times I've seen women and men in housewear far more unflattering than hair curlers walking around town. I wondered what she'd think of some of the fashion atrocities, of the underpants and house slippers variety, that occur in Kingston daily.

Say what you will about Miss Lilly's views, but I think many of us would agree that these days, for a lot of people, personal pride isn't exactly a treasured asset.

HOW MUCH IS TOO MUCH?

I remember last week when National Commercial Bank workers went on strike and customers, who turned up at different locations, were unable to do business. The reports on the evening news, which included comments from some of these customers were, let's say, quite detailed.

"My bed mash up!" one irate woman said. "I sleeping on the mattress on the ground and I come to get some money to buy the bed and can't get it!"

Now, this is a lot of information. Certainly more than I needed. I mean, a broken bed is nothing to be ashamed of; however, you wonder why she'd want to make this information public. And this happens quite frequently. It's fascinating the things people reveal in news reports.

Could this be a good thing? Is it a sign that we're an open and honest people who tell it like it is, no matter what? I'm not so sure.

I think that the more we chip away at the pride we have in ourselves, the more likely we are to make our problems worse. If I don't care about myself, or my reputation and character, I'll pretty much do whatever I like to get what I want, no matter the cost.

It can be a treacherous path, and it's unlikely to lead to anywhere good.

Robert Lalah is features editor and author of the popular 'Roving with Lalah' published every Tuesday. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com.