Merriment outside KPH

It's not the kind of place you'd ever think of having a get-together. For that matter, you'd probably do everything possible to avoid going there at all. But just outside the iconic Kingston Public Hospital (KPH) on a recent weekday morning, sat four men and two women, drinking beer and sharing jokes. It was a pleasant bunch, middle-age and merry. How much of their demeanour was owed to the beverages in hand is still unclear, however, when I asked the lot if they thought that was the best location for a social gathering, the laughter was hearty.

"Yuck yuck! Hee hee!" One of the women laughed the loudest. She was a strapping figure with bulging biceps. She sported a nose ring and had a booming voice. "Come siddung side a me, friend," she said, patting a space next to her on the overturned crate on which she was sitting. I could scarcely imagine the two of us holding on the single crate, however, I was not about to go against her directive.

Obvious discomfort

I sat beside the woman, keeping my weight on my legs lest the crate cave in and send both of us toppling. I was fully aware that my discomfort must have been obvious, but tried to act as if I were comfortable.

One of the men spoke up. "We sell around town, man. So we just a tek a break and hold a one vibes," he said. The other men nodded. To my horror, the woman next to me pulled a cigarette out of her ample bosom and lit up.

Puff! Puff! I tried to hold my breath. "So what you doing at hospital? Yuh have people inside?" she asked. I fanned the smoke away from my face and thanked her for her concern. I pointed out, however, that I was simply passing by. It was their apparent comfort in an area often full of sadness and misery that had made me notice them. One of the men told me that he sells bottled water and juices of all sorts to visitors to the hospital.

"Because of that, me see everyting. Is nothing me don't see in this place. When war going on downtown and dem tings, me is here," he said with obvious pride.

"Sometime when dem rush in wid man what get into accident, mi drop all mi water and help out, cause mi always say it could be me, or somebody who mi know."

The others in the group nodded. My crate-neighbour blew a puff of smoke and patted her chest.

"KPH ah di real Jamaica," she said. "Everybody come to KPH. It don't matter who yuh is. Everybody can end up here at some time or another. We haffi tek care and celebrate wid a beer and a smoke outside sometime, for wid all the death and destruction, dem still save life and fix up people inside there. And we give thanks fi dat," she said.

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