Katani's Jamaican Holiday (5 page)

I
decided I needed to lie down and rest for a few minutes, but when I opened my eyes it was dark out. I must have slept for a couple hours at least. It must have been the Jamaican heat, because at home I never took naps. I managed a big cat stretch before dragging myself off to the bathroom, where I splashed cold water on my face and looked in the mirror. Aaaagh! I almost had a heart attack. My hair was sticking out in little spikes all over my head—kind of like a porcupine. Hair gel to the rescue! With all the humidity down here, it was going to be tough to keep a decent style. I patted my frizz down with some water and gel and went to find Grandma Ruby.

I poked my head around the corner. Where was everyone? There was no light at all in the house, which made it feel kind of creepy. I was no fan of things that went bump in the dark, so I searched for the light switch in the living room and flicked it on. Then I went out to the veranda, where I saw Grandma fast asleep. A notebook she had been reading had fallen off her lap. It had the same spidery handwriting I
had seen in the letter back home: Aunt Faith’s writing. It was the instructions for baking Banana Bliss. Grandma must have been studying it.

As I flipped through the pages, Grandma sensed my presence and opened her eyes.

“Grandma, where is everybody?” I asked.

She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. “Good gracious,” she said. “I nodded off. Are you all right?”

“Fine,” I replied. “I had a good nap too. Where’s Olivia?”

“She said something about choir practice at church. I think Selvin might have taken her. I don’t know where Enid is.” Then she saw the notebook in my hand and gently took it away.

“Do you know that Aunt Faith has a secret ingredient in her banana bread? She inherited the recipe from her grandmother. That’s why she calls it ‘Nana’s Banana Bliss.’” She waved a folded piece of paper at me. “I’m supposed to memorize the secret ingredient and destroy the paper.” She laughed like a little girl. “I feel as if I’m in one of those spy movies. Maybe I
should
swallow the paper, just in case Mr. Biggs tries to get hold of it.”

I groaned. Here was Grandma Ruby threatening to act out a Maeve movie fantasy. My friend Maeve could make a drama out of a trip to the grocery store. I missed that redhead, even though she and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on organization. Traveling with Maeve was like traveling with your own personal cyclone—clothes and shoes and stuff swirling every which way. Maeve as a roommate could be an overwhelming experience.

All of a sudden, a big truck drove into the yard and parked at the side of the house. The man fiddled around in
the cab for a minute, then climbed out, carrying a battered old briefcase, and looked around. He saw us watching him and waved.

“That must be Cecil, Olivia’s father,” Grandma Ruby whispered, waving back to the man. “You should call him Cousin Cecil. It’s a sign of respect here not to call older people by just their first names. My mother taught me that.”

Cousin Cecil didn’t look like a farmer. He was dressed in khaki pants and shirt and looked more like a supervisor-type. As he strode up to the veranda I noticed that he had a very determined walk, almost like he was an army general or something. And, just like the rest of my family, he was super tall.

“So sorry I couldn’t be here to welcome you,” he said in a deep voice. “Busy day getting bananas to the packing house. I hope they took care of you.”

He shook Grandma’s hand. When it was my turn, I felt like I should almost curtsy or something! He definitely wasn’t as friendly as Selvin, and I wondered if perhaps he hadn’t wanted us to come. Maybe Grandma Ruby and I would have to check into a resort—one on a beach, of course. I thought I would ask her about that later.

Fishy Business

Dinner was okay, although I got the feeling Cousin Cecil was really anxious about making a good impression on us. More than once he got on Olivia’s case for something he thought she had done wrong. Obviously, since Aunt Faith wasn’t around, he expected Olivia to take her place and be the perfect hostess. She didn’t seem to be bothered by anything he said, though, and chattered away about Jamaican foods. She must be a good cook, I thought, because she seemed to
understand a lot about spices and what went with what.

For dinner, we had fried chicken, fried fish, and rice cooked with red beans, which they called rice and peas. There was also boiled yam and green bananas, and home-baked macaroni and cheese that looked seriously yummy. I noticed that Olivia wasn’t eating any chicken, and when I asked why, she said that she didn’t eat meat.

“She don’t know what she missing. Half her life gone, and she so young. Poor thing!” smirked Selvin in mock sorrow.

Cousin Cecil glared at him, and I began to think that Cousin Cecil was mean and that maybe I wouldn’t like him very much. My dad was the jokester type, so I wasn’t quite sure how to handle somebody so serious.

“My mom was vegetarian too.” Olivia sounded sort of quiet, and suddenly I didn’t feel like eating any more chicken either.

“My wife died three years ago,” Cousin Cecil said gruffly. It was kind of obvious to everyone that that would be the end of that conversation. I concentrated on the fried fish, which was spicy and vinegary. Escoveitch fish, they called it. It was pretty tasty. I made a note to tell Avery about this because she loved fish.

“Cecil,” my grandma asked, “how long has your family been farming bananas?” Thank goodness for Grandma Ruby, because grumpy Cousin Cecil suddenly turned into a talk show host and started giving us the whole history of the farm and how important bananas were in the island economy. My Kgirl business sense perked up. It was fascinating to learn what it took to get a bunch of bananas to market. What it took was a lot of hard work and money. I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “Boy, people shouldn’t really complain about
how much bananas cost in the supermarket.” Cousin Cecil seemed to agree and nodded approvingly.

When we were finished, Selvin helped us clear the table. Once, when he and I were in the kitchen, he pulled me aside and whispered in a low voice not to mind Cousin Cecil. “He used to be very pleasant, make plenty joke and thing, but him get a bit touchy since his wife died,” he explained. I could understand that, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with him.

Grandma Ruby waved off dessert, which was a custard smothered in coconut-flavored cream. How could she do that? She insisted on sipping her coconut water instead. Big mistake. The custard was, to quote my mother, “simply delightful.”

Grandma and Cousin Cecil went to sit on the veranda while the rest of us washed the dinner things and put them away. No dishwasher here. Water was piped in from a large tank at the back of the house. I was learning the lay of the land fast. Selvin made things really fun by singing reggae tunes, and Olivia and I danced around the kitchen. I showed her some of Maeve’s dance moves, and she showed me some local Jamaican moves. How cool would I be back in Boston?! I could teach all the BSG some Jamaican dance styles when I got home.

Afterward, Olivia and I went to watch television, but almost right after we turned it on, all the lights went out. “Ooo!” Olivia wailed in a funny voice. She made a spooky face, and I was forced to throw my pillow at her when she wouldn’t stop. Major pillow fight. We were laughing so loud that we failed to see Cousin Cecil standing in the doorway. “Olivia, “he voiced sternly. “You shush now and stop all this silliness.” My feelings for Cousin Cecil just got worse. I
was going to have to talk to Grandma Ruby about whether it was the right thing to do to hang out here for our whole vacation.

Once Upon a Time
…

“Power cut!” Selvin exclaimed as Olivia and I walked into the living room.

“We got a big wind out there,” announced Cousin Cecil as he quickly lit two lamps. They were weird, old-looking kerosene lamps with the words “Home, Sweet Home” written on the shades. He put one in the living room and one in the kitchen.

“Are we having a hurricane?” I asked nervously as I heard the shutters rattle.

“No, no, Katani,” Cousin Cecil said in a softer voice. “Just a little Caribbean wind. It come sometime. Nothing to worry about.”

I looked up at him and thought I saw the beginnings of a tiny smile. My cousin was very confusing. Sometimes nice, sometimes grumpy. Cousin Cecil was definitely going to take some getting used to.

“I was going to town, guess I pass now.” Selvin complained. “I don’t know what a gwine happen with dem lights.”

“Well, I for one find the wind very relaxing,” said Grandma Ruby as she headed back out to the veranda. We all followed her and sat outside in semidarkness.

Beyond the house it was very dark. Every now and then I could see little flickers of light flying around. “The fireflies are pretty,” I commented to Olivia.

She laughed. “Girl, we call those peenie-wallies.”

Then it was my turn to laugh. “Peenie-wallies,” I repeated.
The words people used in Jamaica were definitely fun.

Whenever we were quiet, I could hear the strange noises of night creatures. Olivia told me what they were. Croaking lizards—ugh! An owl or two! Crickets and tree toads! I hoped they kept their distance. Meeting Spotty was enough wildlife for me in one day. Once, I thought I heard something like a big animal moving through the banana trees, which were not very far away.

“Do you have any…any…like, wild animals in Jamaica?” I asked.

“You mean like lions and tigers?” Selvin laughed. “No. Not even monkeys. It’s only if Spotty get away.”

I shuddered at the idea of Spotty being loose. “Doesn’t he get locked up?” I asked.

He and Olivia collapsed with laughter, but Cousin Cecil told them to behave, as if Selvin were also a child. “I’ll tell you some other time. Not tonight,” Cousin Cecil replied.

Olivia and Selvin kept snickering. Obviously I had asked something silly. Maybe Spotty was an escapee or something.

“Dad, since there is no TV, why don’t you tell us one of your stories?” Olivia asked.

“Yes,” Selvin agreed enthusiastically. “When you don’t have no light, you tell Anansi story, or…”—he paused to snicker—“Spotty story.”

Olivia began to sing, and Selvin joined her.

Whoa! Olivia could really sing! Selvin was singing a sort of second part, and then—I could hardly believe it—Grandma joined in.

I am pretty sure my mouth was open in surprise.

“You know that song?” I asked Grandma.

“My mother used to sing it for me when I was a little girl.” She sighed, and there was that choked-up sound in her voice again. “I remembered it when they started singing.”

I think Cousin Cecil understood that it was an emotional moment for her. “Well,” he said. “There’s no moon, and it’s a long time since I’ve told any Anansi stories….”

“Not since Mom died,” Olivia whispered to me.

“Who’s Anansi?” I asked.

“Him a spiiiiiider,” Selvin answered, wiggling his fingers in my direction and making a goofy face. Olivia and I both burst out laughing.

“They say all the stories in the world belong to Anansi,” Olivia explained when she caught her breath.

“I’d like to hear one,” Grandma joined in encouragingly.

Cousin Cecil thought for a minute. “Well, now. Let me see. I know a story that doesn’t have Anansi in it, but I think it’s one that ol’ spider would like….”

“The River Mumma,” by Cousin Cecil

“In Jamaica, we don’t have a lot of big rivers. You can go rafting down the Martha Brae in Trelawny, or on the Rio Grande in Portland, and boats can travel for a distance on the Black River in St. Elizabeth, but that’s probably it. Most of the rivers are quite small. In the rainy season, of course, they can
become raging torrents, but generally they just run quietly, minding their own business. Some of them, though, do have places where the water is like a large pool, and these can be very deep.

“In the rural areas, some villages don’t have piped water, so water is fetched from the river to do daily chores. Usually that’s the children’s job when they are old enough, especially the boy children, since they are stronger.

“Most times, the boys in the village would go to the river at the same time each day, have a swim, play a game or two or just chat, before returning home with their buckets of water. This is Orrin’s story.”