Photographed by Alex Shalman
Okay, I was in the kitchen frying some plantains and was too lazy to use the fork to turn them over, so I used the knife in my hand. My grandmother’s voice echoed in my ear as my husband peeped over my shoulder and said you will make the knife dull. My reply was no I should not use the knife in a hot pan because mama said doing that would giving me ‘cutting in my stomach.’ He said that he is sure that is not the reason why she didn’t want me to use the knife for cooking. He said maybe she just wanted you to use a spoon and that was the reason she gave you. Who can tell if that was her real reason or who can tell how far back generationally this ‘cutting in your belly’ tradition goes back? When you really think of it I was dependent upon and trusted my grandmother and her advice was written in stone. I did not think what she said was invalid or even question the concept. I adapted anything and everything from her. This story is like that ham story where people for years have been cutting off the ends of the ham because of tradition or habit, but the real reason was that originally both ends of the ham were cut to fit in a small pan. As my friend Susan puts it so eloquently “how rich our lives become as we learn each day, from our assumptions, lack of knowledge, oversights, and even mistakes.”
Yesterday I was bemused, as outside was overcast but not raining. After that I heard water pouring from a roof into a barrel. I recollected that this was normal in my culture. Most roofs were made of tin (Galvanized, steel, metal). In order to economize we would catch rain to lower the cost of the water that came to the houses from the springs. This was also used to minimize the chlorine treated water. Some people held the view that rain water was healthier to drink. I also recently discovered that collecting rain water is an old African practice. The book I read mentioned particularly those of the Dinka tribe adhering to this although I am sure that collecting rain water is a custom unique to many people and cultures worldwide. As water is becoming more scarce and there are droughts affecting many (even developed) nations collecting rain water may become the typical way to gather water once again. What is your own cultures view on it? I notice that people are viewing this blog from around the world. Let’s start a conversation here about rain water.
Lined oak wine barrel
Painted oil drums beats
Collecting rain water from corrugated tin roofs
Sensuous to smell
As customs trek miles of land
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Poem by Brenda L. McCartney
Trance
Four forty six in the morning I lay in bed
Turn the sepia album in my head
Its hands clutched around my neck in a pincer grasp
String pearls with titanium clasp
I leapt through your paths
I dodged through your alleys
I ran through the ghauts
Soldier
Runaway
Fort
Even Mefraimie
Luscious imaginings; houses and landscape lay before me
Dizzying chasm in the blistering heat
Hot springs plastered with shale licked my feet
Ochre streams smiled lovingly
Vivid colors captivated me
I retreated to your mountains
Lawyers
Farrells
Galloway’s
Perches and Roaches
Locked in by the vertiginous cliffs
As I melted in your beauty
Delighted in picturesque Plymouth an awesome city
I peaked in at Sturge Park
No urge to stay
Took a ride to Jumbie Dance it is a long way
There I was in a trance
That powerful rhythmic chant
Lost in the rhythm of the dance
My hair stood on end
As they left for Trant’s yard around the bend
Discovered the historical burial ground
A vast archive
Unfold the past live
I mounted Hells Gate
Dizzyingly complex
Leaving those tortured souls behind vexed
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Poem by Brenda L McCartney from LeAp a collection of poems
Photograph taken from The Montserrat Reporter
In a previous post I discussed the jumbie table. There is also a dance called jumbie dance which is tied to ancestral religion. According to the Dictionary of Caribbean English usage it defines jumbie dance as a religious dance organize to induce spirit-possession and divination; it is accompanied by a folk-band such as the WOO WOO BAND, it is impassioned and can last throughout the night.
Dr Howard A. Fergus further highlights in his book that the jumbie dance can be the purest manifestation of folk religion in Montserrat. The sound and tempo of the music produced help to bring worshipers in a trance-like state which brings devotees into communion with the world of the dead.
It was told that in the 1990s Montserrat Cricket team was on a loosing streak in the Leeward Island tournament; a jumbie dance was organize at the Sturge Park to break the spell, it was met by a public outcry and condemnation from the Christian believers stating that the practice was evil and it has brought shame and disgrace upon the nation.
So many cultural traditions in the Caribbean have been wiped out due to an over-emphasis on the European traditions. We continue today to loose our former identities and move onto a more nondescript and homogeneous global culture.
Well, it is the ninth day of Christmas and I have the last glass of sorrel in my hand savoring every sip. It is a part of our Caribbean culture to have sorrel at Christmas time. This plant is only harvested at Christmas and dies after one full bearing. According to the Dictionary of Caribbean English Usage:
Sorrel is a plant that grows to about six feet with numerous deeply lobed, light green leaves and many red centered, rose like flowers the calyxes developed into deep red, fleshy cubs (the fruit) which cover hairy, green seed pods.
Growing up in Montserrat, during Christmas, my grandmother expected me to stay on the porch in the night and pull the fruit off the plant; in preparation for it to be boiled with spices. There was no name given to the process it was just done. The end result of the process was that my grandmother made a tasty, flavorful, deep red, spicy, tropical drink.
Well, Christmas day has gone, the servings have diminished, if not all gone; but the contents of the beverages from the Christmas table (jumbie table) remain.
Appended below are the ingredients of the sorrel drink as you take your taste-buds on a tour of the Caribbean this Christmas.
Sorrel Drink
1 1b of sorrel
Gallon of water
1b Ginger Root
7 All Spice Balls
5 clove sticks
Cinnamon
cup Rice
Nutmeg
Sugar
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A few months back I was at a hairdresser and I came across a certain magazine. It was old, tattered written on. Still it seemed as if it called my name. There was a certain beauty about it. I opened it. I thought to myself yes! I felt as if it should be mine because to me it had such a cultural resonance. It was a keepsake. I continued to look at it and I searched for the date but nothing inside gave reference to it. I thought of the phrase my mother often used at home what St Kitts don’t want Nevis glad to get or as others would say one man’s garbage is another man’s treasure. Immediately, I asked if I can keep the magazine and oh boy it had no value until I requested it. I was upset that I could not have it. I even offered to pay for it. She said she did not read it yet, so the answer was no.
That night I could not sleep, I was alive and I wanted that magazine. I tried to reason with myself. I said to myself that it is not mine to have. The next morning I decided to search for the magazine. I made calls to its advertising offices and after being redirected several times I finally found the Editor and requested it. Months come and gone and I was given so many promises that the magazine would arrive. I complained about not getting it to one of my co-workers who urged me to forget about it and to give up. Well it took six months; it seemed like a year, for it to come. The day it came my smile was so wide that you could have counted all my incisors, molars and premolars.
The feature in the magazine that I was so enchanted by was on the subject of roots, starch vegetables, blue food, ground provisions let us cut to the chase hard food man. Oh you should see the dasheen, eddoes, tannia, yam, plantain, green fig, sweet potatoes, white potatoes, toulesmois (tulama), arrowroot and cassava. I can just see the market now. The hard food reminds me of our roots and culture. The dasheen and yam came on the slave ships from West Africa during the sixteenth century. The sweet potato originated from Brazil but was bought to Europe by Christopher Columbus.
Remember the cassava (cusada) bread? Oh mama! Those days I had to peel the cassava, grate it (cut my finger) put it in a flour bag (remember the 100% one hundred pound Caribbean flour from St Vincent White cloth with green and red stripes man)! I had to travel down to Collins Ghaut to Marse Jim which was about a twenty minute walk to put it between the press to extract the juice. After two days we would take it out and put it out to dry. Once it was dried you added salt – then you made that cassava bread. Back then everything seemed so complex; inorganic but looking back now and being able to sum up the process literally, it was organic; coordinated. It was our tradition but there were so many things I never knew until I read this magazine.
I learned that there are two types of cassava; one sweet and the other bitter. The bitter cassava contains prussic acid which is poisonous and needs special and careful preparation; if not extracted it can cause paralysis. So the method used by my grandmother was practiced by the Ameridians so long ago. The length of time used in the press was to get rid of the toxins.
Have you ever tasted any cassava (cusada) bread stuffed in the pig’s intestines? Delicious!
As the writer Eudora Welty once said Events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they find their own order the continuous thread of revelation. With time all things are understood.
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