Gwyneth Harold Davidson's Blog, page 3
April 16, 2022
When the powerful do not speak the truth or When the Powerful Speak Their Truth
When the powerful do not speak the truth or
When the Powerful Speak Their Truth
In 2003, Chairman of the highest military rank in the USA the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Colin Powell told the United Nations an untruth that gave public support to the eight-year war that the USA waged with Iraq. His apology to the world was that he was relying on information that was shared with him and so he did not deliberately mislead. Even without putting Powell’s reputation on the line, the USA would probably have gone to war with Iraq at that time. Aside from human loss of life from military conflict, the effects of that war were felt throughout the Middle East and the rest of the world to this day. I have to also add that the situation in Iraq before 2003 was itself potentially harmful to its neighbours, so it was also a matter of time before an incident would happen that would ripple across the globe.
The Vice Chancellor of the University of the West Indies has stated as fact that the black people in the Caribbean are the sickest in the world on a per capita basis as a direct consequence and legacy of slavery and colonization. He said that the Caribbean is the diabetic and hypertensive centre of the world. It was stated at the From Apology To Action: CARICOM's Call For Reparatory Justice on Monday, 6 July, 2020.
Before this was said, there were some issues stated that I am grateful to say led me to read a bit more about chattel slavery. After reading, I marvel at the silence of historians at what was said at that press conference.
The enslaved strained against their situation and this erupted into ongoing revolts across the region, and also wars, but there could not have been collective effort as there was no communication among the enslaved across societies. The two revolutions were that of Haiti which ended in 1804 and the independence movements of parts of Central and South America that culminated between 1825-1830 and led to the current states we know in that region.
Said at the press conference: The Caribbean governments have done well in confronting the legacy of harm and of taking responsibility.
The speaker raised the matter of poverty so a review of the current state of the economies would have been relevant. The World Bank in 2020 adjusted the categories to rank the economies of countries. As it stands, there are no Caribbean nations ranked as low income countries; three of the 55 Lower middle income countries are Caribbean; nine of the 55 are upper middle income; and there are 14 out of 79 countries in the high income category. However, it would also be prudent to note that Cuba and Haiti are the most populous countries in the region which would place the living conditions of the people of the Caribbean in middle income. It would also be interesting to note that the high income countries on the list includes two republics: Barbados and Trinidad and Tobago; with all the others being constituent countries as colonies, territories or within a realm.
Said at the press conference: On attaining independence, the British colonies were 60% illiterate. They left 60% of all the black people in the Caribbean illiterate .
In another Linked-In post, I mentioned that the first time a Gleaner Parliamentary Reporter mentioned education projects in the throne speech of independent Jamaica was in 1971, nine years after independence. The leaders were more interested in increasing financial revenues. The 2020 Reform of Secondary Education Report showed that in 2019, 55% of the children who completed the Primary Exit Profile (PEP) in Grade 6 were competent in English language and 33% cannot read. See page 63.
I will now return to examine that the Caribbean is the sickest place in the Caribbean.
There are several modifiers in the original statement of the Caribbean having the sickest people in the world.
The first is per capita, meaning that we are looking at countries in the same income bracket per person purchasing power. The second modifier is countries where diabetes and hypertension are prevalent.The International Diabetes Federation report for 2019 showed that the North America and the Caribbean region had the highest prevalence of impaired glucose tolerance of all IDF regions – over 12%; and the overall prevalence of diabetes in adults between ages 20 and 79 is 13.3%.
Countries that have highest prevalence of impaired glucose tolerance that are also middle income are basically the countries of the Caribbean. So it is like defining yourself using diabetes and GDP.
This definition ignores the website front page info of the International Diabetes federation that 3 in 4 adults with diabetes live in low- and middle-income countries and that almost 1 in 2 (240 million) adults living with diabetes are undiagnosed. Placed in that context, the Caribbean or West Indies does not stand out as the sickest in the world.
This is not a benign matter because the rhetoric is to motivate the listener to support punishment of the heirs and successors of the colonial era who live in Britain. We are to use the past to patch up the deficiencies of the present. There are warnings against that approach!
Pause and consider the two stark cases of Haiti and Cuba, today each has a population of eleven million. Cuba's leaders scuppered its relationships with Spain and the USA which led it to become aligned with the USSR. Haiti, I had not seen a complete detachment from the major players in its strive for development. I suspect that the decisions of the leaders of both countries was not straightforward and came out of careful thought and emotional processes.
Let us return where we started, to the Gospel of Luke before the noting of Mary Magdalene. Jesus was asked by the religious leaders why he and his disciples were comfortable in the company of the unclean. Christ’s response was twofold and I will place my current thoughts what he meant and how holders of power can apply them.
The first is the answer that he gave to the Pharisees when they asked why he and his disciples were always out eating and drinking. The lesson there is that you have to make the best of what is good in the world now, life is a feast to enjoy.
The second part of the passage to the doctors of the law is a warning against placing new wine in old wineskins and patching old cloth with new cloth. If we are moving away to a new order, all of the old order has to be put away. You have to really "move on".
Tell the stories with balance, pay respect to the hurt, focus on the joyful task of making something new.
END
Writing this made me reflect on the stories of the past that must not be forgotten in as much of their entirety as possible.
Sally the enslaved African child slave who was repeatedly raped by the owner of Breadnut Island Pen, Westmoreland and caught infections from him. She never stopped trying to run away. We must not forget that we know this because Thistlewood kept a meticulous diary for 38 years (1748 to 1786) which included the weather. This has given Jamaica an enviable document to evaluate climate change.
Juan de Bolas, Tacky, John Mansong, Sam Sharpe and Paul Bogle were trapped by Maroons and treated to death.
Coffee industry in Jamaica grew when Grande Blancs fled the revolution happening in Haiti.
Murder of 132 Africans thrown overboard from the Zong on its way to Black River Jamaica and the court and political actions that resulted from that.
The sugar industry exposed Caribbean people to technologies earlier than many other areas, and we took this to advance ourselves in the wider world.
Rigid school rules of an early period and preference for girls has allowed our culture to evolve in unique ways.
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February 13, 2022
Jamaica Book resource for resilience to natural hazards
Jamaica Book resource for resilience to natural hazardsThis book is a resource for Christian communities that want to protect people and property from the impact of natural hazards. Roper is a professional in the environmental sciences and her text includes an easy guide for groups and individuals on how to think through possible situations and realistic ways of planning and responding.Using examples of resilience from stories in the Holy Bible, this book encourages members of churches to take actions that will militate against a severe impact. These actions will include being guided by science and being committed to consultation with others in the community at every step of the way.
The author highlights that churches are an important institutions in the Jamaican society providing a range of educational and social services; physical space in times of ease and also crisis; and for prayerful comfort.
January 15, 2022
Want It!
WANT IT
January 16, 2021
“See them in my hand; I won’t forget.”
Jingi’s eldest child - they are all past childhood now however – stepped out of the shadow to stand beside her mother at the kitchen island, now relying only on the light from its overhead lamp, the glass behind the curtains being still dark. Jingi turned to face her daughter so that she could watch her swallow her anti-anxiety, anti-depressant and multi-vitamins with her coffee. The mug was decorated with the picture of a smiling dolphin and the words “Welcome to Kingston”
“Fix up your lunch for you?” her daughter asked.
“Mmm, and put a piece of pear....no, put a whole’a pear in my bag.”
“A whole one? You can’t finish that!” She raised her palms, “I get it, so that you can have something to share.”
Within fifteen minutes Jungi was walking through the dark morning towards the transit stop, which was now so close to the shoreline now that during high tide the passengers stood further along the road where the ground was higher. Relocating it would be a sign of defeat for the parish council which had the job to protect more land from erosion, they were trying to put funds together for reclamation.
Sitting in the transport, she put in her earphones, and listened to her growing playlist of the sounds of the seas. Last night she had remembered - not dreamt as her partner would have insisted she did - but actually remembered a day when the sea water had been cold and a storm had just passed the shore that was half a day swim from their favourite gathering area. Her pod had gleefully travelled behind the last of the strong winds of the tempest and waited until the high waves changed from grey to sparkling green. When it did, they darted for the mangroves, searching out the large fish that had been too far away from deep water when the storm passed through and had sought refuge there. It was an easy meal.
She stopped gorging with the sound of the rasp of wood tearing against undersea rocks, a disturbing, unnatural event, but one that was no longer unusual. With a follow up wave, there was the ripping and collapsing as carefully secured materials violently separated from each other and that was now mingling with the shouts of humans. Great splashing in the water, groans from the alive and the great vessel. Jinji and her pod kicked away from the mangroves. They had seen this kind of thing before and understood the desperate cries for life. Jinji clicked and expected to hear her companions click and buzz along with her, a sign that they would move to the wreck, but no reply came back. She looked at her pod and one whistle reminded her that it was dangerous for them. Sometimes, heavy, inflamed light materials or posts and beams fell into the water and could fatally injure them, and then there were splintered wood that floated. And worse, the noxious substances like tar and oil and gunpowder and acids that was released into the sea. Jingi slapped her tail and whistled that she would go, and she swum away from them and to the boiling trouble. One person was clutching a piece of wood and using the other arm to laboriously paddle towards the shore. Jinji slipped under the swimmer and after a brief panicked push away, she felt both arms tighten on her, and with smaller movements than she would normally use, Jingi did the transport to the mangroves and wriggled away, back to the scene. Another person was floating, gasping from exhaustion, and she did the same transport. The first person had already gone and another pod member had joined in the transporting. On the shore, people who were living on the land were launching small rowboats.
The sea around the wreck was now tasting awful. In swimming around, Jingi heard no more cries or breathing, so she dived and hovered in the calm water beneath the surface, watching the slow descent of items and bodies, delicately touched here and there with beams of sunlight that shone effortlessly through the clear water down to a bed of white sand and seagrass. Then she heard a distinct heartbeat and found its owner, looking just like any of the other graceful figures descending. Jingi immediately used her snout to push the body up until it broke the surface, her pod mate joined in, and together, they gently kept the head above water and towed it to the shore. The mangrove would not be a good place to land the person, so they beached themselves, then they kicked and wriggled back into the water. By that time, people had run over and started to attend to the person who they knew was still alive. The last Jingi saw was a hand lifted. It now wanted it, to live.
When she got off the transport, it was full rush hour, but Jinji was calm because she was at her destination, on time. She prepped herself, and then the orderly completed the fitting. The charge nurse came over and inspected her suit, then searched her face to measure her composure.
“Had a good rest last night nurse?”
“Yes I did. I did not need to medicate and slept for at least seven hours. I had my breakfast with my medication and coffee. One cup.”
She held up her right thumb for emphasis.
The charge nurse looked into her eyes, held her hands lightly for a few moments and then let her go.
“We appreciate you nurse; we are here to support.”
The sensitive care room was as she left it, all beds full, but with who? Her eyes swept the room and checked off its occupants. Two nurses with mechanical assistants tending to patients; every bed space had a bed, and every bed had a patient. Jinji would typically check on the most desperately sick of her charges first, but not today. She walked directly to the bed nearest to the fire alarm, the patient should have been discharged to a less critical care ward, but something was stopping healthy progress.
Beside the bed, she waved at the face, which nodded back at her.
“Why are you still in here?” Jingi asked.
“Yeah? Guess you thought that I died.”
The face looked so much like the one she brought to the surface of the water, the one who was not struggling for air, who was sinking, alive, but no will to live, like this one. She had been to that point herself. Her inherited mental conditions had made motherhood and a job and nurturing a relationship overwhelming. The buffeting of daily life, the money worries, caring for a child with a chronic condition, irritating family quarrels, a broken refrigerator, a broken fingernail, had worn her down and regardless of the large gap she left in the life of her family, she resigned herself to never getting out of bed again. That was when she started to have memories of her life as a dolphin of the Caribbean sea.
At first it was basic emotions such as the happy camaraderie of hunting for food with her pod, the pulsing fear of predators, the thrilling joy of swimming fast and then leaping into the air, flipping and splashing into the sea. Then she became aware that she had thoughts, she saw the people who paddled from land to land in boats that sat low in the water, she observed their deadly community fights, and was curious about their hunting habits.
Then there were those who used boats that sat higher in the water than she could jump, they carried many things on shore and off shore. Sometimes these boats threw animals and humans overboard into the deep, still sea water. She saw more violent conflict and the most amazing sight of a ship that burned until it sank. She and her pod chattered about the shoreline changing from mangroves to a community – a town or city. Quite marvellous.
It was time to move on to other patients, but Jingi lingered just long enough to say, “You doing real good, you getting better.”
The face turned away from her, as if to a wall, but in the ward, it is not a wall, it is open space all the way to the end of the long room, where there was door that after being opened, it self shut.
“You haffi want it,” she said.
“Want what?”
“Life. Breathe until you can find something to breathe for.”
Jingi then had another memory. It was of the sinking shipwrecked person who she saved, who reminded her so much of this young patient. Two of them were shuffling to the sea ahead of pursuers. The metal shackles on their ankles would prevent them from swimming. Breathing heavily with fear, they forced themselves through the dense roots of the mangroves looking for somewhere to hide. Jingi dived under and teased a basking crocodile out of their way so that they could be safe, even for a while. They hid there until darkness, and she watched them return to shore, and shuffle, with determination, to find freedom.
“Whatever is the problem, if you have life, mi friend, believe you me, you have hope.”
She moved away to critical care.
When her back was turned, her patient forced himself to sit up.
/ghd
January 1, 2022
Watching Over Ree-Ree
THE NUMBERS THAT ARE USED IN THIS ARTICLE HAVE NOT BEEN VERIFIED BY AN AUTHORITY
Watching Over Ree-Ree
As a rule, Jamaicans give high ratings to international businesswoman R Rhianna Fenty. She has displayed attributes and attitudes that have garnered her outstanding international success while she proudly displays her ongoing affiliation to her Caribbean heritage, she has the sort of personality that Jamaicans celebrate.
In recent times, her November 2021 ascendancy to National Hero of Barbados, crackled many Jamaican opinion columnists, radio pundits and letter writers into a frenzy of discussion about this modern woman. I now join that group in order to say that there are about 550 girls between the ages of 14 and 15 and 16 who have a name with that magical sound, ree AH nah, living all over Jamaica. Jamaican parents have found at least 22 different ways to write that sound for the given name of their precious child.
Many of these young Ri-Ris have started to make their mark on society and their communities. Rihanna Minott (13) of Denbigh High School was photographed in May 2021 by the JIS for her acts of kindness in Rocky Point; Rhianna Phipps (20) is representing Jamaica and the USA in the jumps; Rhianna Rust (15), who has been representing Jamaica in badminton before she started secondary school, is the 2021 Under 17 girls champion; Rihanna Gayle who started swimming for Winward Road Primary won the Women’s Aquathlon at the National Triathlon Championships on December 23 in Port Royal.
Then there are the others who break into the hard news for heartbreaking reasons. In 2020, Kitson Town High School student, 14 year old Rihanna Thomas was missing for 12 days; in November, Rihanna Howard of Marcus Garvey Technical High School in St Ann, also age 14, died in a car crash that also had other fatalities. in 2021: May, Rihanna Clarke of St James age 14 was reported missing; in November, Rihanna Parchment age 14 went missing from Price of Wales Street, Kingston and in December 2021 Rihanna Campbell age 14 commits suicide.
There is more reason for concern and action as Director of the UWI, Mona Institute for Gender Studies says that, 25% of Jamaican women who will experience domestic abuse, which I would want to add should include the possibility of a woman being a perpetrator of violence on someone else.
The Gleaner reports that “In 2020 the Child Protection and Family Service Agency (CPFSA) received 9,800 cases of abuse against children. Sexual abuse accounted for 20 per cent of these reports. Since the [coronavirus] pandemic we've seen an increase in parishes such as St Thomas, St Elizabeth, St Mary, Portland and slightly in Hanover,” Some of those 13, 14 and 15 year-old Rehannas are in that group.
So if you have a Rhianna in your knowing, or who you care about, expand yourself to believe that you know all 550 them all by name and that each one has potential for outstanding achievement, but also believe, that your Rayanna may be a stalled project or bleakly suffering from the state of her existence.
Think about the 2% Rule of Real Estate. Landlords sift through probable purchases, hunting for the property that can be rented for at least 2% of the purchase price, which would be a good return. Influence your Rihanna in some way so that her personality or her actions will bring at value to her community. Of course, this is a metaphor as calculating value of a person to a community is fatuous, so the message is, support your Rheanna so that her conduct and character does not become a liability to her future success. Using a Biblical reference, in his bargain with God, Abraham struck a deal that if he found 10 persons of good character in a population, two cities would be spared. The Bible tells us that he did not, so the righteous had to tek weh demself. If all Rihanna’s are supported, by extension the entire community of children will also be protected, by us, the community.
If each of us looks out for one Ri-Ri under our influence we will be helping to nurture and protect a segment of the young population. Keep a Riana in your prayers each day, support a family with a Re-Anna, self-check yourself and modulate your conduct so that you do not become a trip wire in a Raeanna’s life. Five hundred and fifty is not a large number for our population, but if we can say that we nurtured the characters and protected the bodies of these 14, 15 and 16 year olds, it will multiply and help to secure the future of the nation for the delight and well-being of us all.
/
December 27, 2021
Reggae Taking Us Through Our Possibilities
Reggae Taking Us Through Our Possibilities
I once heard the great Marcia Griffith CD - perhaps it was 20 years ago – said that reggae music is like food, and she meant spiritual nourishment for the soul’s refreshment, rejuvenation and maturity. The nutrition of this musical food is in the lyrics and what they convey to the conscious mind and when the words tell a story, then a lifestyle can have meaning.
Memory has failed me to confidently name the interviewer – and I would not want to guess – but it was a Jamaican journalist and the Empress of Reggae was describing her artistic community as being a public service, with the sacred mission of spreading a musical banquet for listeners to grow in knowledge of good and evil and to conduct themselves with regards to their own salvation throughout life. “A person is a person through other persons; you can't be human in isolation; you are human only in relationships.” This is a wording of the African concept of Ubuntu by the late Nobel Peace Prize recipient, the Archbishop of Cape Town Desmond Tutu. He is on my mind as today, December 27, 2021 we learned of his passing and are reflecting on his life’s work, which had an impact on the world.
Released in December 2021 on the Mixcloud audio streaming platform, the Secret Service DJs Life and Love Riddims Volumes 1 and 2 are chock full of this reggae food within the measure of one drop riddims from the past 20 years. In this essay, I listened keenly to the package of lyrical messages and yearn for more storytelling in the music rather than be left with the deliciously delivered sentiments and hooks. Let us look at what I heard in the music.
The first track in the collection is fittingly a sonnet to Jamaica with Chronnix’s “Smile Jamaica”, and he performs a second track about romantic moments on a beach or at a riverside.
Having established an anthem for country, the songs expound on romantic love and longing. To extend the thought of spiritual food, this could be a mirror image of the biblical book Songs of Solomon which does not tell a story but anticipates amorous love.
A standout track for its musicianship qualities is Beres Hammond on “I Am Missing You” as a song of longing, but there are others including Peter Morgan on “Nice and Slow”.
Admiration, promises, tender touches and romancing are united within riddims, the sentiments divided by the individuality of voices. The grainy, gravelly Chuck Fenda and Sizzla, the plaintive crooning of Jah Cure. The vocal technician Wayne Wonder makes an appearance with “I Still Believe That You Love Me”. The crisp pop of Sean Paul, melodious Denique and Natel delivered all promises of love and devotion and happiness on the romance side of relationships.
Aside from these honey dipped entrancements, there are the starchy staples of relationships. Jah 9’s “Brothers” is an early salve to a man living under strain, a way to keep his spirits up and to reward him for being committed to the family while assuring him that his lioness is at his side, matching his best with hers. Etana and Queen Ifrica catch up later in the mix with “My Man” and “Lioness on the Rise” respectively.
In a dish sometimes there are cuts and pieces that are unwanted, perhaps a bit of gristle or in a vegetarian dish, maybe the item was not properly peeled, Tami Chynn speaks of “Forbidden Love” while Christopher Martin asks for strength not to cheat on his girlfriend while Ce’cile promises to wait on her boyfriend who is away.
When it is time to put an end to a toxic relationship Tarrus Riley kisses his teeth with the lyrics, “I won’t cry, I ‘ll be fine, gwaan, go, don’t turn back.” Romain Virgo also speaks to reasons for breakups with, “Though I know I need you more than you ever know, girl, I think it's time to let you go. Though I know I love you forever more. I'm for you, but you're for you. The lyrics of Jah Cure in “Nothing” hints at an imbalanced love affair that needs to be abandoned.
Ballads that extend one thought into a story are not plentiful in the genre and this leads to overreliance on a few committed to the format, and this is where the group TOK shone. They first appeared on the “Guardian Angel” riddim with their self identifying track and they feature throughout the collection, flitting in and out as a host of prophetic heralds. Their selection of social commentary topics varied from the plea for divine intervention, facing hardships in the song, “So Cold” which is a walkthrough of a life that seems to be out of control, but they will not sell out their souls. “Footprints” describes how to seek comfort from personal faith after a painful loss and also “Tears” urges a woman to carry on after ending an abusive relationship.
The baritone of “Lonely Days” with Fiji and J Boog is a torch song for admission of guilt, “I apologise for all those lonely days and restless nights without me beside your side when my insensitivity did not see the signs when all I wanted was to make you smile.”
Jah Vinci refers to “My Other Half” as his motivation although his lover’s father is trying to keep them apart and his daughter focused on her studies. His lyrics say, “She’s my motivation and I am her inspiration. Who am I without my other half and her love is God’s perfect creation.”
Self-affirming music came through Richie Spice who urges listeners to “confident yourself and motivate yourself’ on the track “Got to Make It” and Million Stylez sings “from a far we a see them a come, pray fi a brighter day.” Etana also affirms, “If a come dem come, let dem come cause I am not afraid, I am protected by the most high.”
Along with introspection are warning songs Chuck Fenda’s “Gash Dem” is the call to vigilante justice and Queen Ifrica’s “Keep It To Yourself” warns against committing iniquity and “Times Like These” describe ills in society. LUST reminds us that the society is “Bawling” for equal rights and justice.
The other group that featured prominently was Morgan Heritage, mostly about their life and times such as the track “Talk dem a Talk” about the dearth of useful information, again not enough nutrition for the soul when the lyrics say, “A bare almshouse and strictly negative dem live fi chat ‘bout inna the media…dem claims say good news nah sell no paper.”
Only one song in the mix that was dedicated to the Mamma musical sub-genre, and this was granted to Christopher Martin.
As lyrical vocalists go, Alaine had the edge in the number of romantic tracks that she carried, no doubt due to how her silky soprano contrasts with the deeper voices that were around hers. The featured singers are masters of diction and phrasing in the Jamaican language, but Alaine’s body of work performing in lead and backup roles gave her the edge for selection in this double volume.
The theme of the mixtape was Life and Love and the selector included enough sacred music for a dozen One Drop Psalms. To try and explore the Biblical origins of the tracks, Without any knowledge of what was in the minds of the songwriters, I have matched key lyrics with suggested scriptural parallels.
Most of these songs were to give encouragement but there was one that was an admonishment, Jah Cure “Mother Earth” about the negative effects of human exploitation of natural resources which can be matched with | Jer 2:7 “I brought you into a plentiful land to eat its fruits and its good things. But when you entered you defiled my land, and made my heritage an abomination.”
Here are the songs of spiritual help, nourishment and a call to holiness.
Jemere Morgan and Gramps Morgan “Try Jah Love” Psalm 34:8, O taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are those who take refuge in him.
Natural Black “Far From Reality”, Mos’ a the people dem livin’ in space and the spiritual one dem living by grace | 2Cor 12:9 but he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness. So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.
Fanton Mojah, “Thanks and Praise” Thanks and Praise Jah Love is Here to Stay only Jan Love Bless me through my days. Seek Jah first and everything after | Matt 6:33 But strive first for the kingdom of God[l] and his[m] righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.
Gyptian Is there a place where I can find true love divine? | 1 John 4:6-16 No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.
Jah Vinci “Wicked Heart” I am protected just like the Hebrew boys in the furnace, touch not the Lord’s anointed | Psalm 105:15 Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm.
Pressure “Jah Love” once you got Jah love, nothing is greater | Ephesians 3:19-21 and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
Ikaya “Flyaway” Jah make me fly away like a million sparrows | Matt 10:31 So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows; Ezekiel 13:20 Therefore thus says the Lord God: I am against your bands with which you hunt lives;[c] I will tear them from your arms, and let the lives go free, the lives that you hunt down like birds.
The sole ballad in this group of sacred music I would say is Sean Paul’s “Never Gonna Be The Same” But those who pull the trigger cannot take away the covenant the righteous have with Jah Jah | Isaiah 54v10 For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you.
These are the short list of what I identified, but there is a real argument that more songs would qualify as being for the purpose of divine reverence.
There was no music by Dexta Daps within the volumes, and he could be argued as the most expressive male singer of his contemporaries, not detracting from the established artistry of Christopher Martin, Romain Virgo, Tarrus Riley, and others. Hopefully, he and the UK based Dalton Harris will produce one drop recordings for future mixes.
All of the lyrics on these tracks use popular and Jamaican language, and writing this article has given me a challenge on how to keep the lyrics and my writing in English in good balance. It is a challenge to the advocates for the official use of Standard Received Jamaican. Words and phrases swirl out of usefulness, so to give them longevity, they have to be protected as a written official language. I am not an advocate for disappearing cultures, just stating that what you lef’ up, will be left behind, or claimed by a new, more organized and disciplined force. A culture’s existence is in direct proportion to the official use of its language in written form.
This body of music prepared by Secret Service DJs can be examined more deeply, along perhaps with other collections by other DJs to determine what they are seeing of society and its values and how we can see what is possible with what we have.
See listed mixtapes here on MixCloud: https://www.mixcloud.com/secretservicedjs/
Desmond Tutu 1999, No Future Without Forgiveness: https://www.librarything.com/work/616...
Resource for One Drop Riddims: https://riddimsworld.com/collections/best-ever-reggae-riddims/#
December 12, 2021
Reading Michelle Obama's memoir Becoming
I started reading this book with assumptions that turned out to be totally wrong, and I am happy to be wrong.
Raised to strive for better and more opportunities in life by getting an education and staying out of trouble, the segment set out below sums up her approach to life.
This excerpt was recalling her first visit to the Elizabeth Garrett Anderson school which is a public all-girls school in a poor area of London and most of the students are from immigrant families where English would not be the first language:
"I’d realized early on that school was where I could start defining myself......that an education was a thing worth working for, that it would help spring them forward in the world.
"In different moments, I’d felt overwhelmed by the pace, unworthy of the glamour, anxious about our children, and uncertain of my purpose. But here, finally, speaking to those girls, I felt something completely different and pure....an alignment of my old self with this new role. Are you good enough? Yes, you are, all of you."
It was interesting to note that as FLOTUS, she had biannual recorded conversations which was rich resource material for the book and certainly would have helped with fact checking and recollections.
Michelle Obama convinced me that her work as FLOTUS had an impact on the movement to improve nutrition in USA public school systems and also to help families feel they have control to make healthy lifestyle choices.
With regards to her mission to have greater acceptance of Blacks in the White House, I do not know how to judge that based on the electorate's move to the populist politics of the next president, Donald Trump.
I do not think that her lifestyle and outlook is regarded by the more vocal Black community as representative of their community. The book does not revere any outstanding American leaders or Black Leaders. The leaders she admires are Madiba Nelson Mandela and her friend Her Majesty The Queen.
As a Jamaican, it was interesting for me to compare her family story with that of migrants from the West Indies, and writing it this way, instead of saying from the Caribbean, denotes that I am speaking about the English Speaking Caribbean.
Michelle Obama's grandparents on both sides migrated from the rural South and ended up in jobs that were available to them because of a combination of their skin colour and lack of education. These southerners knitted a community in Chicago but cut off many trailing strings connecting them to the South. Michelle did not grow up on Southern food or music or stories and folklore and style of speaking. The typical West Indian carries many of those cultural markers with them, proudly, and pass them on and share them within the culture they now live. An example is Carnival in Toronto and London, the ongoing demand for ingredients to make local dishes, the music and attire that still give identity, and religion.
What Michelle Obama's family had, was a resolve that pursuing education and working within what the dominant system offered was the best way to keep the family inching forward, and her parents, through careful actions, did that.
It surprises me that her well-regarded public high school had a learning trip to France, but had not considered visiting the nearby University of Chicago, because it was dominated by White culture and so seemingly culturally far removed from them. In the same way, she spent her entire time as an undergraduate socialising with Black and minority students and working in the diversity office on campus. Meanwhile, her dear Jamaican roommate and friend was comfortable participating in non-minority campus activities.
Throughout her life, Michelle Obama has declaimed pride for her hometown, the South Side of Chicago, a working class to poor part of the city with worsening attendant social ills. I think it is a credit to her, that she influenced her husband to move back there after he left office as President and to use their influence to support the ongoing advancement of the city.
Although she is proud of the Southside of Chicago, it is covering over a bit of insecurity that maybe she is not good enough, but she suppresses those thoughts quite effectively whenever they arise.
On a fashion note, I was not convinced that Michelle Obama did not care much for fashion. She is a self-confessed follower of pop culture and loved branded clothing from her youth, K Swiss shoes and Vanderbilt jeans. This is not in her book, but I remember how Michelle Obama's choice of sleeveless attire revolutionised the dress codes of USA television anchors. Women seemed to have been quietly pining to be able to display their arms and her style was the excuse and example for them and that forced open those flood gates.
The days of ladies maids seem to be over. I do not understand why a public person cannot have on retainer - or on call - a competent cosmetologist who can style hair, apply makeup, prepare nails and put an outfit in order. If a cosmetologist knows you, then they can have the correct tools and products in place to get to work.
I enjoyed spending the last few days with Michelle Robinson Obama and look forward to seeing her continue to mature and be a positive influence for all who come into contact with her. It is wonderful that there is a young readers version of Becoming.
Reading Michelle Obama Memoir
Raised to strive for better and more opportunities in life by getting an education and staying out of trouble, the segment set out below sums up her approach to life.
This excerpt was recalling her first visit to the Elizabeth Garrett Anderson school which is a public all-girls school in a poor area of London and most of the students are from immigrant families where English would not be the first language:
"I’d realized early on that school was where I could start defining myself......that an education was a thing worth working for, that it would help spring them forward in the world.
"In different moments, I’d felt overwhelmed by the pace, unworthy of the glamour, anxious about our children, and uncertain of my purpose. But here, finally, speaking to those girls, I felt something completely different and pure....an alignment of my old self with this new role. Are you good enough? Yes, you are, all of you."
It was interesting to note that as FLOTUS, she had biannual recorded conversations which was rich resource material for the book and certainly would have helped with fact checking and recollections.
Michelle Obama convinced me that her work as FLOTUS had an impact on the movement to improve nutrition in USA public school systems and also to help families feel they have control to make healthy lifestyle choices.
With regards to her mission to have greater acceptance of Blacks in the White House, I do not know how to judge that based on the electorate's move to the populist politics of the next president, Donald Trump.
I do not think that her lifestyle and outlook is regarded by the more vocal Black community as representative of their community. The book does not revere any outstanding American leaders or Black Leaders. The leaders she admires are Madiba Nelson Mandela and her friend Her Majesty The Queen.
As a Jamaican, it was interesting for me to compare her family story with that of migrants from the West Indies, and writing it this way, instead of saying from the Caribbean, denotes that I am speaking about the English Speaking Caribbean.
Michelle Obama's grandparents on both sides migrated from the rural South and ended up in jobs that were available to them because of a combination of their skin colour and lack of education. These southerners knitted a community in Chicago but cut off many trailing strings connecting them to the South. Michelle did not grow up on Southern food or music or stories and folklore and style of speaking. The typical West Indian carries many of those cultural markers with them, proudly, and pass them on and share them within the culture they now live. An example is Carnival in Toronto and London, the ongoing demand for ingredients to make local dishes, the music and attire that still give identity, and religion.
What Michelle Obama's family had, was a resolve that pursuing education and working within what the dominant system offered was the best way to keep the family inching forward, and her parents, through careful actions, did that.
It surprises me that her well-regarded public high school had a learning trip to France, but had not considered visiting the nearby University of Chicago, because it was dominated by White culture and so seemingly culturally far removed from them. In the same way, she spent her entire time as an undergraduate socialising with Black and minority students and working in the diversity office on campus. Meanwhile, her dear Jamaican roommate and friend was comfortable participating in non-minority campus activities.
Throughout her life, Michelle Obama has declaimed pride for her hometown, the South Side of Chicago, a working class to poor part of the city with worsening attendant social ills. I think it is a credit to her, that she influenced her husband to move back there after he left office as President and to use their influence to support the ongoing advancement of the city.
Although she is proud of the Southside of Chicago, it is covering over a bit of insecurity that maybe she is not good enough, but she suppresses those thoughts quite effectively whenever they arise.
On a fashion note, I was not convinced that Michelle Obama did not care much for fashion. She is a self-confessed follower of pop culture and loved branded clothing from her youth, K Swiss shoes and Vanderbilt jeans. This is not in her book, but I remember how Michelle Obama's choice of sleeveless attire revolutionised the dress codes of USA television anchors. Women seemed to have been quietly pining to be able to display their arms and her style was the excuse and example for them and that forced open those flood gates.
The days of ladies maids seem to be over. I do not understand why a public person cannot have on retainer - or on call - a competent cosmetologist who can style hair, apply makeup, prepare nails and put an outfit in order. If a cosmetologist knows you, then they can have the correct tools and products in place to get to work.
I enjoyed spending the last few days with Michelle Robinson Obama and look forward to seeing her continue to mature and be a positive influence for all who come into contact with her. It is wonderful that there is a young readers version of Becoming.
September 13, 2021
Giveaway of Grades 4 to 6 Primary School Textbooks Sept 13 to 17 2021
Contact: Gwyneth underscore h at hotmail dot com
May 9, 2021
Some views on books and movies 2020 and 2021
DA 5 BLOODSDelroy Lindo gave a masterful performance.Five 70 year old US vets return to a jungle of Vietnam to recover the remains of a friend and also ingots of gold owned by the US Govt. It was never going to be easy.
FREE STATE OF JONES
"They will arrest me and kill you", says the character of Newton Knight to Moses in the movie Free State of Jones.A Mississippi small farmer realises that the war the confederates wage with the union is to make the rich richer. He leads a band of renegade small farmers and former enslaved persons who declare independence. An interesting folk hero from Mississippi.
FENCES
August Wilson's play Fences adapted for film by Denzel Washington. So many pithy truisms can be attached here:
Take limes and make lemonade
Most men live lives of quiet desperation
Marriage has teeth.
A man, feeling the weight of unfulfilled dreams, sacrifices the love of his closest as a way to temper frustration
A woman who defines herself through her husband realizes she may have built a castle in the sky.
CODED BIASJoy Buolamwalini leads a lobby to stop the unregulated use of algorithms in facial recognition technology in the USA. The algorithms have inbuilt biases that no one knows how to unravel, but that push decisions that are based on race, gender, neighbourhood, schools attended and so on.
LIFE IN COLOUR
Presentation on how colours are recognized and used in the natural world. Who is seeing what colours. A fascinating and visually delightful outlay.
300
Diplomacy would not save the Greeks from being crushed under Persian rule, so war it had to be.
The ultimate death before dishonor story.
BLACKHATThis is a movie that would make Carib yell "Show!" back in the day.
Do you have a bank account, financial stock, work in law enforcement?
Know that there are people who play international money and power games with computers.
Chinese and US cyberpolice use a convicted hacker to try and catch another.
Along the way we see that some women fall in love when they see brute strength.
Criminals are out there with middle east warfare and Latin American narco credentials
Knives, guns, bombs, helicopters, subway, fast boat, cars, planes all have roles.
AKBARPolitical marriages are an efficient way to solve political problems. A Muslim Emperor takes a religious Hindu princess as his truce making bride. In getting to understand each other and asserting individuality, with respect, they nurture marital love. A heady period piece epic movie.
CONCRETE COWBOYSYoung Cole is a not where he wants to be, living out tough love, mucking stalls in his father's rented stables in Philadelphia. It is hard for inner city youth to find the prosperity that they desire. Home is not a place, so we goin' ride.
THE HOLY MANA monk is sent to reopen a disused temple in a town which is under the control of a con artist and also a politician, both protected by goons.With the help of the village layabout, handsome village fool and an autistic person, the monk reopens the temple and a school and through good works begins to threaten the status quo. In each act of life, you earn merit or you lose it.
Mary Magdalene. She is not named among the 12 apostles but was absolutely there where and when it mattered.When the going got tough, Andrew, James, Thomas, Simon Peter and others went into hiding, but she was there standing with Mary mother of Jesus and the apostle John (who Jesus loved) at the crucifixion and helped to secure the body.
Mary M went to the tomb early Sunday morning knowing soldiers were on guard and also not knowing how they was going to move the stone that blocked the entry to the tomb.
Jamaican revitalists have celebrated her faith with the song "Mother the great stone got to move".
Mary was able to give a first person account of the resurrected Christ.
Pair that with Father Abraham's ignorant, and ill-treated slave babymother, Hagar, who in her lowest moments of despair still prayed to "The God Who Sees Me". Her faith sustained her to find a way out of her troubles.
As George Michael sings
You Gotta Have Faith.
HIS HOUSEA couple is accepted into the UK as refugees and are given a spacious but run down house in a small town to live. The husband is ready to assimilate, but the wife understands that there are spirits around that demand a reckoning. Spoiler.........,it ends well.
THE EMIGRANTRam sets out to study agriculture in Egypt, the "country of light" but his jealous brothers deceived him and he lives as a slave in Egypt where he distinguishes himself and achieves his goal. Despite the entrenched religious/political culture, he never abandons his God.
THE YOUNG MESSIAHJesus Bar Joseph, age 7, has questions. He is different from the other children. He can perform miraculous acts and is aware of the devil's emissary stalking him, but why? When his family decides to leave Egypt for their homeland Judea, he learns it all and it prepares him.
THE BLIND CHRIST From adolescence, Michael believes God is within each person and each of us can be like Christ and perform miracles. He never does perform a miracle and he never gives up. Each person who puts their faith in him feels comforted that they have been prayed for by a good man.
A PROMISED LAND A book that gives the mind set behind the actions of President Barak Obama just before he entered politics to the assassination of Osama Bin Laden in 2011. He comes across as a thoughtful person who decided that to make the changes that he wanted to see in the world, he had to be the President of the USA. I have not read his three earlier memoirs, Dreams From My Father, the Audacity of Hope and Change We Can Believe In, so am actually wondering why he needed to cover his pre presidential life in this fourth review of his life.The book is careful to honour many people throughout that political experience and it was interesting indeed to read how he describes how he valued those relationships. Above all, he takes special care in writing about his life partner, her merits and how much he values her as a person and as the mother of the children both of whom he adores.On matters of state, Obama, I think, comes close to admitting that he may have not been as adept as he could have been on international issues, especially those in the Middle East, but I would have to read again to be sure.On domestic matters, he writes how much he cares about the American people and the dutiful way he went about leading the country.
It feels like a volume in a series. This book will anger probably no one and will soothe his supporters who pause to consider his legacy.
From reading this, I believe that Obama he has internalised the writing style of the great American thinker and writer Henry David Thoreau.
THE MAGIC OF CONFIDENCEJust completed the illustrated children's chapter book The Magic of Confidence by Janelle Murdock. 12 year old Danielle and her friends are not having a good school experience and are a bit anxious and fearful about the future. Her Principal is severe and her parents contain her expectations about herself. Unexpected magic starts to happen and Danielle finds that she is more capable than she believed, but will it be enough for her to overcome her challenges?The author, Swan Jonelle Murdock, says on her LinkedIn profile that this book was written to captivate and inspire its readers. Available on Amazon.
DAUGHER OF NARCISSUSThis is the first book that I have read by the author Lady Colin Campbell, and it is a memoir of her life exploring her mother's personality. If 1/4 of this book is not exaggerated, the family went through a lot of pain living with a daughter, sister, wife, mother who was empty of empathy for others. Gloria Ziadie was a glittering and highly regarded social figure, but in private, she regarded no one, according to her eldest daughter.
This book shares the family life of the wealthy white merchant class in Kingston of the 1940s to 1970s. It gives and idea of their sumptuous homes which were gradually - and are now quite rapidly - being torn down as the demands for urban space changes. She easily describes the benefits and revulsion of the class and colour distinctions of the time and age in which she lived. The reader will benefit from this author who has a detailed and methodical approach to explanation and unfolding layers of understanding. Now here is a big thought....having read some memoirs and family sagas by Jamaicans of various ethnic backgrounds, I believe that Asian and Middle Eastern immigrants helped to entrench the concept of an individual's place of belonging, responsibilities and roles in intergenerational - as opposed to merely extended - family life. The 600 plus page read was a good use of my time.highwindja If you love your mother and cherish the love she gave you from early years, you may be repulsed by this book.
April 24, 2021
Meeting at Rosa Linda
Meeting at Rosa Linda
Constable Mayfield turned the ignition in the pickup and as the engine pulsed into life, the vehicle speakers filled the cab with the stream from his favourite radio station which played music 55 minutes out of every hour. A popular, guitar led track was on air from the duo of Popcaan and Beres Hammond and he murmured the refrain as he drove from the station parking lot to the Mammee Bay public docks.
“All I know is God is holy,
Protect your life, it’s your one and only.
Evil people will kill you slowly.”
The pickup slowly reversed down the ramp until the trailer that was attached it became submerged in the seawater and the boat that was on the trailer floated, without rocking. Breeze was a few hours away and it was still early for water traffic to stir up waves.
The full blaze of the morning sun had not yet surmounted the bulk of the modest mountain range that framed the shore and kept the overnight chill in the air. Every now and then a slim wisp of fog escaped from the thickly wooded valleys that emptied cold and sparkling streams along the coastline of Mammee parish.
Inspector of Police Milford was proud of his team. The service boat that was assigned to the Ocho Man station had undergone its first bow to stern routine maintenance and was in good order to continue supporting law enforcement in surveillance, monitoring and search and rescue along 70Km of coastline running from St Basil parish in the east through the town of Ocho Man and to Cascade River, which was the border of Mammee Parish and where their jurisdiction ended. There were larger police areas on the island of Jamaica, but outside of Kingston and Montego Bay, Ocho Man had the busiest and most diverse boating activity.
He glanced at his wind-up watch, a discontinued Swiss made piece that was handed down to him when he graduated from the police academy a few years before and it read 6:55AM; he also wore a smartwatch, which he used for everything else but checking the time.
Milford had set launch time for 7 and the crew were on time. The vessel was as spotless inside as it was outside, and the low hum of the twin outboard engines was thrilling. Their police boat was among the smarter vessels that were now in motion beyond the bay and within the Mammee bight.
Among the many bays and ports in the bight, Ocho Man had prestige because it accommodated mega cruise ships, but almost every bay was exploited for economic activity. East Bay and the smaller scoops of bays going east had sandy shores that were protected by a great reef, so were used as fishing beaches, bathing beaches, swimming training and water sports. Ocho Man bay and the bays to the west were deeper and were used as docking facilities, including the cruise ship port. Some marinas catered to sports fishing boats and pleasure cruisers, and others had boats that did the kinds of sea work that involved grease, chemicals and heavy machinery.
The Ocho Man police station was three miles away from the coast within a valley along the main road going inland and did not have berthing access at any of the many piers. The first arrangement was to use the customs pier, but that welcome ran out after a few months as the daily operations of customs was very different from that of the police, and Milford stopped using it to reduce inter agency conflict. Now the police boat was mostly on a trailer in the station yard, unable to respond in less than half an hour.
This morning’s mission for Milford and a Mayfield was to meet with the owner of a private pier and investigate long term berthing arrangements.
Rosa Linda bay was in the east. Typical, for the area, the bay was a narrow, crescent of white sand backed by a steep hillside that was mostly covered by large, old broadleaf forest trees and also tropical fruit trees, and where the garden ended, had dense undergrowth. There was one building in the veritable forest, the Rosa Linda Villa. Its outstanding feature was a wide, partly covered balcony that was not too imposing for a relaxed conversation with one companion but also large enough to accommodate lunch for an extended family or an evening dance party with friends.
As they entered the bay, Milford saw that the owner was on the pier being photographed by a professional glamour crew. Matts was an aspiring disc jockey who came into inheriting the villa just under two years before. Because she had been brought up abroad and there had been a longstanding family quarrel, she had not been on the property since she was five years old, so it was a shock to the family how it had been bequeathed.
For decades, Rosa Linda Villa had been a licensed infirmary that was dedicated to support persons who were recovering from substance abuse. Matts was working in entertainment on a cruise liner and for two years ignored going down to Jamaica to take over the property; then COVID-19 shut down the industry and she found herself faced with living expenses and no income. She divested herself of almost everything but her music and settled into making a life for herself at the abandoned property. She was able to undertake some immediate repairs, but had no cash for remodelling.
One day, she took a selfie of the bay from the balcony with the caption, “my Linda, my world” and was surprised with the number of likes and favourable comments about the beauty of the location and if she had visitors or served lunch or dinner. From that time, she pushed alluring photos of her life on the property as a way to get bookings. The crew photo paused from their work as the police boat crossed their lens and pulled up at the pier.
Milford inspected the pier and saw that the wooden posts needed to be changed, but could last perhaps up to another storm. The boardwalk was a mix of new and old, smooth brown and warped grey, planks. He then looked up to the cut stone steps that led from the beach to the villa, and estimated that it was a five-minute drive from the police station, siren blaring - and if it was not raining - another three minutes to run from the parking lot, down the steps and along the boardwalk to get to the end of the pier - that was if it was a clear day - add another five minutes to navigate that journey safely by night. From this location, it would take them about 10 minutes to respond to a call by boat. He hailed Matts and asked for permission to come ashore. His mission was to have her agree to use her pier as docking for Police Boat Mammee, which they called Mam.
For about a year, the arrangements at Rosa Linda worked beautifully for the parish. The water police burnished a reputation for being able to respond quickly to calls.
Meanwhile, other property owners quietly grumbled that Matts was getting preferential treatment from the police, and some even froze her out of local society, not that she was interested.
They got national attention on their reaction to a pre-dawn call from the coastguard to support them to find and intercept a vessel that had come in from international waters and was now hiding in the western mangroves. The police team thoroughly went along the fringe of the mangrove forest when, just ahead of them an engine roared to life and a go-fast boat crossed the bow and sped off into the pale early morning light.
Mam was pressed into hot pursuit and Milford, using local knowledge of the bight, got ahead of them while Mayfield pulled down information on the hull registration, which he transmitted to coastguard and police cyber command. Milford called the boaters on the open channel to stop and submit to a search of documents, but the crew ignored them. Mam backed the boat into a reef where they expected it would slow down to avoid getting stuck on jagged coral. That never happened, the fleeing captain skilfully found enough breaks in the rocks, and kept going.
When they were about to make a break for open water, Milford instructed the constable to shoot across the bow, again, they did not stop. Then coast guard, was now in position to open its guns on the outboard engines, and very quickly the boat was disabled and its crew of four detained. The boat registration was for Republica Encomienda, and as a large amount of US cash was found in bags on board, it seemed that the joint operation had intercepted contraband transporters.
A few days later, a court hearing was held on the coast guard vessel and, in the company of their country’s chargé d'affaires, all four were found guilty of immigration charges and scheduled to be deported after a short imprisonment.
It was a celebrated case, and Milford was hopeful that he would receive a note of acknowledgement from high command, it never came.
One month afterwards, he answered his cell phone from behind his desk at the station.
“ ’Spec, the boat gone, Mam gone.”
“Mayfield, what you talking about?”
“Me up yah at Rosa Linda and the rope cut Inspector, dem teif the boat last night.”
Milford was on the pier in eight minutes and so was Matts, who he had also called.
“So what happen to the security camera system you have been promising to put in?”
Matts was not going to volunteer for a public flogging.
“So what happen to your vessel tracking system? I kind of delayed the cameras because I had to install some new equipment for a party at the end of the month. I was going to use that money to finish up the security system....Just a few more days and we would have caught them on camera, but cameras won’t stop determined smugglers.”
Making the call to his commanding officer, Milford realised that he had already heard about the theft. The Assistant Commissioner had a tightness in his voice and Milford knew that, although he was in the capital far away, his c/o was taking heat for the theft of the boat.
“Unsecured boat on a private pier Milford? Not only was that vessel government property, but it was a gift from one of our most reliable international partners. This matter does not only concern the police, it involves other ministries. Our minister is scheduled to give an update on the boats at a bilateral event coming up. There is no way that this loss can be looked at as anything but carelessness.”
“Sorry sir.”
“Don’t insult me, Milford. Sorry does not even begin to solve this. I am going to order an audit today about the other floating assets in the marine division. If anyone else is using a private pier, that has to cut out now. If this means that all the boats have to be parked at marine headquarters or the commissioner’s office and drive them out to locations when they get a response call, that is what we will be doing. Not even one more boat must be lost. I expect your report about this travesty on my desk before the end of the day.”
Milford rang off.
Without a boat like Mam, the marine police became nearly irrelevant to the parish. Milford and his team were now making calls to charter fishing boats to help out fishermen who were having engine in difficulties out at sea. The police borrowed dinghies that were owned by hotel watersports departments to keep control of unauthorised activities along beaches and the foreshore. Document checks of boat operators and the catch of fishers during closed lobster and conch season simply stopped and harvesting from the sea became a free-for-all. The bridge and marine engineers now had to rent a boat when they needed to check sea walls, piers and other public assets that needed to be inspected while on the water. Most of all, the entire coastline was now unprotected from piracy, and activities that were related to trafficking, narcotics and gun running. Mam never showed up in any Jamaican port and it was generally accepted that international smugglers had stolen it. The bottom line, was that Mammee parish was hurting and the community needed their police boat returned to work, but law enforcement did not know where it was.
One day, Mayfield asked Milford if he could take a visitor into his office, Milford agreed and in a few moments a man was ushered inside. Although he was wearing his hygiene mask, Milford recognised him as the highly competent boat captain called Turtle. A few months before, Turtle had returned to his home in Ocho Man after doing a few years in the US federal prison system. He wanted to reactivate his coxswain license, but no JP would undertake to sign his documents, which left him angered that he had no criminal record in Jamaica and was being blocked from earning from his trade.
He had come, as he did at least once a week to complain in the police guard room, but today had said something that caused Mayfield to take him to see Milford.
“Inspector, I thought that you would want to hear what Turtle was saying out there.”
Turtle was very annoyed with himself for allowing his anger to loose his tongue, but at least he now had the attention of an officer.
“Not no secret, so I don’t know why I am in here. You want to know about your boat? Those same smugglers from Encomienda were upset about how you handled them, so they took it over to Clotilde, stripped it clean and had it as a trophy. The video was going around on social media. You never did see it?” Turtle grunted, but did not laugh, Milford thanked him for his time and let him go.
“So boss, what bout me license? You can’t do anything for me?”
He did not get an answer.
Milford reached out to the chargé d'affaires for Encomienda, they knew each by sight as the diplomat was regularly in Ocho Man as his countrymen were regularly called before the courts for being in conflict with the law. Milford, asked if he had heard anything about the boat that was taken, and he found the reply astonishing.
“Milford, you don’t know? I received a dispatch very soon after the boat went missing and your government has the detailed communication. Your police boat was recovered completely stripped of everything except the paint on the hull. It is in the water right now in the customs dock in our capital Clotilde.”
“You have it! Can we get it back?”
“Not on its own power. No engines, no electrical equipment.”
“But, what if we tow it back to Ocho Man?”
“If you have the boat to do it, yes, it can be done.”
Milford carefully requested a 15-minute telephone appointment through his c/o’s secretary. He needed to lay out a proposal which did not implicate the force as being unconcerned about its property that was gathering crustaceans below the water line in a foreign land.
The Police Boat Mammee “Mam” is a 7.75 metre Boston Whaler. A vessel that could carry 12 and be crewed by a single person. It was manoeuvrable in the marinas and also around the coral fringed coastline. Its two 350 hp engines could not overtake a go-fast boat in a straight line chase, but there were other variables in a pursuit.
Shortly after it was delivered into their hands, Mam pursued a go-fast boat until it was out of view, only for them to catch up with it as the smugglers had run out of petrol before they could make it to their hiding place.
On another occasion, on a fishing bank, Milford had resolved a heated dispute between charter boat captains and fishermen about an entanglement of lobster pots and fishing lines.
For weeks, they ticketed watersports operators who violated proper use of the harbour and its established channels. A few months afterwards, the public health officer reported that there was a marked decline in trauma cases that were caused by boating collisions in the bight. Mam saved lives, livelihoods and kept the peace. The community needed it returned.
The corporal patched through the call to the c/o, and after polite salutations, Milford got to the point.
“Sir, once the PB is back here sir, we, the local station, will raise the funds to bring it back into service, engines, navigation equipment, everything. The community is hurting without a police boat and I can vouch for them giving the support.”
“So who is going to crew and sail 400 nautical miles to get it and tow it 400 nautical miles back?”
“Well, agency to agency sir, at your level in the force, you can approach the coast guard for support.”
“Inspector, that is not how it works. The force does not approach the military outside of established protocols. We have your report in hand, which is damning in its total carelessness in securing government property. The next decisions will be at a more strategic level. I consider this matter to be closed right now. Your note to my office did not have any other matter to discuss...”
“Yes, sir, I have nothing else. Thank you for your time.”
Milford realised that he was completely on his own, and was also the fall guy if and when the loss of the boat became a public scandal. His career was on the line, and he decided to reach out to the coast guard on his own. He knew the lieutenant who captained the boat that patrolled that side of the island, they had been on inter-agency training together abroad and had years of cordial relationship on and off the job.
“Lieutenant, greetings, Milford here from Ocho Man. How you going?”
“Good to hear from you Milford. I am ok, you know. What’s happening?”
Milford explained, and as he did, the vocal responses from the lieutenant moved from agreeable, to short to simply silent. Even when Milford finished, there was no response for a few seconds, then his correspondent spoke, and slowly.
“That is a suicide mission Milford. I cannot expose my men to that. Let me explain it to you. There is no regular commercial shipping route from Jamaica to Porto Clotilde but it is a route that is very heavily used by smugglers. For hours you will be in unpatrolled waters, outside of radio range. Piracy is less of a risk on a military ship, but two or three smaller boats with desperadoes acting together would be a present danger.
“Aside from the human element, we have the natural elements. The approach to Clotilde is fringed with mangroves and outside of that is miles of uncharted reefs. The port does not have a good reputation for having properly maintained signals or adequate pilotage staff. You can be floating offshore for a day or more waiting on a pilot to take you in.
“Believe me Milford, I understand your dilemma, we need the PB back in service, but the coast guard cannot undertake that mission. Get a professional salvage company Milford, or better yet, ship it in a container back to Jamaica, that’s what I recommend. Sorry my brother.”
Both options, Milford knew, would be beyond even his resources. You could buy a new boat for either of those services, and the mission was to retrieve the Mam, not replace it.
Before they had ended the call, Milford’s phone pinged that another call was coming in. He looked at the name that came up on the screen without surprise. He had signed the no objection permit for a day party today at Rosa Linda, and a party at Rosa Linda came with problems. Milford pushed back thoughts of Mam, and switched on to the immediate demands of his job.
The service vehicle pulled up to the gate of Rosa Linda and immediately a loose gathering of young party goers standing along the roadside beside their cars and motor bikes started pulling up their masks. Beside Rosa Linda was another villa called Rudder Bay. It was the owner of Rudder Bay who had called Milford to complain.
Constable Mayfield gave some clear hand directions and soon the vehicles near to Rudder Bay started backing away from its gateway. The security guard at Rosa Linda opened the gate and allowed the service vehicle to drive inside.
The second part of the complaint from the neighbour was noise nuisance.
The villa and its grounds were active with young people who, unless they were an obvious couple, or a trio of friends, were spaciously distanced. He did not observe clustering or bungling. Small marquees and speaker boxes in the garden encouraged dispersed enjoyment of the party. There was no dance floor, but specific areas were emphasized with backdrops or drapery or spotlights to encourage bubbles of friends to exhibit their outfits or their moves. An arrangement of video cameras also projected images of the patrons on surfaces, giving an illusion of being in a vibrant and moving crowd.
In the patio area was Matts, herself, doing what she loved, selecting music that moved an audience. She glanced up at her guests, to do a temperature check on the mood and spotted Milford and Mayfield. She guessed that it was about a public nuisance matter, and having decided that she could not prevent sound waves moving across open air into her neighbour’s yard, had a musical plan in place.
Matts had been playing a set of Afro Pop, gently introducing emerging artistes to the patrons in-between the Anjelique Kidjo and Baaba Maal staples. She now tapped her special effects button to bring in a police siren sound and then started the breathy and gospel flavoured vocals of Diana King’s version of the Culture Club hit, Do You Really Want to Hurt Me,
“Give me time to realise my crime
Let me love and steal, I have danced inside your eyes, how can I be real?”
The tempo then changed into a reggae pop.
Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry?”
On the break Matts switched to the chart topper from King’s Tougher Than Love album.
“Hey, what goes around comes around.
Lady, treat her like a lady
You’ll make a good girl crazy
If you don't treat her like a lady.”
Milford got the message and laughed inside, but his exterior was a blank canvas.
Matts signalled to the relief DJ and walked past the fun-loving mingling and met the lawmen at the edge of the balcony overlooking her bay. The afternoon wind was up and the waves curled and gently rolled onto the shore. He noticed that a boat that was the same model as Mam was berthed at the pier.
She spoke through her mask and nodded over her shoulder.
“Neighbour complaining ‘bout the noise?”
Milford looked at her evenly in the eyes. This side of the parish had been cherished as a quiet getaway, owned for decades by the same set of families. Some of the changes that Matts was bringing was not welcomed: the noise from her parties, the crowd, and the kind of music that they preferred. But, he thought, of all the property owners, she was the one who he approached to berth Mam. He knew the others would demand a fee, or not want a mere Inspector of Police to approach them or others would say yes and immediately start demanding special favours. It was not her fault at all that he was in this career tanking predicament.
“Just turn down the speakers that are closer to that side of the property and get your security to direct traffic better. OK?”
“I will”, she said and noticed that he was looking at the boat tied to the pier. “I actually got in all the security cameras now, just so you know. That’s my boyfriend’s boat.”
“That’s nice,” said Milford, swallowing more candid thoughts. “That boat design is almost exclusively used by law enforcement, what kind of boating does he do?”
“Well, he doesn’t do anything more than drive it around, you know.”
Milford looked at her.
“No, I don’t know. Is that him down there?”
“Yes.” When he moved away to the steps that led down to the beach she added. “You know him.”
She remained on the balcony for a few more moments, then reclaimed her space at the turntable.
Mayfield and Milford walked down to the pier, edging past couples or small groups and fell in step on the boardwalk. When Milford saw the face of the occupant of the boat he exclaimed, “Rennie Buckfield!”
The youth, who Milford knew was attending secondary school but three years before and had been in and out of colleges since them, gave a playful salute and invited them on board. Buckfield’s family owned a little bit of every kind of business in the town and the older relatives managed them. His generation, not wanting to be under the control of their parents, aunts and uncles and grandparents, found a way to migrate or work overseas as soon as they graduated from college. A few returned to take over businesses when one of the older folks died. Rennie was not interested in business and not interested in migrating so was settling into the role of bon vivant. It was inevitable that he had linked up with Matts.
Milford was convinced that even if Rennie could produce a coxswain license, he was not a proficient sailor. He had never known him to be interested in boating until now, maybe it was his latest fad.
As Milford moved to step on board rapid barking started and he quickly withdrew his leg. A medium sized dog was beside Buckfield, staring at him and growling. It then charged forward and put its front legs on the gunwale and started barking again.
“Very nice vessel Rennie. Where have you been sailing?”
“Just around here, Rosa Linda Bay, ...Would you like to try it out Spec?”
When no one moved, he then realised the problem.
“My bad.” He whispered, “Down Cyber!” His simple words calmed the dog which retreated to sit beside his feet, head still alert.
While Mayfield checked the documents, Milford had a good look at the vessel. When he learned that it was Turtle who had moved it there for him, that was enough to satisfy him that it was seaworthy and then he drove the boat beyond the bay and around the coastline to the east. Milford had to agree that the sound from the party was could be heard from quite a distance, but it was not a violation of daytime noise nuisance regulations.
Lying in bed that night, watching video clips of news of the day on his phone, Milford saw that a boat that was overloaded with people travelling as refugees had safely reaching the shores of Florida. The pictures of the size of the craft and number of souls aboard was heart rending, as the outcome would have been different if weather or mechanical problems had beset them.
That was when the thought of taking a small 7 metre boat from Jamaica to Clotilde crossed his mind. All the problems of a ship going across the shallow areas and navigating patches of reefs and mangroves would be eliminated. It was a dream, and he fell asleep feeling the motion of water under his feet as he cut through wave after green wave heading to recover their police boat.
By early morning, the following day, his phone was pinging continuously as members of the community sent him videos and angry voice clips because the garbage from the Linda Rosa day party was now strewn along the roadside and would be blown for miles when the wind picked up. Matts was also pinging him voice clips stating that she was arranging with a private contractor to clean it up at the earliest opportunity.
Milford drove out to the area, and decided to drop in on the suffering owner of Rudder Bay. After he spent half an hour listening to how Matts was a bad neighbour, the conversation drifted to the good old days.
“So this young lady should realise that the name of her villa, Rosa Linda, should be respected. Not to treat the place as merely a way to make a money from entertainment, but show some regard for her noble ancestors and for the sea.”
Milford realised that he had stopped listening and asked again for the explanation.
“All the older residents of Mammee parish know this story. The original Matts was a boy who was rescued from a US ship that was trafficking Africans into the USA to be sold into bondage, as slaves. It ran aground on the Rosa Linda bank, half way between Encomiendas and Jamaica. The captives were landed in Ocho Man and Matts was put in the care of the owner of a shipyard that was right here. He was raised as a member of the Stormont family, married a daughter of the owner and eventually ran the family business. Later on, the couple were given half of the property, which is why the two gates are so close. On one side was the ship yard, which is my side, and the other side was called Rosa Linda and this was the Matts family home. Matts never forgot his experience on Rosa Linda and his home was known to be welcoming to seamen who needed extended rest.
“A couple generations later the family converted it into a well-needed convalescence for sick seamen and then it became a drug rehab facility. You see, it has always served people.
“Young people don’t care to ask about where things came from. They were born flying, not standing on the shoulders of those who came before. I am a Stormont and we and the Matts are cousins. Rudder Bay got its name because our shipyard provided high quality carved hardwood fittings for boats. I still have all the tools, but we don’t do that work anymore. The Matts and I are family and Rosa Linda has been in the family for now more than 100 years. That should mean something.”
Excited, Milford got back into his office and searched the Internet for information about the Rosa Linda bank. He had formed an idea in his mind that a small boat could meet the representatives from Encomienda on the Rosa Linda bank and do a transfer of Mam there. He called the coast guard lieutenant and laid out the idea.
“I cannot say about 100 years ago Milford, but today the Rosa Linda is completely submerged, it is not like a cay, you cannot see it with the naked eye.”
“I actually did not know that....”
The thought of the trip, stirred up the adventurous spirit of the lieutenant. He joined the military because of a thirst for a career that would take him outdoors, where he could use his mind and his muscle to accomplish things. This was a unique opportunity to use his navigational skills to cross the Caribbean and be immersed more closely with nature that he could be on a ship.
“You sound like you have a boat in mind Milford, one of your police units?”
“No, a private vessel, but I need crew. Can I keep you in mind?”
“Let me know after you get the paperwork sorted out,” he replied crisply. They rang off.
Paperwork....Milford supposed that meant a call to his commanding officer, he could not speak directly to foreign affairs...or could he? He called the charge d’affaires for Encomienda and they decided to meet up at Rosa Linda.
Matts did not have a tavern license, so served them bottled juice drink under the shade of one of the majestic Mammee trees that were on the property. There, they could talk privately and enjoy the view of the bay. Buckfield’s boat was tied to the pier and Buckfield, with Cyber at his ankles, was engaged with one of the security cameras on the grounds.
The diplomat had listened to Milford and was now preparing to reply.
“Using the report that I received from my government, I can recommend that the boat be transferred to the custody of the Jamaican government and that transfer be executed at our Rosa Linda bank border. There will be some administrative costs, but the boat will be back in your hands.”
Milford felt a wave of excitement overwhelm him as he put the pieces of a plan together. He looked at the table with the two glass bottles of cold drink that were now wet with tracks of water draining down to the table coasters. The coasters were cork discs with the fading words “Sweet Jamaica Festival 77”. It seems that Matts is keeping some of the items that she found in the house.
Milford considered how to approach Buckfield about borrowing his boat for the trip, and decided to talk to Matts first. She seemed to have significant influence over her boyfriend. Matts called him back to say that Buckfield had not only agreed to lend his boat, but was excited about going on the trip.
“Matts, Buckfield is not a sailor. He can only circle the boat around your bay, this is not a trip for learners.”
“That is his only requirement, Spec, that he, and Cyber, get to go.”
The lieutenant was not happy to hear about it and saw the owner and his dog as on board hazards, but still accepted the mission.
The final member of the crew was Turtle. Mayfield was relieved that he was not asked to participate.
Over the next days, Matts sealed off the Rosa Linda dining room as their meeting base. Mayfield, Milford, Buckfield, the lieutenant, the chargé d'affaires and Turtle. They mapped out the route, and calculated the amount of extra fuel to carry. By quiet solicitation in the community, they secured and installed additional communication and navigation equipment, safety gear and provisions. They had several discussions on the specifications for the rope that would be good for towing a 7 metre boat on open water for several hours.
Finally, the chargé d'affaires received an email from his office with the document of transfer and the date and time to meet at the Rosa Linda two weeks hence. The formal process was for the note to be sent to the foreign affairs office, which would then go to the defence ministry, and after that, the police. Milford rejoiced that the document had a date, as without it, they could be waiting weeks on a reply from the authorities.
A few days before the due date, Milford received a call from his commanding officer.
“I see here a letter about a boat transfer. This just cannot come out of the blue just so. Tell me, you know something about this?”
“Yes sir, we learned that Encomiendas was making preparations to meet us at their border with the boat.”
“So who is going to get it? A cruise ship? It needs a government agent to sign for it.”
“We have a private boat sir, and local crew that knows the sea, and I will sign the transfer.”
“Oh, so you have a plan without involving your divisional leader. At this point, I do not want to be involved, so hear what. Go on with your plan and I will forward the transfer document to you 24 hours before. What you do with it, is your decision.”
The rendezvous time on the Rosa Linda was 10AM, Jamaica time, which meant setting off from 5AM, if the weather was favourable. As it turned out, a Nor'Wester was coming in, and the crew decided to head out two hours earlier to be ahead of the weather and get to the meeting point earlier rather than later.
At 6PM the evening before, they started loading the boat and the boat rope was delivered at that time.
“We can’t take all of this,” the lieutenant objected. This is twice as much as we need and there is nowhere proper to store it onboard. The crew is going to hand over their tow rope to us, so what is the point of even taking this load?”
Turtle spoke up.
“Is so water police and coast guard run boat my boss? You can’t go out and rely on people who you don’t know for a basic supply like your own rope. Just relax, I will sort this out.”
They rested at Rosa Linda that evening and night and at 3AM, they were ready to pull out.
Matts was at the dock with the security guard and hugged herself as they pulled away, she was scared that the trip may not be successful for all and watched until the lights of the boat merged into the moonlit line of the horizon. She then went to the library that was being converted into a disco, and stayed awake through the night by playing music that reminded her of her fun times on the cruise ship, as it soothed her.
In his apartment, the chargé d'affaires sent a final well-wishing text to Milford at 3AM, and then put down his phone. He stopped the great emotions that were welling up in his chest and instead clasped his hands and prayed for the safety of the crew and the success of the voyage.
The first few hours of the journey were easy and the crew were quietly light hearted and optimistic. They made good pace and the weather was holding calm when they arrived on the waters that were above the sunken atoll of the Rosa Linda bank. The sea was a clear aquamarine and there were whitecaps coming in from the west. They kept throttling in a wide circle so as not to drift away, all the time watching the western sky dampen darker.
At 10:30 they became concerned that they had not seen the other boat appear and there was no way to reach them. They circled for another hour and then the hull of a ship came into view towing a Boston Whaler, it was Mam, looking as cheerful and ready to do business despite its encrusted hull and fully gutted insides. None of them expected a ship to do the towing, and that fact presented fresh challenges.
Through hand signals, the Encomienda crew indicated that the Jamaican representative was to join them by climbing on the outside ladder that was let down from the deck of the ship. The sea was now bearing one metre swells. The sky directly above them was clear, but bad weather was not too far away.
The hulls of the two vessels were touching each other and Milford reached out and grabbed the ladder, and focused on his breathing while climbing slowly up to the deck. Each time the ship rose, he felt his concentration being pried from him. As his second leg was planted on the deck of the ship, he hurled for the first time.
The crew hustled him into a cabin and spoke to him in Spanish which he did not understand. He signed papers without reading them and placed them in a plastic envelope which he then pushed between his undershirt and his chest, then faced the torture of climbing back down to his boat. He collapsed on the deck from the disabling seasickness.
The lieutenant steered directly behind the ship. Then the ship’s crew threw down the free end of the rope that was tied to Mam. Buckfield used a hook to get the rope out of the water, then handed it to Turtle who first threaded in a car tyre then knotted their boat rope to the one that was thrown down to them. He lashed the ropes to both the port and starboard cleats creating a neat Y shaped tow line with the tyre dangling between the boats as a stabiliser for the rudderless Mam.
Even while they were doing this, the ship had already turned and was steadily becoming smaller as it returned to its base. The lieutenant kept his nose pointed north east while the others held their heads down as it had started to rain.
After about half an hour, Milford realised he was feeling a bit better and remarked to himself that they were making faster pace than before. He looked behind to see the dangling rope and not a sight of Mam anywhere between the grey sky and the nearly dark sea. He tried to shout a warning but in his fright and panic, nothing came out. It was Turtle who saw the intensity in his eyes and followed his trembling finger to see what was not there.
It was a scramble from there with the group having no awareness on what direction the boat could have floated away and how much longer before. A decision was taken to go in circles and everyone assigned a section of sea to watch. It was after half an hour before the boat was spotted and they made a chase for it. Turtle pulled out unused rope and again created two sets of knotting. They pulled up alongside Mam, and very quickly Buckfield climbed aboard and Turtle threw over the new rope to him, which he caught and held. Turtle then climbed over and noticed that the original rope had burst. Together, he and Buckfield secured the new rope to the prow of Mam. With each pull as he knotted the rope, Turtle felt a wave of thankful assurance of the gift of the strength in his arms, and that his fingers almost worked without his thoughtful mind to solve the immediate problems that they now faced.
The lieutenant checked the gas levels. All souls were alive and they were heading home, but deeper into bad weather. Throttling on the Rosa Linda for an hour then the extra time searching for Mam after the rope broke had caused them to use up the additional containers of fuel. Depending on how bad the weather got, they may have enough to get them back into Jamaican territorial waters, but not enough to get them back into port.
Squalls and breeze now buffeted them and backed up the water to form waves that were up to two metres high. As they pushed onwards, the slick, barnacled, black body of a whale breached beside them and then heavily crashed into the sea, casting the boat in a new sea dance caused by its splash.
“Bull sperm whale,” said Turtle.
The whale did not leave them alone but travelled alongside them for some minutes quite close, breaching and crashing down, causing both boats to rock in contrast to the natural rolling of the waves and to take in briny waterfalls of water. At times, the creature looked at them out of its unlashed mammalian eye that sat within a head as big as the bow of a ship, its white mouth gaped, demonstrating long sharp teeth. The pupils moved up and across as it took in the spectacle of the two boats and decided again to slap its fluke and splash more water into the boat. The experience made the lieutenant think about life. He had no time at this moment to marvel in the wonders of the natural world, but saved any fragment of his mind that was not terrified to beseech a higher power for their safety.
Then the whale dived, but that was no comfort to Turtle who had seen this kind of behaviour before. When it breached, Cyber was ready for it and kept up a barking and a growling that the whale was sure to have heard. The whale pulled away from the lead boat, and instead lined up with Mam, which bore Cyber’s master.
The dog seemed to grow even more agitated, and all but jumped out of the boat. The lieutenant decided to turn around and go closer to Mam so that the ferocious barking of the dog could be heard by the whale, and it did back off and then seemed to make a decision to change direction.
Turtle called out and beckoned the lieutenant to veer right. Then the others saw the top of a small tree. The lieutenant worked out that Turtle was directing him to find the rock or small island and anchor them there until the storm passed.
It was a rocky island with pieces of old rope and old metal tied to or stuck in various parts of it, seafarers had been saved here, or had died here before. The anchor was lowered on the lee side, and they found that it held fast. The lieutenant switched off the engine, and they lived through every experience of the long moments. The obliterating sound of the waves crashing against each other and against the island and the boats; the hard, driving rain splattering the ocean and swirling around in every direction from the wind; the coldness of the air although it was the middle of the afternoon; the salt in their eyes and mouths and noses. The yearning for fresh water but also for dryness from the overwhelming water above, and also below. The intense rocking and lurching and jolting of the sea, every now and then, threw a fish or a piece of kelp in the boat and then out again. Milford continually emptied his stomach, and with each break, offered thanks for the reputation of the Boston Whaler company that their boats were unsinkable and that it would get them home.
The sunshine returned before the sea calmed and they saw that there was a wreck of an upturned fisherman’s canoe on the small island, and then miraculously, a man crawled out from under the boat and with a bit more manoeuvring, he joined Milford and the lieutenant on their boat.
It was a Jamaican fisherman and he told them exactly where they were, and assured them that they would be within cell range if they drove another few leagues. They were able to call Ocho Man station and before they ran out of petrol, the coast guard ship came into view. The ship provided petrol and the lieutenant was able to drive into Ocho Man Bay, towing Mam.
The pickup slowly reversed down the new ramp until the trailer attached it was submerged in the seawater and the boat that was attached, immediately rocked up and down with the brisk, afternoon breeze that was freshening Rosa Linda Bay and in fact, the entire environs of Mammee bight. The driver was not Mayfield, he had been promoted to corporal and transferred to another station.
Buckfield, wearing police trainee denim, stepped into Mam and deftly parked it into position at the end of the pier, his boat was tied like its twin at the other side of the pier. Beside him, feet on the prow, was Cyber wearing a dog life jacket with an embroidered police shield appliqued on the side.
Matts was at the turntable under the Mammee tree
“In this arms the babies cradle
In his eye the evil tremble
From his heart the mighty water flows
So softly as we seek salvation in this righteous revelation,
Give some love and inspiration now.
Praise Him, the Almighty Father.
This afternoon was a ceremony to commemorate the return of Mam to service and it seemed that all of Ocho Man was there. Mam had been in dry dock for the better part of a year, and after strenuous fund raising, was now fully outfitted, examined and insured. A formal arrangement was also in place for Rosa Linda Bay pier to be the official dock for the Ocho Man police. The major leaders of the town were on hand to say a few words in honour of the event and also the many citizens who helped to raise money - from cookie and bake sales, concerts and private donations - that together brought the boat back into service.
The speech of the head of the chamber of commerce actually declared that Ocho Man now owned the boat, and not the police, and this declaration was received with warm applause.
A shipbuilding colleague of Matts from her cruise ship days had visited Rosa Linda and had seen Rudder Bay. He and Stormont were in discussions about leasing the property to build sailing yachts with foils.
The coast guard lieutenant had been promoted to Captain and celebrated this by growing a beard. Turtle had been approved for a coxswain license, and was now always employed and quickly saving up to buy a small party catamaran so that he did not have to go further than 30 minutes from landfall. Matts and Buckfield were planning to get married as soon as he graduated from the police academy. After their trip to Rosa Linda bank, he realised that deep down he had always wanted to be in police service. He confessed this to Matts who had been through so much emotional anguish when they made the trip that she was distressed to know that he was determined to follow his calling.
What finally got her to accept it, is when she realised how angry it made her to see that he was suffering because his family was set against him doing anything but go into business. Matts clasped her to his bosom, grateful to have found that caring person to nourish his soul.
Milford’s career was still stifled, but there was one big benefit from being stationed in Ocho Man. He saw that the charge ‘d affaires was sitting on the balcony drinking a cool juice drink. As soon as the ceremonials were over, he would join him up there.
THE END
Gwyneth Harold DavidsonApril 24, 2021Beres Hammond and Popcaan “God is Love” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRw2g...
Diana King, Do You Really Want to Hurt Me https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nan3L...
Diana King “Treat Her Like a Lady” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9li2S...
Chalice “Praise Him” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeQDY...
