A Million Aunties

by Alecia McKenzie

Aunt Della had tried to explain his father’s actions to him. Temporary insanity. Crazy jealousy. It happens to everybody, especially men. Women usually just burn the man’s clothes or cut his belongings to pieces. Sometimes they find the sweetheart and slap her around. And a few might try to poison the man, mix in a little something with his food. But they don’t run for guns and knives. She didn’t know why men behaved like that. Maybe because they think they own women. But not all men are the same. “You should know this, Stephen, even if I personally choose not to have anyone in mi life. Well, except for you, dahlin. Always remember that it wasn’t your fault what happen. Never ever think it was your fault, you hear me?”

Just a little something in his food, ha! Auntie logic cracks me up!

She took him round the gallery, explaining her work. The semi-abstract paintings all had to do with her transition, from Jason to Jasmine. Blue streaks turning into pink roses. Thick lines becoming intricate circles. Stephen was impressed that she was brave enough to put it out into the open, on canvas, on the island. But he knew things were changing, the prime minister had said so. He’d read that in a Times article after the man had given a speech at the UN in New York. No one is giving us credit for the changes, the PM had complained.

This book is commenting on so much about Jamaica and the diaspora and gender and sexuality. It's Like a character study but the island is the character and the individuals are the family that tell its story

He accompanied her back to the gallery, then strolled down Sheffield Drive, in the direction of Anfields. It looked the same—except for the fresh coat of cream paint and the missing naseberry tree in the front yard—a big, colonial-style house of nine rooms where a woman had taken in lost children and tried to find them guardians. He stood in the shade on the other side of the street for a few minutes, gazing at the house. There was no point knocking at the gate. He knew that Myriam Bennett was no longer inside. She had acknowledged his gifts to the home right up to the end, first sending handwritten thank-you notes to his postal address in New York and then emails, which she signed Auntie Myriam. In his most morbid moments, he sometimes thought: lose a mother, gain a million aunties.

But Independence. We had parties for days. Lady B. got me an invitation to the official ball, and I was there that night, sitting close to her when Busta twirled round the dance floor with Princess Margaret. The queen had sent her flighty sister. The one who loved a good time. It was just as well. Everybody liked her. At one point that night, Busta introduced me to her and she said: You must come to England and visit us. And she said it as if she meant it. A whole lot of other people accepted that invitation. But not me. There was nothing drawing me to the mother country.

The way he speaks and what he remembers reminds me of the MC in Pao. Is this a Jamaican man thing, from that time period?

Miss Pretty have us now.”

This is community, this is how you rebuild and sustain. The people of the community know what they need!

Still, when I put fire to all him clothes and things in the backyard, people come to look, like them doing now with the tree-dem. And is after that that Miss Della did bring me the dry-up plant. And she say to me, I always cutting off the bad parts of mi plants and burning them, and the next thing I know, the plant putting out new leaves and blossoms like nobody’s business, and thriving. When she say that, I did just nod mi head.

What a beautiful way to validate her feelings and actions! Man, love languages and unspoken communication are a trip

think I want to go back and see the water lily–dem, I tell him. Maybe just you, me, and Chris this time.

Here we are, ending with the folks that began the story for us. Full circle.