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In Keeping With Tradition
As tradition in Jamaica cannot be disregarded, I had no choice but to treat Nancy to the best of birthday surprises on Wednesday: a thorough flouring.
Yes, you read that correctly. No, your eyes are not deceiving you.
A flouring. Birthday tradition in Jamaica holds that the birthday boy or girl must be floured. And so it was that at about 8:00 pm, I lured Nancy downstairs and outside with the promise of seeing a giant moth (which was true) and while she admired the peculiar species, I threw handfuls - and eventually a bucketful - of flour at her, covering her newly 23-year-old self in White Enriched Flour. She then attempted revenge by chasing me over the stature, around the driveway, and through the house, trying to wipe her gross, floury face on me. But all who know me know my unprecedented speed, so it was only on account of my generosity that I finally stopped and allowed her a bit of retribution.
On the plus side, she did have a tasty cake!
On The Work Front
"I promise to look after you through weak and strong and sick and wealth until you
die. With this ring, I thee wed," Romario said, as he slid a rubber band onto my middle finger and kissed my cheek. Then: "You 'ave any buggle gum, Auntie Meaghan?"
But wait....I'm ahead of myself. Allow me backtrack:
The first face I saw this morning as I walked to work was that of Wayne, a man boasting about 30 years more life experience than I, with sweaty hands and very few teeth. Wayne has been trying to get my phone number for the last two weeks, despite my insistence that I
don’t have a phone (which I do) and I
do have a boyfriend (which I don’t). Today Wayne not only stopped me for my obligatory morning handshake, but he then proceeded to follow me all the way to work, whereupon he tried a new approach: since I wouldn’t give him my phone number, he wanted to give me his. This, I told him, would be fine by me, so long as he didn’t expect me to call him. He seemed a bit hurt by this, but it has been my experience that Jamaican men are a) quite resilient and b) accustomed to being turned down. Regardless,
Wayne promptly left me to go retrieve his “business card.”
Now, normally this type of interaction wouldn’t faze me in the least, as I’ve adapted to the straightforward Jamaican relationship style. This morning, however, as I neared the building with my admirer hot on my heels, I soon realized that the conversation was not strictly between Wayne and I, but rather, between Wayne and myself and three of the oldest boys who laughed uncontrollably as Wayne professed his undying love and I rolled my eyes. As soon as Wayne departed to get his "business card," the three boys ensued with their attack. One jumped onto my lap making kissing faces and the other two kneeled down in front of me, proposing with their imaginary rings.
“You love ‘im, Auntie Meaghan?” “You a-gon call ‘im?” “Himma yu husband?” Being the clever girl that I am, I decided to use this situation as practically as possible: I pointed out to the boys that Wayne was the perfect example of what
NOT to do to win a girl’s love. I also mentioned that if I ever saw any of them trying such cheesy tactics to pick up girls, that I’d break their
legs myself.
Wayne returned with his "business card" and handed it over to me with a wink, while mentioning that I should give him a call sometime soon. I told him I was leaving the island soon. He said that wasn’t important if we were
really in love. I told him we weren’t
really in love. We weren’t in
ANY kind of love. He didn’t seem too deterred by this comment, nor by the incessant laughter and mocking faces that the boys were displaying. Rather, he insisted that I should bring him home with me, and I insisted that he didn’t stand a chance, and, in the not-so-distant background, my boys insisted that he should kiss me. I shot one of those “shut-the-hell-up” glances at the boys and told Wayne it was lovely chatting with him but I had to go do work. He finally retreated to the sound of thunderous laughter from the three boys and about 10 other kids who had been drawn over to the excitement.
I spent the rest of the day being approached by young kids with homemade cardboard cell phones, asking me either for my phone number or for my hand in
marriage.
Yet another example of what damaging lessons we are teaching our children and how detrimental it can be….
Your Big Break (and a shameless plug)
It’s random, but a Canadian friend of ours is one of 12 finalists in the
Red Stripe/Irie FM Big Break Competition here in Jamaica. Dylan was here recording tracks for a CD in April, entered the contest, and as soon as he got back to Canada later that month, he got a call that he’d been selected as one of the finalists. So back to Jamaica he came and he’s been doing radio/tv/live stage performances for the last few weeks. Best case scenario: He wins the competition, gets a recording opportunity, performs at Reggae Summfest, gets a professional photo shoot, along with other perks. Worst case scenario: he loses, but still manages to get all kinds of free exposure in the processes. So far, he’s done fairly well. He’s the only one of the 12 artists that actually plays music - the rest just sing along to recorded tracks - so that could either help him or hurt him in the long run. He’s been extraordinarily well received so far….for a white guy playing reggae music in the KINGDOM of reggae music. Other artists have been booed and chased off stage with glass bottles, so we shall see what happens. But in the meantime, if you’re in Jamaica and have credit on your phone, call
444-2487 and vote for Dylan!!! And Finally.......
26 more days!
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