Jamaica: Ode to mi Chiney family

So, you know by now I'm a country girl, yes?  

(Main Street in the parish's capital, Morant Bay)

St Thomas is described as one of the more rural and poor parishes in Jamaica, whose economy is largely dependent on agricultural production. Over the years it has suffered from the demise of the banana and sugar industries, the closing of the Goodyear tyre plant, and various other industrialized assembly lines. Nonetheless, this is a resilient parish, nestled in the foothills of the Blue Mountain range, with some of the most lush and beautiful landscape I have ever witnessed. Again, the Hillside damn, aka Reggae Falls was a childhood frolic spot. 

Industry may have consistently failed us here in St Thomas, but the land and sea doesn’t. From the waterfront fishing villages that line the parish's coastline, to farms of various sizes and crops, St Thomas still makes good attempts to feed itself and some of the rest of Jamaica. 

Poesy and pride aside, the reality of economic depression is reflected in other areas of the parish. The consistent debate in the country whenever external or placement exam results come out, is the inequity of the education systems island-wide. In the late eighties, and early nineties when my sisters and I entered high school, our parents decided we wouldn’t finish school here in St Thomas, but in a school in Kingston. While Lisa and Allison went to Morant Bay High for a few years before transferring to Immaculate Conception High, I was shipped off to Kingston right after Common Entrance at 10 years old (back in the day high school placement exam). I spent a year at Holy Childhood High and during that year, my parents worked to get me a place at Immaculate. One of my BFFs, Lesley, also shares this story of transfer after the first year of high school. This is also indicative of some of the perceived inequities in education even amidst residents of Kingston. The perception shared by both our parents was Immaculate was the best, and that’s what they worked hard to provide us with (now note the use of perception here as opposed to a more declarative statement; nuh waa upset any none ICHS alumni). She went to St Andrew High before Immaculate and transferred for the second year also, though it would be fourth year before we ended up in the same class and we would grow into batty and bench. As always, food becomes an expression of some of the ties I have grown to appreciate and consider as the greatest blessings of my life.  There is ALWAYS, and I mean always something to eat at Lesley’s house. And I’m not talking chips and chocolate. That’s there too, but the of importance here is what Mommy Eva tosses together in the pots and the Sunday morning breakfasts Lesley still makes for her parents whenever she is home on a Sunday morning.

I think my friendship with Lesley began when we selected seats next to each other in our homeroom in that fourth year of high school. She was sciences and math so we were only in English and Religious Education classes together, but as both creatures of habit, we always sat in the same place – in desks that were next to each other. She would pull down my tie and when I bent my head to pull it back up she would mess up my hair. This was of course pre Be Curly when my hair HAD to be pulled back neat and tidy with not a strand out of place. Can you imagine my annoyance when this flat batty chiney pickney (her long standing moniker that we all use with the greatest affection) would constantly on a daily basis, make a mess of the fly away frizzes that I struggled everyday to tame. I would later learn that showing my annoyance only egged her on, so I’d ignore her. Though I'm not sure if the tie pulling ended after we started wearing the 6th and 7th year uniform which featured no tie, I am almost certain the hair stuff stopped when I cut it all off. Nevermind the cliché in my phrasing, these are the beginnings of a great friendship, built on love, consideration, mutual respect, plenty sessions and even more Sunday trips to Lime Caye. I’ll save the details of some of the exact circumstances of what catalyzed the solidity of our relationship for my maid of honour speech, but I’ll tell you this much, it had to do with her husband to be, Kevin. 

Lunches together at school, led to masses on Sunday so Allison and I could do confirmation classes at Stella Maris. I made it through what I still consider to be one of the hardest times in my life because Lesley was my friend. It wasn’t even long heart to hearts or even pep talks, but the small gestures from her and Teri (another BFF) especially, that made so much difference. Large up to  all my ICHS chicas; special greetings to Lesley, Teri, Tanya, and Caela, who are still significant parts of my every day life. Boarding in Kingston was a difficult necessity, which precluded us from the ease and normalcy of teenage life, but garnered me nonetheless, the friends that are cornerstones in my life. The lady we boarded with thought our average or failing grades were because our study lives were disrupted by going home on weekends. Mommy and Daddy agreed, so after a while we spent weeks and weekends on end in Kingston and couldn’t get Confirmation preparation in our own parish – we’re Catholic you see. I’m not sure if it was part ploy to get a break from Miss Andy’s house or genuine desire on my parents’ part for us to be confirmed, but we started going to Stella Maris with Lesley (also Catholic) on Sundays in my 6th  and 7th year of high school. What was definitely a ploy, was being dropped at Lelsey’s house after English extras on a Saturday morning. Until her dying day, Miss Andy thought those extras ended at 5pm. They actually ended at noon. I don't remember when we decided that that's what we would do on a Saturday afternoon, but Teri’s father would drop me off at Lesley’s after extras and I would just stay there and enjoy not being at Miss Andy’s. Of course, these visits are when I got inducted into the food dynamic of the Chin household.

Round about the time I would arrive on Saturday afternoons, would be when Mommy Eva would get done cooking lunch (only one big afternoon meal is prepared on Saturday and Sundays). She taught me many years ago to make perfect noodles for chow mien (bring water to a vigorous boil, toss in noodles and then count back slowly from 10. Drain the water, run the noodles under some cold water to stop the cooking, then they’re ready for stir fry with the meat and veggies). Once she discovered that I had no aversion to green leafy things like Lesley, she would always have green leafy things for me to eat. By far the best part is hearing her holler from the kitchen “Sheryl!” (both Lesley’s parents have and still call me either Sheryl or Sheri. I wouldn't have it any other way); that holler generally means there’s something good for me to taste. Wait, no, I lied. The best part is that as it was at my house in Seaforth St Thomas, when we were all together, the table was always set, and regardless of any issues, meals for the most part, were had together. Their home became my home too.

Cuisine in this Chinese Jamaica household is mixed. In a recent conversation with Lesley and Nadia, after a trip to Hellshire for lunch and over Devon House ice cream , we talked about the ways ethnic differences play out on home dining tables across the Caribbean region. In Trinidad, as Nadia pointed out, there is Creole food and Indian food, and though you might find curry something just about anywhere, it’s less common to find some yam on the dining table of an Indian home. This got Lesley thinking about her own dining table and asked me if it was that way at her house. Not at all! Though there is a proliferation of traditional Jamaican Chinese favorites (I also learned how to make fried rice, as Mrs Chin puts it, the correct way. Future post: Sheri’s Fried Rice – cause you know mi did haffi mek it mi own too), I’ve had some of my all time favorite peas soups, curries and brown stews at their house. In Jamaica, while there are such things as Chinese food and Indian food, there is also Jamaica food. 

Despite being a nation still fissured along ethnic, racial, class, high and low cultural lines, our food is one of the spaces where we all exist harmoniously, together. It was a food outing that marked mine and Kevin’s first moment as a part of the Chin family. We were all in undergrad and one Saturday Lesley called and said “Daddy says the family is going to the jerk festival in Portland together” and I said “cool, no beach tomorrow then.” And she said “No, but you coming with us. He said the family is going so make sure you call Kevin and Sheryl.” Dat July day did hot nuh bitch, (edited on request by my mommy for more decent language) That day in July was incredibly  hot, but it was one of those very important moments that meant a lot to Lesley and Kevin as a couple and to me as the perpetual third wheel. So here I am in Jamaica for two months and you know one of the important things is to enjoy the culinary dynamic of a family that means so much to me. I’ve been spending the weekends Lelsey isn’t on duty at the hospital with them. I cant even tell you what we ate on Friday, it was so good, and I was so hungry – twas a blur of stir fried veggies and I think there might have been pork. Saturday, there was chicken and green peas, and pork. 

One of my favorite things now is to sit at the table and just talk with Lesley’s mom while she putters around the kitchen. That and the dining table located right outside the kitchen means she wont have to holler too loud when its time for me to taste. We were supposed to be going to a party with food and drink Saturday gone, but I’m not passing up a meal at the Chins for the unknown and I watching the summa body, so I'm trying not to eat two dinners in one night. Twas a tough decision, but I had my dinner before we went out and only indulged in the desert table when we got to the event. Over lunch on Friday Lesley mentioned a craving for he mom's roast beef. 

And in between bites of fish and festival at Hellshire on Saturday afternoon, ever-craven Sheri made a request for curried lobster. 

Sunday dinner was roast beef with a sherry-laced (I think) cream of mushroom gravy, curried lobster, scalloped potatoes, plantains wrapped in bacon, green salad, and the Jamaican Sunday staple rice and peas. 

My family came after church and the Chins and Harrisons feasted. So much about the dat eat good sentiment for me isn’t just about a belly full (I mean don’t get me wrong I am happiest on a belly full a good food), but its also about the filling of my heart and spirit by the people I love. 

So, yeah Sunday dinner did eat well good. Lesley is off, so di deh pon me teet again nex’ weekend.