Island Songs by Alex Wheatle

an’ den move on. Many ah me friends who me go school wid ’ave lef’ Claremont. Me feel it inna me bones, Papa. Ah calling.”
    “David, yuh don’t hear of de serious labour strikes inna dem cane field?” Kwarhterleg warned. “Some time ago dem affe sen’ in police an’ roughneck to mek people go back ah work. Nuff mon dead.”
    Kwarhterleg had heard from travellers passing through Claremont that the indentured Indian workers received more pay than blacks in the cane fields, and this was despite the British only making a fraction of the financial rewards from sugar as they used to, and from a number of over four hundred sugar plantations there were now less than forty. Aluminium bauxite was found in Jamaican soil and country folk, desperate for work, arrived at bauxite sites in great numbers. Opportunist employers paid minimal wages for those who were willing to work and this caused much contention and fights. A man called ‘Busta’ set up the first recognised union in Jamaica but the employers had the police on their side, breaking up strikes with uncalled for violence. Many strikers were bludgeoned to death.
    Kwarhterleg looked at Joseph expecting him to state furtherwarnings. Joseph’s mind flashed back to when he left home and he had to admit to himself that at least David announced his intentions like a man. No stealing away in the middle of the night as he had done. He wondered whether this calling was a family trait. Naptali, his eldest brother, had left home before Joseph was even born. Joseph himself had a great urgency to leave home, build a new life. “Every mon affe do wha’ him affe do an’ go where him destiny ah tek him,” Joseph said finally.
    “But yuh cyan’t jus’ go jus’ like dat,” Kwarhterleg argued. “Who gwarn to tek over de plot ah land when ya fader bones get too creaky? Yuh t’ink about dat, David?”
    “Who ah say me gone fe ever?” David asked calmly. “When me see wha’ me waan see an’ when me experience de mighty t’ings dat de world affe offer me, den me come back. Me will come back an’ work me fader land ’til me laid to rest. Me swear to de Most High dat dis true. But right about now, me affe go, becah de itch inna me foot cyan’t be scratched.”
    Seeing that his son hadn’t troubled his beer, Joseph asked the barman for two more. He passed one on to Kwarhterleg. Joseph’s bottle was three-quarters empty before he spoke again. “David, me give yuh me blessing fe ya journey in dis life but me waan yuh to promise me somet’ing.”
    “Anyt’ing yuh ask, Papa,” David replied, now drinking his beer.
    “Nuh tell ya mama ’til marnin come. Let her and ya two sister enjoy harvest day widout ya mad news. Tell dem inna de marnin.”
    “Nuh trouble ya head, Papa. Me will tell everyone inna de marnin. Me don’t waan to spoil dem day.”
    Kwarhterleg shook his head, sure that Amy would not be so understanding of David’s calling. And Hortense? It could prove a sore loss for her.
    As the last golden rays of the sun dipped below the western ranges, the fires of harvest night lit every beacon, crook, hillside and dwelling throughout Claremont and districts beyond. Songs of praise filled the valley and Mr Welton DaCosta had even hired a mento band to entertain his family and guests on his plot of land, the musicians equipped with improvised banjo instruments and quick-witted lyrics of country life and rural proverbs.
    “ Nuh tease alligator before yuh cross de river
    Put ah cross before ya door an’ Old Screwface cyan’t mek yuh shiver
    Heed dese warnings or yuh end up like Old Mama Jeebah
    She live inna de wood ah work ’pon spells she deliver
    Mama Jeebah is older dan de spine of Jamaica
    She even know de old pirate Captain Morgan an’ where him hide him treasure
    She was once ah good girl very kind to her mudder
    Her fader run away from him brutal slave master
    She used to speak wid de same tongue as her African ancestor
    Some say her family come from