Summers in May Pen.

My brothers, mum and I always looked forward to our annual summer holiday to visit our cousins in May Pen, Jamaica. Dad would stay behind as he had things to do on the farm.

We would leave early in the morning to catch the Doreen bus heading to the nearby market town. Then we’d change to a minibus heading to another town before taking a taxi for the final bit of our journey to Aunty’s, the family matriarch. Mum would stay for the first week and then leave us to it.

We loved visiting our cousins as there were lots of us together. Most days, after our chores and in the evenings, we would take it easy in the front garden, the adults and us kids, and play dominoes and Ludi, talking and laughing at each other while sipping on our favourite D&G sodas and sharing home-grown ginep, cherries, mangoes, and roasted cashew nuts.

At our many get-togethers, I learnt a new skill: having multiple interchanging conversations with different people without skipping a beat.

I would be chatting with one cousin on my right about one thing, the other to my left about another, plus playing a game while listening to a conversation in front of me and joining in.

Telling each other our problems and our troubles, we would talk them through, giving our thoughts and advice on what should be done.

We would also “take the mickey” out of each other, but if we showed that we were upset about it, we would be ribbed further. So, from a young age, I learned not to let insults bother me, and in fact, I became quite good at quick returns.

Sometimes, just a head turn with a look would be enough.

And when a friendly sting was particularly accurate, leaving an opponent stumped, we would all congratulate the person who delivered it, including the one who received it.

We talked over each other, around each other and finished each other’s sentences, sometimes in unison, while keeping up with our games simultaneously. And when strangers passed by, we would naturally switch our conversations to our family coded-speak so they couldn’t understand us.

Sometimes, our conversations would turn into arguments as our older cousins would have a few disagreements, but at the end of the day, we would always make peace.

I loved playing with my cousins and being in May Pen, as we also had bag juice, CheezTrix, jerk chicken and Juici Patties on tap. Aunts, uncles, and family friends living near would stop by throughout the day to bring us treats, join in our play or converse with Aunty on her way to or coming back from church in one of her pale pink, soft blue, creamy peach, bright white, pea green, ice-lolly yellow, matching-from-head-to-toe, outfits.

One of the highlights during our holidays was The Denbigh Agricultural and Industrial Show, held nearby. My cousins would dress in the latest fashion, and we would head out to spend our money on rides, games, toys, and sugary snacks, like strawberry syrup over shaved ice sold by men on their colourful remodelled bicycles, playing the latest tunes, with parasols shading us from the hot summer sun.

One year, when money was tight, my dad gave me and my brother one hundred dollars for our pocket money, the equivalent of our month’s grocery shopping, but we decided that we would not waste our money and saved it to return later. Instead, we got dressed up and helped one of our cousins on her kids’ clothes stall at the show, selling her wares and making her some money.

A few days before our primary school restarted, we headed back up country and, upon our return, changed out of our travelling clothes and put our yard clothes on.

Freeing our feet from shoes, we ran like crazy to our friends’ houses to see if anyone was up for a woodland adventure or a trip to the river.

Good to be home.

Best wishes,

Sherry Collins ( us )

Ms. Collins

Kenisha

Sherry-Ann Collins

Sherry

London, English (her)

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