The view from up country in Saint Ann, Jamaica, where I am from.
Life Lessons Learned
I’ve shared my childhood stories, on my life lessons learned, from age six to thirteen, growing up in Saint Ann, Jamaica.
The process was cathartic and after coming out the other end, I can say I feel well rested.
I have cried more tears than I have cried in years, but I also smiled and laughed as well.
I cried for my friends who died after the hurricane came. I cried for my friend Sarah, and I cried for Browny and her puppies, and Pluto who I missed so much after leaving.
I thought about the privilege of being able to enjoy our days at the river and summers in May Pen with my cousins. Time spent sitting in the tangerine tree with my brothers and having the bestest friends Solomie, Andrea, and Omar. And for mum’s and Mr Ferdie’s wise words.
I felt happy to have had so many woodland adventures with my trusty slingshot, without being bitten by snakes, falling into sinkholes, or getting lost. Except for that one time when I found myself standing on cold concrete raised off the ground. Then I saw more and more around me, overgrown with plants, but definitely rectangle-shaped. I looked down and sure enough, I was in a graveyard. Like the slow-mo scene from a Matrix movie, I ran like the wind out of there, in my favourite 1960s-inspired sleeveless lime green dress.
Graveyards, no. Mother woman, yes.
We were lucky that our dad knew his bush medicine and I’m thankful for the lots and lots of ganja used to save our lives on many occasions. And you would be right, it is running through my veins, my hair, my bones.
I smiled when I remembered our little blue house on the hill. Long since gone, but one day it will be rebuilt as an eco-house, with a few tree houses in the woodland canopy looking out at the farmers’ fields. And a zinc-roofed shop at the front selling tangerines, CheeseTrix, bun and cheese, D&G sodas, and lots and lots of my dad’s life medicine. Plus, home-cooked meals made with vegetables from mum’s kitchen garden and bread from a van, we will name Grandad’s in memory of grandad who moved to England during the Windrush era and was a baker. All taking in our 360-degree view of tropical paradise. I might even check out the caves at the back, now I know that’s a thing. Invites all around obvs.
I cried for my brief time in America and the sadness I felt while living there. After spending so much of my life outside, it was a shock to the system when I got to foreign, spending so much time indoors. Visiting a supermarket, I went off food for months until I discovered smoky barbecue sauce, coleslaw, potato salad, Doritos, pancakes, maple syrup, Pop-Tarts, waffles, three-flavored ice-cream tubs, Oreos, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, coconut-iced donuts, and grape soda.
I laughed at all the jokes and games I remembered us kids played in each other’s yard, on the hot country road, and at Basic and Primary school. The many Sunday cricket matches with my brothers and friends at the Catholic church. And idle walks home from the cooling waterfall at the local river.
I also remembered our little menagerie of chickens, cats, pigs, lizards, bats, mosquitoes, ants nests, creepy crawlies, and dad’s trusted donkey who used to walk home from the field miles away on his own with the produce for the evening’s dinner.
I smiled too at the memory of my pet chicken Helen and Piggy-wiggy-woo, whose ears I used to spend time rubbing under the avocado tree, and how I learned the hardest lesson of all – never befriend the family’s food.
I even had a giggle when I thought about our family savings account the battered old brown suitcase, on top of the wardrobe in my parents’ bedroom. Whenever we had to go to the shop to buy staples like flour, rice, or other bits, mum would say “Take some money from the top!” and off we would trot.
And I felt nothing but love again for the community cart, still there I’m sure with new bits of wood and tyre added every year. I took a look up country the other day and I glimpsed it.
I would highly recommend the process to everyone. Thinking about life lessons learned that made you and writing about them.
The words will fall out and will not read well at first, but if you keep going over and over it each day you will get to the point where you are no longer burdened by the past.
The process has been so great for me that I’m not suffering as much anxiety as I used to. I dare not say forever, although it does seem like it is totally gone.
Thank you for coming on the journey.
Best wishes,
Kenisha (her)
Sherry-Ann Collins
Sherry (her / us)
Sherry Collins
Jamaican Freedom Fighter
Fighting for the creative freedom of the Jamaican peopledem.™
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