Melville Cooke You're my Miss Jamaica
You're my Miss Jamaica
I'm crowning you myself
Although you may not have
such a fabulous shape
To suit the rest of the world
But you do suit me and that's
all I want to know
I need not know nothing more
Miss Jamaica, Jimmy Cliff
I LIKE 'REDEMPTION Song', the monument at the main entrance to Emancipation Park in New Kingston. It is not a case of not minding it being tolerant for art's sake. I like it and I certainly do not wish it removed.
I have looked at the female figure over and over and I have decided to crown her my Miss Jamaica. She is certainly more representative of a Jamaican woman than the often emaciated creatures, always of a shall we say, light hue who have misrepresented the country with various titles over the years.
This includes the Miss Jamaica World and Miss Jamaica Universe titles and is not a dismissal of the current Miss Jamaica Jade Fulford. I speak of the look the judges seem to seek out to crown and send off to indicate we Jamaicans are beautiful too; they are good-looking women, very good looking.
But not my type. I much prefer the much better half of 'Redemption Song', who has been marginalised in all this talk of penis sizes. As a matter of fact, as Kingsley 'Ragashant' Stewart pointed out rather humorously at a public forum on the matter at UWI on Friday, most of the rest of the man has been left out of the debate as well.
Let us start with the obvious about the female figure in Redemption Song, who I shall call 'Carolyn'. She has figure of a mature black woman big, strong buttocks, large thighs and full breasts. Of course, since she is cut off near the knees, we do not know if her feet are big and splayed, but based on the size of the rest of her, those missing feet would have to be mighty big and mighty splayed to hold up that structure.
MAJORITY OF WOMEN
Comparing her to any young lady who has held a Miss Jamaica Universe or World title, Carolyn is more representative of the majority of women I have seen in this country and I have seen a few. When I see a picture of a Miss Jamaica, I see an image that is not only not representative of the majority of Jamaican women, but above that a statement to them that they are not good looking. That to hit the mark they may need to bleach a bit, weave on some hair and get rid of that weight.
The skin colour is obvious if a monument can be said to have a complexion and I am ecstatic that there is no long, flowing, burnt out or horse hair sticking from her skull. But where Carolyn stands out for me is in what would be termed by the Miss Jamaica judges as her imperfections which are not, because those are the physical traits that make women real. Her stomach is not flat like Shabba's famous 'willy penny'; neither is it heading towards her spine as if she does not have to spend her time making ends meet, so she can go to the gym at will and diet as she pleases. No, it is slightly rounded maybe like she has had a child.
Actually, the Miss Jamaicas look like caricatures brittle cut-outs of what Jamaican women generally look like.
And then, Carolyn's breasts are not pointing ahead like arrowheads or signs on a Monopoly board. No, they sag just a bit (maybe it is the children again?). Which reminds me of a beauty contest trick that I have heard of, that the contestants put tape under their breasts for extra bounce and flounce. Sure ain't any cellotape anywhere on My Miss Jamaica.
Then we come to Carolyn's crowning glory, her hands. They are big hands. Big, strong looking, roughhewn hands. Hands that look like they work hard at keeping the family going, hands that look as if they wash the children's clothes, paddle their backsides when necessary, wipe their noses, are able to box a bway who passes his place if needs be, maybe sew garments hour after hour out in the Freezone or use a duster to wipe away the last lesson from blackboard as a new class comes in, pick out or sell food at the market and grip a steering wheel or bus railing firmly.
And hands that, at the end of the day, make the lucky man whom they put to bed feel damn good.
The Miss Jamaicas, on the other hand, certainly at the time when they are all over the press, dangle around hands that are much more suited to fashion than function.
As I said, not my type. Carolyn, you are my Miss Jamaica.
Black woman and child
For you I have so much love
Sizzla
Melville Cooke is a freelance writer.
