Left: A few of Ms. Margaret's young customers. Right: Ms. Margaret strikes a posh pose. - NORMAN GRINDLEY/DEPUTY CHIEF PHOTOGRAPHER
NOW IT seems that Ms. Chunie has come down with a terrible case of the sniffles, which her neighbours in the small community of Banana Ground in Manchester believe resulted from her refusal to 'come off a di veranda' before nightfall.
Now Ms. Chunie is one tough woman who for some reason, doesn't trust doctors, so she sent her granddaughter to Ms. Margaret's shop to fetch her some molasses. She'll fix the problem herself.
Now this is where the story picks up. Photographer Norman Grindley and I were standing in Ms. Margaret's shop when Ms. Chunie's granddaughter walked in.
"Ms. Margaret! Ms. Chunie say if you can send one bottle a molasses," the girl muttered, her head barely making it to the top of the counter. She couldn't have been more than four years old, and was clutching a black plastic bag in one hand and a tightly folded $50 bill in the other.
DARK BROWN LIQUID
Ms. Margaret took a bottle off the shelf and handed it to the little girl in exchange for the money. The bottle was labelled white rum, but contained a dark brown liquid.
"Tell Ms. Chunie never mind, dis will fix it," Ms. Margaret said to the little girl and the youngster scampered off.
Now with nobody else in the shop, we got to know Ms. Margaret a bit better. You see, we were in Banana Ground for only a few minutes and nearly everyone we met, told us that we should go introduce ourselves to Ms. Margaret.
So there we were, in a rickety old shop in a small community in the hills of Manchester with the most famous woman in the area. Ms. Margaret has been running the small shop since 1953 and is considered the community expert. We asked her to tell us about Banana Ground.
"Well it not very different from what it was even when I just started this shop," the woman said. As she spoke, some school boys walked into the shop. "The place still quiet and cool. It's very breezy. That's why we don't plant things like banana up here."
Now that made my head spin. "What?! They don't grow bananas in Banana Ground?" I asked.
"Have me excuse?" Ms. Margaret said. She doesn't hear as well as she used to. I repeated my question. "Oh well, back in the once upon a time, dem used to was plant plenty banana up here, but it too breezy man. It would mash up di tree dem," she said, giving the school boys who were playing among themselves and getting a bit loud, an angry look. The look brought the boys to immediate silence.
A little girl walked in and without hesitation shouted "Ms. Margaret, gimme one dutty gyal soap please!"
"Pickney kibba you mouth! When you see big people a talk you fi cry excuse! What wrong with you? Tell di gentleman dem good morning! You a jing bang?" Ms. Margaret was livid and her glasses almost fell off her face.
The girl now had a dejected look on her face and started staring at her shoes.
"Good morning," she whispered, bending her right knee slightly. "Now go and stand up one side and wait till we done," Ms. Margaret said. The girl dragged her feet to the corner of the shop and stood there pouting.
There was a strong smell of kerosene in the shop. I realised that a large cylinder that was at the entrance to the shop, was filled with kerosene. That's the only source of the product in all of Banana Ground.
Ms. Margaret went on like nothing had happened. "Yes, and here is very quiet. You open you door and leave it. Get up and walk outside anytime and nothing is wrong. You in peace up here," she said. The woman said she has spent most of her life in the small farming community, which is home to only a few hundred persons. She even went to the small school just down the road from the shop.
We decided to visit the school, so we bid the woman farewell. But before we did, we told her we wanted to snap a picture of her. "Oh yes man, I'm coming," Ms. Margaret said and retreated into a back room. What was going on? After about 15 minutes the woman reappeared, dolled up in a completely different outfit, a new hat and without her glasses.
The woman smelt of roses. We snapped the pictures and were off. "Tek care now and God bless," Ms. Margaret sent us off.
We went over to the Garlogie Primary School and met up with a group of boys playing cricket in the road. They used pieces of wood as bats and a tennis ball and were having a great time. "Mister, you is from Merica?" said one lad, shading his eyes from the sunlight. "You a idiot? You nuh see a car dem come inna? Dat look like plane?" another boy interjected.
We spent some time with the group, but soon it was time to leave. As we got into the van and drove off, a long line of children started running behind the vehicle, waving goodbye. Quite a friendly bunch of people.
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