Juan González Mijares | Pedestrian egrets

In Kingston, everything uptown begins or finishes at Barbican Road. Perhaps for this reason I was not surprised when, driving, a small egret crossed the road walking, slowly but resolved, with the experience of a street dog. I didn’t know that there were pedestrian egrets in Jamaica. What a world!

But …yes. It seems that there are adapted species, like this small pedestrian egret, that probably, one day, will forget how to fly. An upshot of climate change? A vision from the current fashion form magic mushrooms? Don’t know.

Next morning, on Christmas Eve, I bought flowers, fruit, and wine and left for Port Antonio by the Stony Hill Road, my favourite. Taking the swings of the road with a reggae rhythm, the world of the pedestrian egrets came back to my mind. I thought of the innocent question of a little egret to her mother:

“Ey, Mami, have you ever been to Castleton Gardens?”

“No, my sweetie, you only go there before dying to enter the ‘Eternal Flight’.

“Ah.”

As I continued cutting the sharpening curves of the valley, I re-entered the world of the pedestrian egrets. Most likely, I thought, they arrived from Africa, searching for the mythical long tailed hummingbird, said to be immortal. They were guided by its leader, half-egret, half-God, Dorian But Grey, named after its longevity and the grizzly tint of its feathers inherited from his beautiful mother, Egret Carbo. In this way, the pedestrian egret’s ancestors arrived in Jamaica centuries ago and were warmly received by the hummingbird people, the Taíno.

Arriving in Port Antonio, I crossed the centre of town and took the beach road. Shockingly, as if they were waiting for me, two small pedestrians egrets crossed the road walking in the direction of the town! I couldn’t believe it!

THE SEA

At Blue Lagoon, as if I were a pelican, I was offered a room on the sea.

The sea! The vast and indefatigable sea, always recommencing! As I unpacked my things, the sound of the waves embraced me in a lullaby, and I fell sleep. Before sunset, reading the great Caribbean poet Derek Walcott’s White Egrets, it did not surprise me the apparition of a large grey heron, rubbing the crest of waves with its orange beak, the proud guardian of the reef.

At that moment I was reading from Walcott:

“... selection is what the egrets teach …

heads nodding as they read

in purposeful silence, a language beyond speech”.

With the echo of these words and the rumour of the surf, I felt myself “egreted” to the world.

I had become “Birdman”.

Next morning, it was proposed to visit Reach Falls and take the road to the extreme northeast of Jamaica, from the point where a courageous Spanish captain, Diego Méndez, launched a large Taíno canoe to Española, today’s Haiti, to come back nine months later to rescue Christopher Columbus. All right!

It was a sombre day. The deep-grey sea hit the littoral from Long Bay to Manchioneal, a sad, deserted village, left from the hand of God. In the waterfalls, splashing like children, we recovered our amphibious condition, half-fish, half-batrachian, ascending the pools in a stairway to heaven, doing the “Salamander”, the “Frog” of the “Hippos”.

Driving back before dusk, traversing the old bridge before Boston Bay, I spotted a great tree upholstered with egrets. What a vision! All of them bowed to the tree, coming from their white fatigues to rest the day in its shadows.

Next day, irremediably “egreted”, I went on errands to Portie through the beach road to see if there were any pedestrian egrets. But no, there weren’t.

PEDESTRIAN EGRETS

A Rasta approached my car and asked what I was looking for. For a moment I didn’t know what to say, but on an impulse, my mouth said: “I am waiting for pedestrian egrets”.

“Ya, man, the garlings! They always come by, especially on Thursdays.”

“What! And do you know, perhaps, where they go?”

“Ya, man,” and the Rasta pointed to a small brook between the little shacks. “They like to hang out in that direction.”

“Really? And what do they do there?”

After a pause and a smoke, he said, “They dance.”

Seriously?

“Ya, man. Peanut Man and DJ Garling play music they like.”

“Don´t tell me - and how does it sound?”

“Well,” he made a long pause … “Is not too loud, really. It sounds like steps up and down a stairway.”

“Irie!” I said. “Have a good day, man.”

Back in Kingston, I flew down Barbican Road in a majestic mood. I went looking for pedestrian egrets to cross the roads, searching, perhaps, for a gully to join other “garlings” bopping to the “Egret Dance”.

You may probably think that this is an extravagant story… but wait! One day, as you drive and watch a pair of egrets crossing the road in front of you, I’m sure you will remember me.

Ya, man!

Juan González Mijares is the former ambassador of Mexico to Jamaica, The Bahamas, and former permanent representative to the International Seabed Authority. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com.