Katani's Jamaican Holiday (2 page)
Read Katani's Jamaican Holiday Online
Authors: Annie Bryant
We’d like to thank our friends at the Jamaica Tourist Board who arranged for us to visit Jamaica! We’d like to thank all the resorts, attractions, and tour operators who spent so much time showing us around and telling us about Jamaica. A huge thank-you to the schools we visited while we were there and a big, warm, Beacon Street Girl hug to the students who gave us such wonderful ideas for the adventures in this book. Many thanks to our talented friend Sean Kingston. A special thank-you to Hazel Campbell, who contributed much of the content and Jamaican warmth and friendliness found within these pages.
We’d also like to send a big shout-out to:
Air Jamaica
Airports Authority of Jamaica
The Institute of Jamaica
The National Gallery of Jamaica
Fae
Carol
Troy
Marcia
Yvonne, and of course, Ariella
1
An Important Letter
My dear Ruby,
I know it has been a long time since I have written. I do hope you and the family are well. In your letters to me over the years you have always expressed a desire to visit Jamaica, the home of your mother’s birth, and I would so love to see you before the days run out.
My bakery is doing well. Though it is small, it keeps body and soul together. I bake a very tasty banana bread—nice and moist and flavorful. Truth is I can’t produce enough to fill the demand. Everybody loves Nana’s Banana Bliss.
Well, for some time I have been putting off some surgery, but can’t do so any longer. On the 15th I will be going into the hospital. Now don’t worry. It’s just something I need to take care of. But I will have to close the bakery because the young girl who’s there just can’t manage on her own. The rest of the family can’t really help out. I couldn’t bring in a stranger.
But I really don’t want to close it and lose my customers or my growing momentum.
Another bakery has been trying to cut me out of the business. You see, there’s a man, Mr. Biggs, who owns this bakery, and he has offered to buy me out. He only wants to use my famous name, Nana’s Banana Bliss, to sell his cheaper, not better, banana bread. I’ve made it known that I am not selling to that man, so he has been trying every which way to steal my customers and force me out of business. What do you think of someone who would do such a thing to an old woman like me? If I close the bakery, even for a week, I’m afraid it will give him just the opportunity he needs to destroy our business.
I know you are a busy person. We are so proud of you, Principal Ruby, but my dear, we need your help desperately. Do you think you could get some time off, even just a week, while I have surgery, to come and supervise the bakery for me? I would be really very grateful, and as I said, it would be very nice to finally meet you. And if you like, please bring one of your granddaughters along. Jamaica is such a beautiful place to visit, and it is the home of your ancestors.
I am,
Your loving aunt
Faith
Grandma Ruby finished reading, took off her glasses, and set them down on our kitchen table with a little sigh. When she looked up at me she had a faraway look in her eyes. I glanced at the letter with the Jamaican stamp she was holding
and wondered if anything was wrong. But before I could say anything, Grandma cocked her head to one side and asked, “Katani, how would you like to go with me to Jamaica?”
Hello!
Visions of beautiful beaches, palm trees, and pineapple drinks with little umbrellas began swirling through my brain.
2
A Jamaican Welcome
W
ow, Grandma. This airport is crazy cool.” I directed my grandma’s attention to a small band with two guitarists and a drummer playing some kind of box instrument. I remembered from the Jamaican guidebook I flipped through before we left that it was called a “mento band.” A group of women shook their rattles as they sang a “Welcome to Jamaica” song to a lively reggae beat. I was definitely not in Boston anymore.
The Jamaican ladies were dressed in white blouses trimmed with the same colorful plaid material of their skirts. The yellow and green colors of Jamaica adorned their heads, and they wore funky-looking rope sandals. The men in the band coordinated with the women. I decided to call their look “Island Chill.”
“We sure are on vacation!” Grandma Ruby laughed as I pulled out my Kgirl Island Inspiration Notebook and starting scribbling my first impressions of Jamaican style.
At home I usually carry around a notebook so I can jot down business and style ideas 24/7, because my goal is to have my own Kgirl fashion design company one day. So for this trip I bought a special, brand-new notebook with a yellow-black-green-striped cover (the colors of the Jamaican flag!) to record all the colors, patterns, textures, and even smells, tastes, and feelings of Jamaica. I read in a magazine that really original designers are inspired by everything around them, and it’s totally true. I grabbed my camera and started taking pictures, too. I didn’t want to forget anything about my trip.
Some of the people who were on the plane with us began dancing and greeting the singers. It was embarrassing. I couldn’t believe the American travelers in their weird Bermuda shorts were thinking they were reggae dancers. I quickly hid behind Grandma Ruby, who, for some reason I couldn’t understand, was clapping along with the dancing tourists.
“Grandma, whatever you do, please don’t dance,” I whispered. She just laughed and began to sway with the music. Then I thought of my good friend Maeve. She would have started hip-hopping away with the dancers and everybody would have loved her ability to dance up a storm. She would have fit right in. I wasn’t even going to try—not today, anyway.
“Baggage call for Air Jamaica flight 211 on carousel three.” Saved by the bell! I grabbed Grandma’s arm and headed for the carousel. We had only one suitcase each, and our luggage came pretty quickly, which was great because I wanted to get outside and find myself a beautiful Jamaican beach!
After the redcap wheeled us out, our next task was to find Selvin, Aunt Faith’s nephew, who was supposed to meet us. Grandma had no idea what he looked like, so I figured we would be at the airport for a while. I just hoped there would be a beach near my relatives’ house. I couldn’t wait to get out the shades, the sunscreen, and sandals. Jamaican holiday, here I come!
Outside Sangster International Airport, chaos reigned. Tourists were everywhere, climbing into tour buses and taxis that would take them to their various hotels. There were friendly cabbies inviting us in, asking which hotel we were staying at, and trying to be helpful. After some minutes with no sign of Selvin, this option was looking really good.
Grandma Ruby was clearly getting more flustered and anxious. All of a sudden she didn’t seem to be her usual cool and in-control-of-everything self. Maybe it was the heat. I could feel the sun beating down, and drops of sweat were starting to run down my face. Frizz patrol! I pulled out my compact mirror to survey the damage.
Suddenly, in the sea of tourists from all around the world, I saw a man in a tropical shirt coming our way, holding up a
sign with “Ruby and Katani” written in large, red letters.
“There he is!” I exclaimed, pointing Grandma Ruby toward the man with the sign.
Even above the honking cars and the chattering tourists I could hear her breathe a sigh of relief.
“Wonderful!” She seemed calmer as she grabbed my arm. We waved to him, and he rushed right over.
“I’m Selvin,” he introduced himself as he greeted us, shaking Grandma’s hand and giving me a hug and a big, friendly smile. He smelled like the sea.
As we were waiting for Selvin to bring his car around, I noticed a very tall man wearing a cowboy hat and a loud, colorful shirt standing to the left of us. He was carrying an important-looking briefcase. I got the strange feeling that he had been staring at us, but he quickly turned away when he saw me looking at him. I wanted to point him out to Grandma, but when I turned and looked again, he had disappeared into a limo. Must be somebody important, I thought. Maybe he was a local celebrity. That would be fun! I could tell Maeve all about my star sighting when I got home.
Selvin drove up in a van painted my favorite color, Tuscan gold. On the side was a drawing of a smiling woman with the same headwrap I had seen on the singers inside the airport. She was holding a tray with loaves of bread in her hand. Under the drawing were the words “Nana’s Banana Bliss.”
The drawing looked as if it had been done by an inexperienced artist, but the longer I studied it, I realized that the artist’s intent was to make everything look homey and colorful. I quickly took a picture so that I could show my friend Isabel, who liked to draw. I suddenly felt a little homesick for the BSG. Charlotte, Avery, Maeve, and Isabel were my best friends at home, and everyone called us the BSG—short for
the Beacon Street Girls. They were so excited for me to come here, and now I wished they were here too.
Selvin put our bags in the back of the van, and we quickly got in beside him in the front.
“Welcome to Jamaica!” he announced in a funny accent. We both smiled, but by this time I was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by the bright sunlight and my colorful, tropical surroundings. Everything seemed to scream color—the black, green, and gold of the national flag, the green of the trees, the brightly painted buildings on the hillside overlooking the airport, the sparkling blue of the sky—and after the winter drabness of home, my eyes weren’t coping with this overload very well. I was happy to pull out my shades. With a lurch and a chug, we were off—driving through the tropical paradise…on the wrong side of the road!
“Oh!” Grandma Ruby exclaimed. “I forgot that you drive on the left here. It seems a bit strange.”
Strange, all right; more than once I felt her pressing down on imaginary brakes.
“First, we going to look for Aunt Faith,” Selvin explained.
“How is she?” Grandma asked quickly. Aunt Faith, Grandma had explained to the family before we left, was having eye surgery. She was in her seventies, so the surgery was kind of a big deal.
“Coming on. She get over the operation yesterday, but they keeping her till next week. You know, exercise her so she not get too stiff and test her eye till it heal. She’s in Cornwall Regional Hospital. Is not visiting time, but Nurse will let me in, especially when I tell her you just come from America. We can’t stay long, but she so excited to see you.”
“I can’t wait to see her, too,” Grandma replied. “I’ve wanted to meet her in person for so many years.” Was it my
imagination, or did her voice sound kind of choked up?
“Your time is so short, you not gwine get to see plenty things. So I will be your tour guide as we drive along.” He laughed. “We will stop on the way home for lunch. You ever eat jerk pork?” he asked.
“My mother spoke of it, but I’ve never tasted it,” Grandma murmured.
“You gwine love it.”
Selvin’s accent was strange to my ears. Grandma Ruby had explained to me before we left that Jamaicans spoke English and a patois (which she pronounced “paTWAH”), which was a little like English but a bit more musical sounding. He spoke slowly and although I knew he was speaking English, sometimes I missed a word or two and had to guess what he was saying. One thing was for certain, though: I wasn’t quite sure that I wanted to eat something called jerk pork. I was a pizza and mac-’n’-cheese girl myself.
I looked around, trying to take in my surroundings in the city center of Montego Bay. It was pretty lively—all the street sounds were like music, and the town was crowded with people and cars. The roads were really narrow, and the vehicles were driving so close together and to the people that it was amazing we didn’t hit something or somebody. More than once I wanted to yell, “Look out!” but Selvin seemed to know exactly what to do…which was twist and turn and honk!
The streets were jammed with shops and other small businesses. I felt like I was in a colorful play village.
Soon we started climbing a steep hill where there were fewer buildings spread wider apart. When the hospital, a large multistory building, came in sight, I thought it looked drab and kind of scary on its perch on top of the hill. I was beginning to get nervous. Where were all those famous Jamaican beaches? I wanted to put on my bathing suit and jump into the warm Caribbean Sea. I’d read online that people sometimes said the seawater was like swimming in warm bathwater. After five-degree weather at home, warm water sounded dreamy.
Selvin drove through what seemed to be a back gate and parked. The guard didn’t even stop him. He just nodded, lifted the barrier, and waved us through. He obviously knew Selvin.
By Name and Nature
“We’ll just go through the service section,” he said. “I can’t bother argue with the security in front.”
He led us through a side entrance, past a large, busy kitchen, where he waved to some people. “We need some Bliss, Selvin. When you gwine bring it?” shouted one of the cooks.
“Soon, mon, very soon. Don’t worry,” Selvin answered, as he directed us to follow him up some stairs. We passed several wards, climbed even higher, and I was just beginning to wonder if he knew where he was going when he stopped at a room marked “Surgery Recovery.” He pushed through the heavy doors and led us to a desk at which a big, grumpy-looking nurse was sitting, writing in a book. She informed us sternly, “Visiting hours are over.”
Then she recognized Selvin and raised her eyebrows. “Oh, it’s you.”
Does my cousin know everyone in Jamaica?
“Morning, Sister,” he responded respectfully. “Just a few minutes. They just come off the plane. We won’t stay long, I promise.” “Sister”—is that what they called nurses here? Boy, was my notebook going to be full when I got home. My friends were not going to believe how different things were in Jamaica.
“Few minutes,” she warned him. “The doctors are due any minute now.”
Selvin then led us into a ward with a lot of beds. Some of the patients were sleeping. Others looked at us curiously as we walked down the aisle to about the third row. Selvin stopped beside a bed where an older woman lay. The head of the bed was raised a bit, and she looked as if she had been reading the Bible that was in her hands. One of her eyes had a black patch over it. Funny thing was, her other eye was closed behind her glasses. She must have nodded off.
“Aunt Faith,” Selvin said gently. “Them come.”
She opened her eyes, looked confused for a moment, then focused on Grandma Ruby and me.
“Is you that?” she asked in a voice shaky with emotion. “Is it really you, Ruby?”
“Yes, Aunt Faith, it’s me. How’re you feeling?”
“Good! Good. Good. Better, now that you come. Come, give the old lady a hug.”
She stretched out her hands, which were wrinkled and frail, and Grandma leaned over and hugged her. I couldn’t believe a lady this old was running her own business. Then I saw that Grandma’s eyes were wet. A single tear rolled down her cheek. My always-in-control, very cool, positively unflappable grandmother was melting before my eyes.
There was a box of tissues on the small table beside the bed. I handed it to her, and she took out one and dabbed at her eyes.
“Just call me Faith—by name and nature.” The old lady smiled. “‘Aunt’ is for the young ones. And this must be Kantani,” she said, stretching out her hands to me. I also gave her a brief hug.
“Katani,” Grandma pronounced my name correctly for her.
I didn’t quite know what to think or say, so I settled for just a “Hi!”
“She’s tall, just like my Olivia,” Aunt Faith observed, as she looked me up and down. Olivia was my cousin, and I was really looking forward to meeting her. Now I was extra curious to see what she looked like.