People from all over the counrty pass through Half-Way-Tree everyday.
I LOVE the city life. I mean, don't get me wrong, the country lifestyle does have its perks. After all, carrying a bucket of water on your head for miles, just after tending to your grandfather's goats in a sun parched field can be fun. I mean, I suppose. But for me, the city life is the way to go. So you can understand the vexation I felt the other day when a rather pompous self-proclaimed country lass suggested to me that 'town people' were a set of no good low lifes. I mean, the indignity.
I tried all I could to convince the rather rude woman otherwise, but alas she would have none of it.
"Haven't you ever been to Half-Way Tree on a week day?" she inquired of me.
But I decided not to take her on any further. Instead, I would head out to the heart of St. Andrew, Half-Way Tree, that is, to prove that so called 'town people' were more than just a bunch of cantankerous brutes. A task, I would soon find, was much harder than it sounded.
So off to Half-Way Tree I went, you might say, with a strong sense of purpose. All the time intent on proving that wretched woman wrong. "I'll show you yet!"
It was about 2:00 p.m. on a Tuesday when I parked my car along Constant Spring Road and walked down to the intersection where Constant Spring , Hagley Park , Hope and Half-Way Tree roads meet. It's the spot where the famous Half-Way Tree clock tower stands, almost ignored by passers-by everyday.
DANCEHALL MUSIC
A group of vendors perched on stools were bopping their heads to loud dancehall music blaring from a radio. They were waving their hands in the air and singing. I think.
A phone card vendor was standing on the sidewalk in front of a bank. He had a lisp and his sales pitch was more colourful than his outfit. Which, taking into account his incredibly iridescent Hawaiian print shirt and pair of purple shorts, was no small feat.
"Phone cyaad we have. We a di cyaad man round here. Cyaad fi you wife and daughter. Cyaad fi you madda and faada."
A group of Asian women in skimpy skirts who were wearing no less than a pound of make-up each, were strutting, or more like bouncing, daintily by the vendors. All dancing stopped and the men went into a steady flow of profanity laden hollers that would make a sailor blush.
"Sweetness, we got di real Jamaican swing. A we carry di ting."
Half-Way Tree is the place where uptown meets downtown, so the mix of people there was tremendous. People from all over the country, sometimes distinguishable by their speech and dress, were busily going about there business.
Things were going rather well, so I decided to strike up a conversation with a couple of the vendors who were by a patty shop.
It was here that the difference between 'country' and 'town' hit me like a ton of bricks.
"Big man mi nuh inna dem thing deh. Mi nuh tek press," said a bearded box juice vendor, when I asked him how he found business in the area.
But it got even more animated as I went along. "Bredrin, mi nah hide and talk. Mi feel seh you a police still, suh just talk di truth an done. Ah who send you come?" said a peanut vendor who wasn't wearing any shoes.
SCREECHING TIRES
Screech! We were interrupted by the sound of screeching tires. Three boys in Khaki outfits were crossing the road, and a taxi taking a bend had to come to a sudden stop to avoid hitting them. "Move out a di road bwoy! You feel you daddy can buy back dis?" shouted the taxi driver, as he stuck his head out the window and waved his hand in the air. The boys scurried off. A woman driving a blue car came up behind the taxi man and started shouting herself. "Move di car nuh man. You a block di road!" To this, the taxi man turned around and let the woman have it. Needless to say, his retort cannot be repeated here.
Other pedestrians joined the argument. "Di two ah unnu a idiot. If you did ever lick di youth dem you woulda find out!" said a woman in a head tie, who was as irate as she was portly.
By then the vendor who thought I was some sort of undercover policeman had walked off and was now standing with a group of men who wore their pants close to their knees. He was saying something to the men and pointing in my direction. I scampered off.
Finally, I came across an elderly man selling watches and jewellery. He gave his name as Fenton and was happy to speak with me. "Yes man, Half-Way Tree alright still. I mean you have to be strong to deal with some of the people, but it's good though," said he.
Fenton said he has been selling in the area for many years and had got accustomed to the lifestyle. "But people who not used to it might find in confusing and hectic. But is just a different side of Jamaica. I am from St. Elizabeth originally, but I learn to adjust,".
The bespectacled man pointed to the clock tower. "Most people don't even realise dem thing deh. Is a nice place still. Whole heap of history," he said.
I found out that the area got its name from a huge cotton tree that stood there up to 1866. It apparently dominated the area, and was a popular meeting point for travelers. They say the tree died of old age.
I went over to the bus terminus. A bunch of beautiful women helped my day take a turn for the better. Bus conductors were busy arguing over passengers. "You ready baby? You nuh want to take that pop down bus. It ago bruck down pon di road. Come in this one and feel nice," said a shirtless man, leading a frightened looking woman toward a minibus.
Another man ran up and helped the woman with her bags as she got into the bus. Once she was in, the conductor continued his sales pitch, while others did the same. Each time someone new came up, they would be swarmed with offers to be transported on "the number one bus". There seemed to be many of those.
I had had all I could take in the bustling area. I longed for a bit of peace and quiet. I mean, it wasn't all bad, but I fear I will have to concede defeat. Give me a day in the country any day.
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