Robert Lalah, Staff Reporter
Left: The bust of Maroon warrior Cudjoe was recently erected in Chapelton square. Right: Sellers but no buyers. Not a 'quattie worth' sell in the Chapelton market. - NORMAN GRINDLEY/DEPUTY CHIEF PHOTOGRAPHER
NOW, BEING chased around a building by a bunch of potato-wielding women old enough to be my grandmother is not exactly how I planned to spend my Friday afternoon. Come to think of it, it may have been the realisation of a bone-chilling nightmare I once had when I was but a lad. But that's another story. What prompted this creepy escapade is nothing to bring flattery to myself. The fact is that my produce-packing stalkers had nothing else to do!
Doesn't do much for my ego, but the truth nonetheless. I'll explain.
Chapelton in Clarendon is a sleepy old town if ever there was one. Photographer Norman Grindley and I headed out there about a week ago, expecting to find a crowded marketplace, a few trash-talking taxi men and a handful of machete-lugging old chaps on their way from their fields en route to the nearest bar. You know, the normal weekend country activities. I mean, after all, it was Friday.
We left Kingston quite early to head up to Chapelton in north Clarendon.
TOWN SQUARE
About midday, we came upon a large sign with the community's name on it in what seemed to be the town square.
Screech! We had to stop and look around properly. Were we in the right place? There were like a dozen people in the entire square!
We parked the van and walked up the road. There were a few more people at a small shop and bar, and a couple vendors walking around with their goods strapped to them.
We were passing by a small ice cream parlour. "Hello please, you gentlemen are looking for somebody?" I peeked inside the building and saw a smiling elderly woman in a blue dress behind a counter. She was wearing glasses and had a pleasant face. "Well, nobody in particular," I muttered.
"Then come in here. If you not looking for anybody in particular den come look for me," she said with a grin.
We went into the shop and sat on stools set up around the counter. A young girl carrying a plastic bag was walking by the front door. She poked her head inside. "Morning, Miss Morrison!" she shouted to the woman in the shop. "Morning Girlie!" Miss Morrison replied with a wave of the hand.
CHAPELTON'S OTHER NAME
Turning back to us as Girlie walked off, Miss Morrison chuckled. "But is what mek two gentleman like unnu self doing down here in Chapelton?" she inquired. I told her what we were doing and she looked puzzled. "But nothing happening in Chapelton. You know that the people call it Ghost Town? Yes Man! That is the other name for Chapelton," she said with a chuckle.
The town square was quite compact. From where we were sitting, we could see the market, the police station, the taxi stand and the main shop and bar no more than a few feet from each other. The library was just down the road too.
"So why you stay here if you think it is so boring?"
"Me sah? Mi nuh ina di ray ray ting. Mi too old fi a run from gun shot a town. Me is quite alright right here. Nobody wouldn't even tief nothing here if mi leave fi di whole day," the woman said sternly. "Den most time mi deh right here and sound asleep and di customer dem haffi wake mi up fi pay mi! He he. Dem ting deh caan gwaan a town!" the woman chuckled. A wrinkled woman in a white dress came into the shop. "Have mi excuse. You have any patty Miss Morrison?" she asked. "Yes please," was the response. "Sell mi one please,". Miss Morrision got up to serve the woman.
When the deal was done, she returned. "Yes man. See the police station right across the road. Dem people deh not even haffi come out unless dem just want to stretch dem legs. Everything cool,".
We paid our tab for a few drinks we were having while at the shop, said our farewell and were off again. Next stop, the market.
It was just across the road but to get there we had to pass by a statue of the famous maroon warrior Cudjoe in the square. We were told that it was put up about a year ago.
Over in the market we realised why they call this place the Ghost Town. It was Friday afternoon, the place was packed with vendors, but there wasn't a shopper in sight.
We spoke with Miss Ivy who sells sandals and shoe polish. She has been coming to the market to sell for more than 30 years.
"Bwoy this place is so quiet. It wasn't like this one time but everything change now. First time you never have hand fi sell. But such is life, you haffi work with what you have," she said. As Miss Ivy spoke, I looked to my right and noticed two elderly women wearing floral hats moving sneakily towards me. I looked in the other direction and saw another woman holding a large cucumber coming my way. That, by the way, was particularly disturbing. I tried to ignore what was happening and continued to listen to Miss Ivy speak.
"This market is quiet and thing. Just for that I wouldn't leave. It peaceful and nobody harass you," she said. The women were closing in on me now and I realised what was happening. We were the only potential customers in the entire market so we were being descended upon like a chicken leg at a fat camp.
We said goodbye to Miss Ivy and headed quickly up a step to the food section of the market. Our luck was the same. Only sellers, no buyers.
Miss Lorna, a fish vendor, said this was how the community was, it didn't make a difference that it was a weekend. "Nothing really gwaan. We just sit here and chat and sometime drop asleep. If somebody come here, everybody frighten and try sell dem something," she said.
I looked over and saw the same group of women who had been on our trail since we got there, heading up the steps. The woman with the oversized cucumber was in the lead so I decided it was time to leave. We went out the back and barely missed the group. Close call.
So that was that. Chapelton, known also as Ghost Town. But by the looks of things, Ghost Town doesn't even begin to describe it.
