About Me

I am humbly the most recent recruit in generations of warriors. My journey began two hundred years ago when my ancestors moved to the Caribbean. That's a story for another time. This is the story and testament of our struggles after the journey of a life that began in rustic ships -men tied hand in hand by the dozens; who would later emerge the dictators of their own destiny.

I am a Jamaican. I am as Jamaican as any other Jamaican. Anything you hear about Jamaicans, good or bad, is always true. I was born in the dry harbour mountains of St. Ann to an Ox for a mother. My father, a carpenter, craftsman and farmer, whose fathers have long held plants in high esteem, was much less stubborn than her. It is no surprise then that I am Capricorn the Goat. Forever refusing to be led much like my mother, but with the foresight and reasoning of a herdsman in the fields.

You see, to tell you my story is to tell you the story of my family -the people who raised me, fed me and nurtured my dreams.

Mi memba when me was about 3. Mi used to live wid me grandmadda Mona and mi grandfawda Dadda dunga Bottom Yard. Bottom Yard is home. Wait! Aunty Janet did live wid we too. We call her Dess. That's a funny thing with my family. Everybody has a nickname. Yuh si me? Me name Paul Junior Allen, dem call me Junior. Yes, that's easy to understand. But then you have Robert Allen, we call him Chris. You have my brother Damion, but we call him Omoy. You have Leona better known as Fal and Monica who we call Fay. This continues for generations upon generations until people don't remember their real names. Me believe mi get the name Paul Junior because me father figet seh him did name Winston. Good thing, because I don't care much for the name Winston. It doesn't suit me.

Any way, before I get distracted, I was three. Big ole cry cry baby at the time. My bigger cousins used to tease me this minute then hug up and kiss me the next. It's the duty of a cousin to do that. That's why I did it to all the little ones that came after me.

I remember Marcia. She wasn't really a cousin by blood but my God we loved her. She came from town with her mother one day and just stayed. Oren and the bigger one dem did understan wah gwaan but I at the time being just three, with bigger concerns in life, like the whereabouts of my one-eyed teddy bear, didn't see through the matter at the time. I still don't know the details.

Amongst Marcia and me and Oren we number about 13 other children running around the yard at one time or the other: Jody, Chris, Kennoy, Stacy, Novadeen, Bobbett, Collett, Daren, Steph... look, for me to give out all the names it is going to be a long list. And furthermore it drag out the story. Let's get to the story!

Our community, Carnie, was a little settling of six or twelve other families in the middle of a mountain-side. Two little churches -Welcome United Pentecostal Church and Carnie Baptist Church held the people together, though divided on matters of the after-life. There wasn't much else to do here besides play cricket in the streets; catch a few pigeons and marble doves in calabans or better yet shoot them with catapults; eat apples, oranges, pears, Naseberries, Guavas and Jackfruits from seemingly wild-growing fruit trees through the seasons. Now looking back there was a lot to do there! I always thought the Great Nanny of the Maroons only lived a few hills back from us as I recall the telling of the stories of our Heroine in school. She must have! This was the hilly place the slaves took refuge in!

Our school was a good little school, the only one around. In fact, we had to walk all the way to Clydesdale to get there -the Clydesdale Primary School they called it. Clydesdale was a better community though. We envied them for their fancier houses and the simple fact that they were closer to Charlton than we were. Charlton, or as stush people say, "Alexandria", is where civilization began. Cars and buses and a bustling square filled with people going about their business. I wouldn't know of this place until I was 10 years old.

My story continues when I have the time to tell it. Stick around will you?