From far away, the workers look like ants in the field. - Photos by Robert Lalah

At the well decorated Bar on the Bump, a small but cosy drinking spot just off the roadway in Golden Grove, St Thomas, Maas Ainsley walks in with a handful of coins.

He's about 60 years old and is dressed in blue jeans, a well-ironed shirt and a cap that hides most of his face. "Gimmi a hot beer deh, dawta," said he to the woman behind the counter. Now she's a pleasantly plump woman who smiles with her eyes and has teeth as white as chalk. She was wearing what looked like a nightgown and slippers, and was leaning lazily on the counter.

Lively exchange

"Di hat beer dem done. We ongle have cold beer," she replied without moving. "Lawd Jeezas, man! Wah mek yuh haffi put all a dem inna di fridge? Mi sinus caan tek di cold one yuh know man!" Maas Ainsley shouted, his nose crinkling with anger.

"Hello! Yuh tink a you alone mi a sell fah? Yuh tink mi a work wid you?" the woman retorted, standing up straight.

"Alright! Just gimmi di beer and mek mi gwaan," Maas Ainsley cut her off abruptly. The woman shuffled over to the refrigerator while Maas Ainsley grumbled under his breath. She handed him the bottle of beer in exchange for a wrinkled bank note and he walked out of the bar without saying another word. It was outside that I caught up with him and introduced myself.

"Hello Sar. My name is Ainsley," he said, carefully wrapping the bottle of beer in a sheet of newspaper and tucking it into a small black bag he was carrying over his left shoulder. I asked him if he was from the community and he chuckled. "Well, nuh really. Mi live dun di road, but mi a do some work over site deh, so mi come hold a one beer fi cool out," he said. As we walked, I noticed a large cane field next to the roadway.

In the heat of the day

There was a handful of persons some distance away on the field who seemed to be hard at work. They certainly were moving around a lot, but they were so far away, I could hardly tell for sure. I asked Maas Ainsley about this. "Yeah man. Dem a clean out di weed and dem ting deh," he said. It seemed a terribly difficult task, especially in light of the blistering heat. I said my goodbyes to Maas Ainsley, who was still complaining about the cold beer, and took a turn into the cane field. "Alright tek care, mi just a go wait fi di beer warm up and den mi will have a drink," he said.

I passed a sign with the words Duckenfield Farm written on it and, as I walked through the cane field, I got a better look at the group of workers. There were about four men and five woman who were all wearing long sleeved shirts and hats. Some of the women wore scarves as well. As I approached, the group started eyeing me suspiciously. I called out a greeting and the woman closest to me responded.

"Howdy," she said, waving. I stopped and introduced myself and she told me to call her June. I asked her what they were doing there in the field which I realise now, was a silly question. June looked at me blankly and then said dryly, "Well, wi working Sar".

As she spoke with me, the others in the field went back to work. I asked her if she lived in the community. "Yes man, mi live down deh so," she said, pointing behind me. "Mi soon go down deh too. Ah hope Pansy tek up di clothes from off a di line, for it look like rain a go fall," she said, looking up to the sky.

I asked her how she liked living in the community. She chuckled. "Mi nuh really like it, but a yah so mi live. A just so. If mi did have di money mi woulda live a town. Mi love di excitement and di light dem. Down yah so too quiet fi me bawba, but mi a gwaan work wid it," she said.

"More time mi tek bus and go a town go cool out, but it so dear now! Mi alright still, mi a gwaan work wid it," she said. With that, June smiled and quietly went back to work.

robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com