This roadside shop is the hot-spot in Golden Spring, St Andrew. - photo by Robert Lalah

In a small, roadside shop in Golden Spring, St Andrew, Earnest James, who readily answers to the name Toe Point, is searching for a $5 coin in the pockets of his tattered, green trousers. In front of him, Annette, the 20-something-year-old shopkeeper, is getting increasingly annoyed.

"Bwoy dawta, I don't know wah happen to di last five dalla. Mi sure mi did have it," said Toe Point, even while searching for the money. Annette rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. On the counter between the two was a box of cow's milk. Annette placed her hand on the box and pulled it closer to herself. "Den dawta, yuh couldn't just trust mi di likkle milk? Lawd man! How yuh a move so?" the man said.

Yuh love trust too much

Annette rolled her eyes again and put the box of milk back in the refrigerator behind her. "Yuh love trust too much! Is not even fi mi place. Wah yuh waan mi tell Missa Chin when him ask mi 'bout it? Yuh think mi can tell him seh mi trust yuh? Yuh mad?" she retorted. "Mi have my pickney dem fi feed and a nuh yuh a put my pot pan fire, so clear off!"

The exchange went on for another few minutes. In the end, a beaten Toe Point realised he would be drinking no milk today and sheepishly sauntered out of the shop. There was no electricity, and even though outside, gunmetal-grey rain clouds threatened to erupt at any second, inside the shop was hot, so Annette sat back in her chair and cursed the heat.

"Every day rain set up and none nuh fall. Di place just hot so and Missa Chin wouldn't even buy a fan put inna di place," she said to herself. I walked over to the woman and introduced myself. "Hello please?" she said, seeming surprised by my sudden appearance. I told her I was interested in finding out more about the area.

"Well, yuh nah go find out much. Golden Spring nah gwaan wid nothing right now," she quipped. At this point, in walked Sister Josephine Blackwood, deacon and first elder of the nearby African Apostolic Church of the Reincarnated God. Now, a more dedicated deacon you will not find. Sister Josephine uses every opportunity to try her hand at increasing the size of the church's congregation, which, I was told, currently stands at 15 persons, all of whom are over 50 years old.

"Lawd, dis yah mad one yah now," Annette whispered under her breath.

"Good morning, one and all," proclaimed Sister Josephine. She was dressed in a long, red robe and her head was wrapped with a white cloth. She wore thick framed spectacles and carried a black book, which I assumed was a Bible, in her right hand. "I come to purchases one pound of baking flour, and in so doing, I wishes to tell you of the great work of the living God," she said. Annette rolled her eyes. "What yuh rolling yuh yeye dem for?" Sister Josephine was peeved. "Every day is di same sinting. I trying to save yuh soul from eternal damnation and yuh acting like a fool," Sister Josephine was shouting now.

"Hello, mi did tell yuh dat mi want yuh fi save mi?" Annette retorted.

"I come to save anybody who does need di saving and since yuh decide to live in sin, I come to let you know that dat is not the way!" Sister Josephine said, waving her hands in front of her.

"Look yah nuh man, just teck what yuh need and leave mi in peace," Annette replied, looking annoyed.

"I rebuke you!" Sister Josephine was not pleased and walked out of the shop chanting psalms and parables, denouncing non-believers.

Same sinting every day

"Every day a di same sinting! Nobody nuh waan go a fi har church. Mi nuh know why she nuh just stop try," Annette mumbled.

When she had calmed down, somewhat, I resumed asking her about the community. "Well, Golden Spring is a nice likkle out- of-town place. Nothing too bad about it. Di people dem keep to demself and ting. It alright," she said.

By now, the clouds had opened up outside and the rain started something fierce. Annette had to attend to a leak in the roof so I quickly said goodbye and hustled outside. In my rush, I ran by Sister Josephine who was standing under a bus shed, still proclaiming the woes that would soon befall all non-believers.

robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com