It has taken me many years to realize that I was taken down by my fellow Jamaicans. In the year 2002 after I returned from Florida, I decided to completely immerse myself in my writing.
I began writing online soap opera serials and I also volunteered my time to write for a Jamaican online publication. I developed two monthly serials. One that was called “Travels With My Granny” and the other “Ms. Dulcie”.
The first was about my life traveling up and down with my grandmother as she ministered to the sick and needy in society. The second was based on my collective experiences as a child growing up in Jamaica that lived in an Ivory castle who was sheltered from “normal living”.
I at times came in contact with many characters from the Jamaican diaspora with regional accents. So when writing, I channeled the various characters I met along the way and put them into the character of Dulcimer Peaches Robothom, former dance hall queen turned Radio Announcer.
As I have stated many times before, although I was born in Jamaica my exposure to the world at an early age made me an oddment of sorts as I was birthed in the country as a foreigner.
Growing up I never spoke real Jamaican patois. From a toddler, I had my language and words for things no one had ever heard of. While going to school people sought to be my friend but in a weird way.
I suspected they were mostly drawn to me due to my families’ clout and minted status. But, they treated me gingerly because although I did my best to fit in and speak Jamaican it was clear that they never accepted me.
When I decided to take on the task of writing for a Jamaican publication I never dreamed it would drum up the hatred and wrath of Jamaicans. I wrote many of my articles in standard English as well as patois.
Albeit my patois spellings were a bit rusty but I wrote them as best as I could. Besides patois is broken English anyway so as long as it is phonetically correct the points are well made.
Little did I know that the mean spirited would use my writing endeavors as a way to criticize my education and grammatical skills. My fellow Jamaican’s bad-mindedness spilled over into them calling up my place of business revolting how could I hold such a position when I write like an illiterate ignoramus.
Although Jamaicans themselves, and they are well aware that in every parish in Jamaica people speak and sound differently they did not hesitate to “chegg” up my business endeavors with their bad-mindedness.
To be blunt there isn’t any written in stone way to spell patois. It is written as it sounds. These persons were just being trifling, duplicitous, and envious.
Over the years, there have been American universities that have tried to mainstream patois and its spelling. They are not experts in the language. Only birth qualifies one to be judgmental and create precedence in the language.
I grew up in Kingston and understand patois fairly well. Yet when I visited the country parts I could barely understand some of the dialects. The Ms. Dulcie serial was based on these experiences I encountered with very broken English.
The haters were not done until they wrecked, ruined, and ravaged my life and the fact of the matter was initially I was not being paid to write the articles.
Eventually, readership grew if only for the usage of my surnames and I requested a meager stipend from the Publisher. This experience and the horrific attitude of some of the Jamaican people made me realize that although I was born on Jamaican soil my life has been lived in a foreign manner with British, French, Italian & Scottish Influences.
Almost every aspect of my personality gives homage to any one of these cultures daily. As much as I have shown love for a country that is named on my birth certificate, I know that the majority of the people are not for me.
Recently, I found out that is one of the reasons I was sent to America to live. Although I had a tan, I was too Victorian in nature and ideology and the average Jamaican could not stand it one bit.
I am a true reflection of all my ancestors and this is partly the reason why I also encountered some issues with minorities in America. They believe I am putting on airs when this is the way I have always been since birth.
My parents sent me to England because they felt that was the only culture that could afford and understand me. Even to this day when they get frustrated with my “Victorian ways and thinking” they tease it is time for me to get on the QE2 ship to get on home to England. 🙂
My life has been a very strange journey as I have come to terms with the fact that although folks have tried to pummel me into relishing all things Jamaican I have my likes and dislikes about the culture.
From a child, there were only a few foods I indulged in. The truth be told as a youngster I had allergies to rice and peas. In those days that was unheard of but that was me in all my shining glory.
I also found out that the reason I turned red like red gold or bronze in the sun was that I am allergic to the sun. I used to get so red as a child that it earned me the nickname “Red”.
I would be red complected with gold hair. An odd sight to see in Jamaica in those days. Even now I have to wrap up when going into the sun as if I am a dry land tourist. My haters think I am trying to be extra, attention-seeking, or making myself more special than I need to be.
They do not understand that I once became gravely ill due to too much sun exposure. Even today I am dealing with the after-effects of being exposed to the sun while living in Florida.
In my middle ages, I am finding out what my grandmother meant when she told me, “One day you will realize how special you are.”
I often hoped she did not mean it in a special K kind of way. As time progresses I understand why I was groomed to take my time and watch and observe where I belonged.
I was also told from an early age that if I married young it would be hell and bacchanal because I am a lot of worlds wrapped up in one person. There are not too many persons who can deal with someone of my make-up.
I often thought life would be fair and that people would embrace me just because we are family, hailed from the same region, or because I am a good person.
I am finding out that to be happy you really should only embrace those who truly love and adore you even if they hail from some remote region in the world.
Chegg or Chegg Up: Jamaican for spoil or mess up.
Fighting For My Life Memoir 