Christine NunesTHE HERD of cows wandered slowly and deliberately down Waterworks Road. When I left my house they had reached to the bit of open land at the bottom of the road, just above the Constant Spring one-way system. The cowherd leaned negligently on the broken down fence and I just could not resist the impulse to stop and question him.
He appeared to be in his late thirties, quite tidy, but bearded and dressed in well-worn shirt and trousers, and clumsy water-boots.
"What do you do with the cows?" I asked him.
"Me just have them," he answered.
"Well, do you sell the milk?" was my next question.
"Don't have no milk, now," he replied.
"When the cows are giving milk, do you sell it?" I persevered.
"No, ma'am," he told me "de calf dem just suck it."
"Then how do you live?" I asked. "Do you sell the cows for beef?"
"Sometimes the butcher at Golden Spring buy one."
"How much do you get for a cow?"
"Dat young bull over there, well, las' year me sell one like him for twenty-five thousand dollar."
By this time, I am sure the young cowherd thought that this white lady was quite crazy, but he was very patient with me.
"How many cows do you sell in a year?" was my next question.
"Well, right now, me have dat young bull and later on, one odder young bull."
"How many cows do you have?" This was like pulling teeth.
"Fourteen mi have right now."
"Well, do you own a piece of land to keep them on?"
"Not rightly, but my step-mother have a piece of land down below Spring, and me keep them in the back."
I had to move on, for there were cars behind me, but I wanted to ask so many other questions. I wanted to know if he did anything else but look after the cows. Did he have children? What does he do in between times to live? Shaking my head, I went on my way. Even if he sells two cows in a year for $50,000, that works out to less than $1,000 per week.
The questions keep coming. Is the rest of the society supposed to provide land and fodder to feed the cows? Is it right that he should maintain a herd of cows in the midst of the city? What of his neighbours, do they complain of the inconvenience of having cows living near to them? Imagine the smell!
He is not alone. My grandchildren have recently been visiting me, from their home in Florida. Their major impression? There are lots of wild animals in Jamaica, goats, cows and pigs. I drove them from the airport along the new Harbourside Highway. Someone near to the junction of Gold Street and Harbour Street keeps pigs, and they wander all over the road. My six-year-old granddaughter was most impressed. She is a fan of the Pooh stories and she was thrilled to see "a real live Piglet."
I keep considering the lilies of the field, how they grow. And that to live in Jamaica is now to live in squalid splendour.
Christine Nunes is an
occasional contributor.
