"Watch good now, yuh know, bwoy!" Gerry watched carefully, as urged by his grandfather, the correct way to put the potato slip into the hole. Sometimes he wondered if he really wanted to know these things or if he was just learning because he didn't want to disappoint his grandfather.
"Doan follow dem odda young bwoy, Gerry. Believe mi when mi seh everything a go come back, an everybody afi go come back to the lan." This was his grandfather's favourite entreaty. But how was he going to get the kind of life he wanted if he stuck with the land?
He remembered joining the group of boys ganged in mutual admiration of the vehicle of Miss Maisie's daughter's latest boyfriend. It was a Ford F-150. He liked trucks, not cars. He had said to Martin that he was going to buy one just like it. Martin had shrieked with laughter and summoned the attention of the other boys to what he obviously thought was a great joke.
"Buy it wit wha', Gerry? Yuh tink two likle yam hill can buy dis?"
Gerry had scowled and watched as the other boy collapsed and rolled on the ground in a fit of mirth. "Farma bwoy nuh buy dem tings yah, unless a ganja yuh a go plant!"
Ganja? No, he wouldn't plant ganja. For a while after his mother had left them, he and his grandfather had shared the house with his elder brother Jaimie. Jaimie had gone to seek whatever fortune was out there beyond "the bush" and fallen in with what Granpa called "the bad boys". It wasn't known for sure, but it was said that Jaimie's friends sold ganja and had guns. Jamie had been shot by police in a 'shootout'.
He gave his grandfather his full attention once more. The wiry old man was bent over the hole into which he was inserting the potato slip, sweat coursing the runnels of his face in the afternoon sun.
The next day at school, Gerry was told that all third formers would have to make a choice of the subjects they wished to pursue in fourth form. The importance of their choices was stressed by the vice-principal as "the means by which you'll all become productive members of the society".
Bybrook High was a technical school and in years gone by young men had traditionally chosen agricultural science as one of the several subjects they wished to acquire passes in for CXC and CSEC. But Gerry did not know what to choose. Some of his friends were choosing a mix of business subjects and others, such as technical drawing or electrical technology. Gerry wanted to please his grandfather, but pleasing him might not be the same as helping him. When Granpa got older, would a living from the land sustain both of them?
His grandfather had a simple dinner ready when he got home. They chewed their roast breadfruit in silence. Then his grandfathersaid: "Ah hear unnu should be choosing what unnu want to study, an dat wi help unnu become what unnu want. Marcia was ova here tellin mi shi don't wha fi har likkle dunce-head bwoy going to study. Yuh choose what yuh want?"
"Yes, Gramps," Gerry replied, "business studies and entrepreneurship."
He held his head down as he said this, not wanting to see the disappointment in his grandfather's eyes.
His grandfather stirred the corned pork and ackee on his plate but said nothing. Gerry wondered if his grandfather knew that this was not what he wanted to choose either. He wanted to study science, a follow-up career which would surely take more time and money to pursue and to become profitable than he would like. But he was doing this for his grandfather, too.
The following week they were assigned new classes, and then they were out for the summer. He no longer spent long hours with his grandfather in the field, learning the rules of planting and how to love the land. No, he went into town and spent the days at the parish library (much to the ridicule of his friends), then came home and joined a late game of football or cricket.
One day, as he was leaving the library with the assistant librarian to buy a patty and soda for lunch, a dark blue SUV pulled to the curb and a trim man in uniform got out. While the man greeted and spoke to the librarian, Gerry idly inspected the vehicle. Silver block capitals spelt RADA and, beneath that, Ministry of Agriculture.
"So, you're at summer school, young man?"
Gerry realised the man was addressing him. "No sir, just reading at the library. What does that word mean, sir?" He continued before the man could respond to his previous answer.
"RADA? It's an acronym, meaning the Rural Agricultural Development Authority. I work there as an agricultural technical officer."
Gerry was interested. "What do these officers do, sir?"
"Well," the man shifted restlessly. "We're basically responsible for researching and providing advice to farmers on technical issues relating to agriculture. We test the soil and experiment with various treatments in order to access which ones help better growth and yield. And we help to find out what causes plant and animal diseases."
"So that means you have to study sciences too? How long does this take?"
"Yes, we are scientists and we study for up to four years, depending."
Gerry wanted to know depending on what, but the librarian was glancing impatiently at her watch now. He wanted to know one more thing. "So, where you study this, sir?"
"You're certainly very interested and so early, too. I studied at the College of Agriculture, Science and Education in Portland. You'd do this area good, young man, if you are still interested three years from now. I'll let you get your lunch now." And he moved off to the FedEx office beside the library.
That night Gerry could hardly sleep, he was so excited. If the man was right, he could study both the things he and Granpa wanted and in a reasonable number of years. He would visit school tomorrow and ask the vice-principal's advice and see if he could change his choices.
The next evening, his grandfather watched him, perplexed, as he slipped under the barbed wire fence into the field. Gerry's face was glowing with enthusiasm. "Gramps, I have something to tell you. Yuh tink yuh can show me how to dig the yam hill now?"
- Kimmisha Thomas
