The Jeffreyville Methodist Church in Clover Hill, St Ann. - photo by Robert Lalah

It was on a windy, cool afternoon earlier this week that I met Miss Agatha; a short, stocky woman wearing knee-high cotton socks and a scarf, sweeping the walkway leading to the Jeffreyville Methodist Church on Clover Hill in St Ann.

"Hello please," said she, quizzically, as I approached her. I returned the greeting and introduced myself.

"Right man, welcome to here man. Make yourself at home among us, but pardon me while mi finish sweep up di place," said Miss Agatha as she dexterously manoeuvred the broom in her hand. The woman barely lifted her head and kept her eyes focused on something on the ground the entire time.

What exactly it was that she was focusing on or, for that matter, what it was that she was sweeping, I remain unsure (there was not as much as a single leaf on the ground). However, Miss Agatha explained that keeping the churchyard clean was among her top priorities in life.

Know God house

"People must see God house and know is God house from far. How mi fi deh yah and mek people pass and wonder how God house so dutty? No man! A crosses and shame mi woulda a call down pon miself! Mi caan tek dem deh embarrassment deh bredda," she said, the wrinkles in her forehead becoming more pronounced with every exclamation.

A teenage boy in a sweatshirt and a girl about the same age, who were walking together across the road, broke out into laughter. It was a private joke between them, but Miss Agatha seemed annoyed by the interruption.

"If you fi lef it up to di young people dem, den di churchyard woulda never clean," she said to me, but loud enough for them to hear even as they continued on their way down the road. Miss Agatha turned her attention back to me.

"Life caan go so you know mi son. Life caan go so. You caan just git up every day and go dancehall and talk pan you cellphone and think dat is what life is. No man! You haffi serve di Creator! Oh yes!"

I could tell that Miss Agatha was in her element. Her eyes widened and she seemed excited. "For on that day, when the trumpet shall sound and the dead in Christ shall rise, I will be there! Oh yes!"

I was getting a bit uncomfortable.

"For when the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there." The woman seemingly forgot all about her chore and now the broom in her hand seemed more like the rod of correction as she hurled castigation upon the non-believers.

"For one day dem will know dat is only one God govern di earth and on that day dem will look in his face and see the glory of the living God. Oh yes!"

Witnessing a sermon

By now I felt like I was witnessing a sermon, but with my task of finding out more about the community still unsettled, I changed the subject. A bold move to be sure but, luckily, I was not rebuked for it.

"So tell me about the community," said I, nervously.

"Well, yes, you know. From mi was a lilly pickney mi live here so and it all right," she said in her distinct, raspy voice. "It fur from everything. All the noise and frustration. We deh high up, so we always a get rain. It very quiet and ting though, so if you love the noise, dis is not di place fi you," she said, giving me a lookover.

I felt pressed to stand straight whenever she looked at me.

The church we were standing in front of was immaculate and, in confirmation of Miss Agatha's words, I heard only a few birds in the distance. Otherwise, silence.

"Hello, you lost?" Miss Agatha snapped me out of a daze. I was thinking how easy it would have been to drift off to sleep up there.

"Right beside the church we have the school," she said, seemingly annoyed at my silence. I was surprised that there was a school there, in light of how quiet things were.

"You have bout 400 pickney go there. It not big like di town school dem, but di pickney dem bright! Is just as cheap di town people dem send dem pickney up here, for di teaching just as good," she boasted.

The rumble of thunder interrupted Miss Agatha, and suddenly it started to rain. She waved me off as I was about to say something and, as she retreated to the shelter of the church, she shouted: "Tek care young boy! Mi old, mi caan tek wet up!"

robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com