Robert Lalah, Staff Reporter
Not much going on. A bird's eye view of Balaclava main road. - NORMAN GRINDLEY/DEPUTY CHIEF PHOTOGRAPHER
NOW, I'm as peace-loving as the next guy, but last week when someone came up to me out of the blue and said, "You need to go to Balaclava," I had an urge to tell him he needed to go suck an egg. But luckily, common sense prevailed and I realised that the poor chap was merely referring to that place in St. Elizabeth that I heard a lot about as a child.
Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on the fine people of Balaclava. But I was a bit troubled for a while, wondering if I should go. You see, when I was younger, people got beat up for spreading rumours that other people were from either Mocho or Balaclava. I remember one infamous eye-poking incident between a girl and my best friend, all because of the same thing. Poor Jermaine never was the same after that.
MALIGNED BALACLAVA
But having had it up to you know where with the frivolities of city life, I thought, why not? It can't hurt. So off to the maligned Balaclava we went. Norman Grindley, photographer and self-proclaimed St. Elizabeth expert, accompanied me.
We got to the breadbasket parish about midday, after travelling for two hours from Kingston. We would have got there sooner, had it not been for an emergency unscheduled stop.
Note to self: Never drink an entire bottle of water just before going on a two-hour trip. But that's another matter. Soon, we were on our way again.
We passed through places like Santa Cruz and Brae's River and eventually came across a finger post that showed that Balaclava was just down the road. Finger post. Strange.
A couple minutes later, we were there. The Balaclava Main Road. Now have you ever seen those western movies on television? There's always a scene at some point, with a deserted town with a lone cactus and a sorry-looking tumble weed blowing in the wind. Well that is what Balaclava looked like. It was like the town had been shut down for the day or something.
There was only a handful of persons in what we were told, was the town centre.
We parked the van and got out, attracting open-mouthed stares from everyone. One woman was in the middle of sweeping dirt out of what looked like a clothes store. Seeing us, she stopped, dropped the broom and latched her hands unto her hips, her eyes following us everywhere.
Walking down a line of shops, we noticed three old women sitting together on a little bench at the entrance to 'Cee Jay's Dis n' Dat' store.
All three women were more than 70-years-old. We introduced ourselves. "I am Miss Mavis. This is Miss Samuels and Miss Johnson," replied the woman in the middle.
Miss Mavis looked smart. She was sporting a fancy straw hat and a floral dress. Her skin was dark and her face was pleasant. Miss Samuels had white hair and was a heavy woman with a raspy voice. Miss Johnson had braided hair and was dressed in a blue ankle-length dress.
They made quite a picture, but refused to have it taken. The second Mr. Grindley put the camera to his eye, they put their hands in the air and bellowed;
"Listen Sar! Hello please. I don't like that you know,".
But the three women spoke freely.
Miss Samuels claimed she was the oldest person in all of Balaclava and so knew the place inside out.
"So what's the best thing about your hometown?" I queried.
'Hee Hee,' was the response I got from her.
"We all live good around here. Nobody trouble you. The people is law abiding," said she.
There was a large police station just across the road from where the women sat. "So you hardly have to call the police?" I asked.
It was Miss Mavis who replied this time. "Not at all. The only time is if somebody curse a bad word or something like that, but nothing else. The police man dem are right there and mi nuh even know them,".
This blew my mind. So we said hastened farewells to the women and went over to the police station to investigate. Surely this town could not be that peaceful. There had to have been even a few murders, stabbings or at least a public lynching since the start of the year.
In about ten paces we were over there, demanding to know the truth.
"Nothing like that," Sergeant Ralston Murray replied as he chuckled. He runs the show in the community. He told us that more than 12000 people live across Balaclava. "No murder this year. No shooting either," said he.
There are many days when the policemen have nothing to do. From time to time they are called in to settle things down when a drunken bar-hopper goes home late to his angry wife. But that is pretty much it.
"We are always in the area, the people are respectful and so we hardly have any problems here," the proud Sergeant boasted.
We left the police station amazed and happy.
Just then a portly woman with a bag on her head passed us by. The bag was almost half her size, but she was balancing it with cat-like precision. She was also pulling an igloo behind her with one hand and with the other, she was holding a small handbag. With all this, she still stopped to greet us with a smile and wave.
"The strength of a Jamaican woman," whispered a policeman standing next to me.
We noticed two old men sitting side by side on the steps of a farm supplies shop, just shooting the breeze. Fittingly, the men had machetes and were wearing muddy shoes.
Over to them we went. They were Berney Dudley and John Reid. Two old friends. Farmers, who get up every morning at 5 o'clock and work in their potato fields until two in the afternoon. When we met them, they were on a break.
"Things quiet here man. This is what we do. We work and then relax in the evening," said a smiling John Reid.
The men sell what they can of their produce in the Santa Cruz market. The rest they eat.
We found out that most of the residents of Balaclava are farmers of some sort. Even the young people.
'Management', a tall, slender man who walks with a limp, is one of them. He met us at the 'Zion One Stop Shop' across from the old railway station. He walks around with a small bag full of peppers trying to get a sale wherever he can. "You can survive doing just that?" I asked.
"I am alone, so all I want is a money to have a drink and enjoy myself. That is how we take life easy," he smiled.
It seems that is how the entire Balaclava community takes life easy. No stress, no distress. My kind of town.
Note: To Audrea, from the shop in Brae's River: I really will come back for a visit. Just not anytime soon.
