Robert Lalah, Assistant Feature Editor

A lonely home hidden deep in the hills of Portland. - photos by Norman Grindley/Acting Photography Editor

At an out-of-the-way house on a bushy slope somewhere in the hills of east Portland, Archibald Lincoln is peering through a window. "Ah who dat?' he shouted as I approached. I stuttered a response.

"Tan up!" he yelled. "Ah coming out!" I started questioning my decision to approach the house, but since it was the only one that I had seen for miles, I had decided to see if anyone was inside. I was, by the way, pretty much lost and was in desperate need of direction.

The man peering through the window seemed a little creepy but, faced with little option and a quickly diminishing supply of petrol, I had to hang around to meet him. I stood at the same spot for a couple of minutes, until the fellow appeared from behind the house. He walked with a well-pronounced limp and had a head the size of a watermelon. He must have been close to 40 years old.

Seeking directions

"Who is you please?" he asked. I told him my name and that I was simply seeking directions. After looking me over for a while, he seemed to loosen up.

"Ok, Ok. Well my name is Archibald. I don't really live here still. Mi only kotching because hurricane blow down mi likkle place. Mi did was think yuh was from di Government," said he.

I assured him I was not and asked him the name of the area. "Well, yuh really in a place dat dem call Nonsuch. Yes man, but most of di house dem is on the other side. Over here is just me and a few more people," Archibald said, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Yuh have any cigarette?" he asked. I responded in the negative and he seemed gravely disappointed.

Kotching

I asked him who owned the house, since he had already declared that he was just 'kotching'.

"Ah don't know. Mi only see di place and seeing as how it empty and my house mash up, mi just decide fi gwaan stay here," he said, looking around. "Maybe a man soon come tell mi fi leave him place still, so mi nuh too comfortable," Archibald patted the back of his head as he spoke.

I asked him how long he had been staying there.

"Well, is just couple days now. Mi was staying wid mi babymadda, but she too cantankerous. Every minute she ah send man fi go bathe and dem ting deh. Mi a farmer! Mi suppose fi sweat and smell renk!" he said, getting agitated. Not wanting to anger him further, I decided to change the subject by asking him what crops he grew.

Cellphone

"Well, mi plant up likkle potato and pepper. Mi just plant enough fi sell and get a likkle change, for di farming nuh really pay again," he said, still looking around.

At this point, the man's cellphone began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket.

"Hello? Yes. Wah? Woman mi tell yuh seh mi nuh got none! But what is dis? Yuh tan deh!" he shouted, pressed a button on the phone and put it back in his pocket.

He turned to me. "But yuh see mi dying trial? Di woman a call mi fi money fi buy sugar and mi nuh even live deh again! What a piece a out orderness!" he said.

I didn't want to get involved, so I asked Archibald directions out of Nonsuch and soon bid him farewell. As I was walking away, his phone began to ring again. "If yuh call back mi numba, ah gwine fling di phone inna di river!" was the last thing I heard him say.

robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com.

A view of the mountains in Portland

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