I have been
thinking a lot lately about just what it means to be a Paraminian. What is Paramin
tradition and culture? What deeper
meaning and purpose is there to be found in the legacy that is attached to that
tradition and culture? What are we
really giving up in the name of progress? What will we leave behind so our children
and their children will know to hold close to their hearts the love of this place
we all call home.
As a
child I never thought of myself as poor even though our home lacked the
amenities that are now considered essential utilities in every modern home. It
was the very lack of these amenities that gave rise to the sense of community
that shaped my childhood. No electricity and in house pipe water meant playing games
in the front yard that lasted well into the night with my extended family and
the other children who lived in my neighborhood of Bamboo. This naturally grew
into river limes for carrying water, bathing, walking home form school, and
eventually into teenage romances. Spending endless hours in someone’s else’s
home only to hear my mother’s voice calling my name, then the response from the
adult of the house, he here, followed by
my mother’s reply ay ay so he by you. No
sound of panic that I was lost, or hunt, or hungry, or worse. No demand that I
come home because I had overstayed my welcome. These things did not seem to
happen back then. Helping my mother wash clothes in Jah Poe Poe on Saturdays
introduced me to the secret language and the ways of the adult women in my
community. My parents need to stretch their dollars instilled in me a love for
simple earthly foods like home made bread, bake, split peas soup, ground
provision, wild meat, and fresh fish.
