Common Ground: My Jamaican Father, Angus

I spent most of my childhood moving around. We lived 12 places by the time I was 13 years old. Starting in a new school every year, I learned to size people up and make friends quickly. Making friends requires drawing on aspects of life that we all share…common ground. At times, the similarities are obvious but sometimes we have to dig really deep to find them.

Of all of the places I’ve been and all of the people I’ve met, I think that Jamaicans are the most interesting, complex people groups on earth. Like peeling an onion, you strip away layer after layer, thinking you’ve finally gotten into the inner core. Finding the common ground can be tricky.

Just as you relax, believing you’ve seen deep “inside,” your eyes tear up and something new emerges.

I remember a scene in a movie where the main character talks about interviewing women in some war-torn country. She asks them about what their lives are like and what most concerns them. Looking at their world from the outside, she expects to hear stories of lost lives, fearfulness about the future and other war related subjects.

Instead, she is shocked to sit down with these women and have them express the sadness they feel because their husband is cheating on them or their boyfriend won’t commit and marry them. Basically, they are worried about the exact same issues as their American counterparts. It strikes her that people are pretty much the same all around the world.

Take my friend, Mr Rupert Angus, for example. I first noticed “Angus,” as he is called, because he drove a scooter past my house every morning at a certain time. Always dressed in clean but worn clothing, he wore bright white sneakers that stood out against his drab attire.

My daughter and I referred to him as “Scooter man” for a month or so. I really had no idea who he was or where he was headed but I admired his drive to “do something” everyday. He was obviously a man beyond retirement age and yet he seemed to have a sense of purpose.

His work ethic stood out against the backdrop of men in my town who love to stand around and do nothing. Drinking rum and smoking pot for hours on end, you have to wonder how these Jamaican men survive, as I describe in this post.

As time went by, I realized that he was selling souvenirs on a corner just down the road from us. We passed him multiple times a day, coming and going from the beach, the shops or meals out. Every time we walked past, he would call out to us. “Hey there, Princesses. Come and chat for a while.”

Knowing that we had already purchased more than our fair share of trinkets over the years, we just smiled, waved and walked on by. But we had to admit that he was a cute little old man with a twinkle in his greying eyes.

Then one evening, as we were walking downtown in the dark, we came upon Angus on the road. His scooter, laden with his crafts, wouldn’t start and he was trying to push it home. We offered to try to help him, but he said there wasn’t anything we could really do. As we walked away, my heart broke to see this sweet little man struggling.

A few weeks later, he saw me in the yard and recognized me. We chatted for a few minutes about his scooter being fixed and, before I knew it, he was my new, toothless grinning friend.

It was several weeks later that I found out that he came to talk to me that day because he “had heard” that I was single!!!  (Which I wasn’t.) I’m not surprised that he had gotten the story about me wrong because he is nearly deaf.

Back then, terrible at guessing ages for Jamaicans, I figured that he was in his late 60’s or early 70’s. He later told me that he thought I was about 40. In his mind, we would have been the perfect match!

Oh my goodness.  It was only recently that I discovered he is actually 80!!!  So, yeah, a 40-year-old is just perfect for an 80-year-old. At least that’s what many Jamaican men believe.

ANYWAY, by this time, my older friend and landlord, Julie, was here visiting, so I jokingly told him I’d set him up with her. We all got a good laugh out of all of it and he sort of became a fixture at my house. Often stopping by for coffee or hanging out to play dominos in the evening, we were quite the trio.

As it turned out, Angus is a devout Christian and when he discovered I wasn’t “wife material,” he began trying to convert me.

The funny part was that I share this common ground of his faith but he just wouldn’t believe me! I have to give him credit, though. The man certainly knows his Bible inside out, even if we disagree on his rather chauvinistic interpretation.

Always offering to help out, he would occasionally give me a lift to the store on his scooter.

His face would be beaming as he rode through town with this “young chick” (me) on the back of his bike. All of the guys in town would shout, “Go Angus!” I was just happy not having to carry my heavy jugs of bottled water back up the hill.

About that time, having Angus come by for coffee had grown into having breakfast with us.

Eventually, he started coming back for dinner in the evening, followed by rousing games of dominos. In a particularly rainy, stormy stretch of days, we decided to let him stay at the house one night rather than driving home in the dark.

I remember that night as he settled in on a spare bed in the living room. Julie and I laughed when she said she felt safer having a man in the house. I pointed out to her that Angus so deaf that he would never hear an intruder!

But as the lights went out, Angus started to pray. He prayed thankfulness for us, for blessings on his family, for health and wisdom.You name it, he asked God for it in the most earnest tone I’ve ever heard prayed.

I felt awkward listening but it was impossible not to hear him as he called out to God. Judging by his volume, he apparently thought God was deaf as well! It was a very comforting thing to hear.

When it came close to the end of my stay, I began thinking about who would watch my dog. Finding someone who actually likes dogs and knows how to care compassionately for them isn’t easy.

 By this time, Angus was practically living at my house. He moved into a small shack behind my house.

Offering to care for my dog and watch over the property for me when I went back to the States, he vowed to take his duties very seriously. Angus repeatedly assured me that nothing would go amiss on his watch, clarifying the plan with me. He would say, “Only one key for the property will be needed. Nobody gets in without me and the one key.”

One of the rather rare Jamaicans who actually love animals, I knew that my dog, Marley, would be well cared for. This was important because I knew Angus would never hear an intruder in the yard so it was really up to the dog!

When I returned a few months later, my dog, Marley, was in great shape.

Nobody had bothered anything in the yard and all seemed under control. Angus was beaming from ear to ear with pride when he saw that I was pleased.

I felt really badly at first, knowing that he was sleeping in the rickety plywood building behind my house. But he recently explained to me that in “my shack” he doesn’t get wet, has electricity, has access to an outdoor shower and a toilet. He insists that this is better than his previous living situation.

These days, although Angus sort of “works for me,” he is really more like my adopted Jamaican father.

I try to check in with him when I’m coming and going. He likes to know that I’m safe and sound, especially after dark. I didn’t think that he really offered me much peace of mind or protection.  Recently, he took off for a few days to go see his sons. Suddenly, by myself on the property, I felt rather exposed and alone!

Angus does actually have four children of his own. Two sons live in Alligator Pond and two daughters live in Spanish Town. He talks to his sons nearly every day and tells me that they want him to come live with them. Angus refuses because he says they want him to just sit with his hands folded all day and that’s no fun.

Lest you think it’s all roses and sunshine, Angus DOES “get vexed” with me.

Once, he vehemently explained to me that “the Bible teaches” that it’s a sin for a woman to dye her hair or wear makeup. Heaven forbid one gets a tattoo…which I already have.

As we reached a boiling over point, I countered with the fact that it must be a sin for him to wear false teeth as well. We both laughed and gave up.

As many people here will tell you, it takes a certain sort of driven personality to make it here. I guess it stands to reason that a lot of the people I meet have strong opinions and beliefs. In fact, I wrote an entire post about the misfits like me that settle here.

A few times, he has gotten a bit peeved with me for not letting him know I was leaving or for coming in and not telling him I’m home. He worries about me.

Additionally, if I don’t spend adequate time with him over the space of a day or two, he will say, “Why yuh toss mi aside?” Ha ha. Yes, he can be a little high maintenance when I’m busy. But he is always telling me what a blessing I am when I bring him a cold drink or fix him a meal.

A day or two before to go back to the States for a while, we sat chatting outside his little stand. He started tearing up, telling me how much he was going to miss me. Then he said, “Yuh know, yuh mi best fren in dis town.” Yep, then I was crying. I’m so glad we took the time to find our common ground and each other.

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