Katani's Jamaican Holiday

by Annie Bryant

  “Look!” she exclaimed, pointing to the window. A light rain had started. “We can’t go to Ol’ Madda Bird’s house now. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow night,” she pouted.

  I felt like I had just received a “get out of jail free” card.

  CHAPTER 12

  Hitting the Books

  In the morning, Olivia woke me up very early. “Selvin is coming for us at six thirty—you must get up,” she urged as I rolled over. I couldn’t even imagine anyone in Boston getting up at five o’clock for school. I felt like I was living in the olden days, but I didn’t want to hurt Olivia’s feelings and tell her I was too tired to go to school.

  I yawned my way through getting dressed. Remembering Sunday morning, I asked Olivia if there was any special dress code for visitors. She, of course, was wearing her uniform.

  “Jeans will be fine for you,” she told me. “And wear your sneakers.”

  Olivia had already packed her costume in her bag—a girl after my own heart: organized and ready to go. Since we hadn’t been able to go looking for the necklace the night before, I had the time to use a little Kgirl magic (and a needle and thread) on Olivia’s green blouse to make all the changes she wanted. It came out looking fab, if I do say so myself.

  “Your grandma already gone to Bliss Bakery,” Enid informed me when I came into the kitchen. Enid had prepared heaping bowls of porridge made from green bananas for breakfast. It seemed that the banana—ripe and green—could be used to make all sorts of dishes. I was hungry, so I had some of the porridge, which was filling. But oh, for a bowl of cool, crunchy Oatios!

  Olivia breezed through the porridge and followed it with two slices of bread and butter. She ate like Avery, the most athletic of the BSG, piling it on and enjoying every mouthful. When we were leaving, Olivia reminded Enid that she had promised to check on the goats for her, especially the young kids. I heard Enid grumbling softly, but she promised. Enid was like me: She wasn’t a big fan of goats, especially Spotty.

  On the way to school Olivia told me that her school was named the North Coast High School. She went on to explain that the high schools in Jamaica go from grades seven to eleven, and an additional two years in something they call sixth form, or “pre-college,” in some schools. Olivia was in grade 7B. “You will see, Katani, that it is the best grade in the whole school.” She laughed and tugged my braid.

  “How many kids are in your class?” I asked as we made our way through the playground.

  “Forty,” she replied, like forty kids in a class was nothing. “Forty kids,” I gasped. “How does one teacher keep everyone under control?”

  Olivia turned very serious. “Wait until you meet my teacher—she’s totally in charge. No one would dare misbehave.”

  Kids were streaming into the school, a two-story building with an open quadrangle and an inner space planted with blooming shrubs. Concrete slabs formed the walkways between the plants, connecting one building to the next.

  “Different grades take turns being responsible for this space,” Olivia told me. “Everybody is really proud of it.” I could see why. The garden looked like a professional gardener had designed it. I wondered if any students at Abigail Adams would be willing to plant and maintain a garden at our school. It seemed like kind of a cool thing to do.

  I noticed a buzzing sound coming from all the rooms as Olivia walked me to her classroom. “All the classes are doing their Black History Month presentations today,” she told me. In every room, students were busy rehearsing their parts and checking their costumes. With so many of them talking at once, I could hardly follow what they were saying, because most of them were speaking patois.

  Olivia brought me into her classroom and introduced me to her homeroom teacher. “Miss Barnett, this is my cousin Katani, who has come from Boston with her grandmother to help out my aunt Faith with the bakery. She has never been to Jamaica before.”

  Some of the kids in the back of the class snickered. I turned and gave them my special Kgirl look—the one that let them know I was in charge. As the new girl for the day, I had to show them that I wasn’t nervous. I really hoped they believed my this is no big deal performance, but I could feel my knees beginning to shake. I should have stayed under those covers! Then, I looked around the room, and one of the boys gave me a friendly nod. I relaxed a bit.

  Charlotte’s had tons of experience being the new kid, and she explained to me once how to handle it. You have to be nice but not too nice, or kids will think you are desperate for friends (which you are), which never works. And if someone talks to you, you have to respond or they will think you are a snob. So I gave the boy a friendly nod back.

  Miss Barnett seemed to be a pleasant person. She was young, wore a light blue short-sleeved suit, and sported long extensions, which she tied at the back of her head. I couldn’t help noticing how people dressed, fashion being my game and all. Comfort seemed to be the main Jamaican fashion statement, and I totally got that. It was so hot most of the time during the day, wearing heavy clothes would be silly. And there was no air conditioner. Instead, the classrooms were cooled by overhead fans.

  As soon as I sat down I whipped out my Island Inspiration Notebook. I kept glancing up at Miss Barnett’s outfit and the uniforms of all the students as I wrote.

  Miss Barnett clapped once, and everyone sat down. I almost fell out of my chair when I heard how the students talked to the teacher. They were super polite, saying “Yes, Miss” and “No, Miss” to everything, and there were NO wise comments coming from the back of the room—something that sometimes happened at my school. Everyone was quiet, sitting up straight and paying attention. The boys in my class at home would not believe it when I told them this story. I could hear Henry Yurt now: “Katani, you belong on the stage, girl.”

  Then it was time for the class presentation, a dramatization of parts of Marcus Garvey’s life. First, a boy named Marius recited one of Garvey’s speeches. Olivia and a group of students followed by singing “Amazing Grace.” The performance was so good I felt like I was watching TV. Olivia’s green blouse looked perfect for her role as Marcus Garvey’s wife, and she remembered all of her lines.

  “Very nice job, everyone,” Miss Barnett declared when the presentation was over. Then she shocked me right out of my gold-trimmed sneakers with the silver shoelaces. “Katani, would you like to come up front and tell us about Black History Month in America?”

  I looked at her, and she smiled to encourage me. Standing up in front of a class with kids you know is pretty serious, but standing up in front of kids you don’t know is nightmare city. What was I going to say with no time to prepare? I walked slowly to the front of the room and turned around. The boy who had nodded earlier smiled at me. Suddenly, I felt okay. Maybe what I had to say would be of interest to the class.

  “Well, as you know,” I began slowly, trying desperately to think of something intelligent to say. “Black History Month is a celebration of the contributions African Americans have made to the development of the United States and the whole world. In America, people sometimes say we are a…a…” I froze. What was that word people always use to describe America? With everybody staring at me, I couldn’t concentrate! Breathe, Kgirl, I told myself. I took a deep gulp of air and went on, “…a ‘melting pot’ of a lot of different peoples from all over the world. African Americans are one of those groups, and during Black History Month we celebrate our culture with concerts, lectures, exhibitions, and…you know…that kind of stuff.”

  Okay, so far so good. But I was sort of out of things to say. The silence in the room was getting reeeeally long, so I just started blabbing the first thing I thought of.

  “Maybe countries all over the world should also put aside a special month, or a week, or even a day, to learn the history of all the different peoples on our planet, as well. Because…um…the more we know about one another, the better we understand one another, and this can lead to a more tolerant and…uhhh…peaceful world,” I ended. I thought
I sounded kind of lame. I was really eager to sit down.

  Miss Barnett seemed to understand that I was nervous. Everyone clapped politely, and she told me thanks on their behalf.

  “What Katani has said is in keeping with Jamaica’s own national motto: ‘Out of many, one people,” she said. “And she is right. The more we learn about one another; the more we understand one another; the more tolerant we become.” When I returned to my seat, I figured that I had made a fool of myself. I buried my head in a book about Jamaican history, which turned out to be very interesting. I didn’t even hear Olivia when she walked up to tell me it was time to go outside for recess.

  “That was a good little speech,” she said, obviously trying to make me feel better. “I can give you a tour of the school now, if you want.”

  “Sure,” I agreed gratefully. I couldn’t wait to escape from her classroom, the scene of my completely embarrassing public-speaking moment.

  We walked along the veranda that ran the length of the buildings, bumping into other kids as they chatted with their friends. The scene was just as crowded and crazy as the halls at AAJH.

  At the end of one of the buildings, Olivia took me inside the school library, a large room filled with shelves of books. We walked over to a big history section with books about American history and Jamaican history and culture. “I wish I’d brought you here before the presentations today, Katani,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I agreed. “Then I might have had something better to say!”

  “My favorite is the fiction section, though,” Olivia went on, guiding me over to another part of the big room. “School-books are kind of boring to me, but I love reading stories about people in other parts of the world.”

  “Have you read Let the Circle Be Unbroken?”

  “No, I’ve never heard of it. Is it good?”

  I couldn’t believe it! Olivia had never even heard of one of my favorite books! “Yes, it’s really good. It’s all about these kids growing up in Mississippi during the Depression. I bet you have it here in the library. Let me look.” I scanned the shelves until I found the “T” section for Mildred D. Taylor, the author. I couldn’t believe it again. The book wasn’t there.

  “Too bad.” Olivia sounded disappointed. “It seemed like a good story.”

  Suddenly I had one of those super-fabulous, brilliant ideas, a BSG change-the-world kind of thing, but I wanted to discuss it with Grandma Ruby and my friends at home before I even told Olivia. This library needed books. We could get people to donate their favorite books and send them to Olivia’s school. Maybe they could even send some of their favorites to us, too, like an international book exchange. I would send Let the Circle Be Unbroken, Charlotte would definitely send Charlotte’s Web (her all-time favorite), Avery would probably send the bio of a sports star or something…I could totally see it all coming together in my head.

  CHAPTER 13

  Ol’ Madda Bird by Night

  It’s hard waiting for time to pass when you want to get something over with that you really don’t want to do—like sneaking into a witch’s yard in the middle of the night, for example. Dinner seemed to take forever that night. The adults were chattering away. They wanted to hear all about my experience at Olivia’s school. Grandma Ruby, of course, was very interested. I wondered why they didn’t notice how restless Olivia and I were. Finally, we announced that we were tired from the day’s activities at school and we escaped as soon as we could.

  We didn’t change our clothes, but covered up with the sheets in case anyone looked in on us. When we heard Grandma coming, we pretended to be fast asleep. She stood at the doorway for a few minutes. I heard her say, “They must have had quite a day for themselves.”

  We had to wait until they were all settled for the night, and it was a good thing that we did, because Cousin Cecil, who had never checked on us since I was there, also came in. He opened the door and shone a flashlight around the room, then went over and closed the window, which Olivia had left open. It was as if he knew we were planning something and trying to prevent it. Maybe I should just pretend to fall into a deep sleep, I thought, and Olivia will give up this crazy idea.

  But as soon as I heard Cousin Cecil go to his room and there were no more sounds of anyone moving around, Olivia whispered, “Dad never checks on me unless I’m sick. He works so hard during the day that he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. You think he suspects something?”

  “He closed the window,” I pointed out.

  “I oiled the hinges this morning. It won’t make any noise,” she reassured me.

  “Olivia, I’m worried about all this. I think we should just tell your dad….”

  “Katani.” Olivia’s voice sounded desperate. “I can’t. I don’t want to…. I can’t disappoint him. I need to get that necklace back, and everything will be okay,” she pleaded. “Let’s go, now,” she directed, and jumped out of bed.

  I rubbed my eyes and sat up on the edge of the bed. How could I let Olivia down? She had been so nice to me and Grandma Ruby since we’d arrived. I had to help her now. After all, isn’t that what family is all about?

  There were no more sounds in the house. As silently as possible, we put on our sneakers and Olivia grabbed a large flashlight and a small bag. Despite her earlier assurance, the window seemed to creak loudly as she opened it. I shook my head. Not a good sign.

  We waited a bit, but nobody stirred, so Olivia went through first. There was only a short drop to the ground. When it was my turn, I don’t know what happened, but instead of landing on my feet, I fell over backward right onto my backbone and had to stifle the “ouch” that nearly escaped. Olivia gave a little nervous giggle. Again, we stayed frozen for a few minutes.

  As we tiptoed away from the house, Olivia whispered, “Stay on the grass. The gravel makes noise.” Maneuvering through the darkness undetected was so hard. I tried not to breathe.

  We had to walk about a mile to the bakery, and after that, another quarter mile to reach Ol’ Madda Bird’s house along the winding country road. What if someone saw us? What would I tell Grandma Ruby? A pale fingernail moon gave us only a small fraction of light, but Olivia couldn’t turn on the flashlight until we were well away from the house. The banana trees along the way seemed even more eerie than usual. There was no breeze, so they stood dark and still, looking like they didn’t approve of what we were doing. I hugged myself, thinking, Go home…go home… I wondered if I could get Olivia to turn back.

  Too late! The end of the driveway was in front of us. Then I heard a rustling sound. Before I could whisper, “What’s that?” two shining orbs appeared. I ran for the bushes, and Olivia shone the light in that direction.

  “Spotty!” Olivia exclaimed softly. “Come back, Katani.” She spoke firmly to the goat. “How you get away? Go back to your pen!”

  I don’t know why—maybe he didn’t like the way she spoke to him. Maybe he had never met any humans at night. Maybe he thought he was a watchdog—but whatever it was, he started pawing the ground, then lowered his head as if in anticipation of something to come.

  “Run!” Olivia whispered. I didn’t need to hear that twice. We ran down the rest of the driveway and onto the road, with Spotty charging behind us. When we reached the gate he simply stopped, turned around, and headed back to the house. Olivia started giggling. “That’s one weird goat,” she commented, shaking her head.

  I didn’t think it was funny, but we didn’t have time to talk about Spotty the Psycho Goat. We set off, this time almost jogging. We really wanted to get this over with. Talk about dark and creepy! Once, we heard a car coming and hid in the bushes, with me praying there were no more Spottys around.

  Finally we reached the bakery and crept past on the other side of the road, where the shadows hid us from view. There was a dim light coming from Selvin’s house. As we turned onto the lane to Ol’ Madda Bird’s house, I had a sudden thought that made my belly flip-flop.

  “What about h
er crazy old dog?” I asked Olivia.

  “I’m ready for him,” she replied, and took something out of the bag she was carrying. From the smell, I realized it was cooked meat. I heard the grin in her voice. That girl was a born spy. She thought of everything! Olivia was actually enjoying this, while I was feeling almost faint from anxiety!

  We could barely see without the flashlight, but she didn’t turn it on. We held hands and walked quickly. As bad as it felt to be doing this, there was something special about sharing this secret together. And then we were in front of Ol’ Madda Bird’s yard, which, like the others on the road, was in total darkness.

  “Good! She’s gone to bed,” Olivia confirmed.

  We cautiously lifted the latch on her gate. No sound from the dog. Phew. All of a sudden I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I hadn’t even realized that I had been holding my breath. Quietly we crept up the little walkway, which was mostly grass. We reached the steps, and Olivia shone the light where we had last seen the necklace. It wasn’t there! I looked at Olivia. “Okay, we’re done here,” I whispered. What would we do now?

  But that girl Olivia went closer and shone the light over the veranda. We both froze when her light ran over Ol’ Madda Bird, fast asleep in her chair, her head leaning to one side, her shades halfway off her face, and a piece of wood that she must have been carving lying on the floor beside her. I don’t know why neither of us had thought earlier that since she was blind, Madda Bird didn’t need to have a light on even if she hadn’t gone to bed.

  Her mangy dog was also asleep not far from her. My eyes bugged out of my head, and I grabbed Olivia’s arm. The necklace was right beside him! Olivia stepped toward him carefully.

  Creeeeeeeeak! Disaster! The dog opened one eye, then the other, and began to growl. Ol’ Madda Bird sat up. “Who’s it?” she asked loudly. I could hear that she was afraid. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. What were we doing here? Olivia waved the meat around, then threw it to the other side of the veranda and whispered hoarsely, “Fetch.” The dog got confused for a moment, then it went for the meat. Olivia ran up the steps, grabbed the necklace, raced back down, grabbed my hand, and whispered, “Run!”