Sylvia Wynter's Dream

If green was a scent, a sound, a smell or a taste, it would be the small town in Trelawny called Dromilly. Growing up, I knew it as “Drumbilee” or “Jumilee” and that is how I will refer to it.

Take a deep breath. In, 1…2…3…4. Out, 1…2…3…4.

The sharp fragrance of mint and rosemary bushes would hit your nose as soon as you open the front door. The scent would encircle your nostrils with every inhale and exhale of the crisp morning air, as you smell all the green around you like it was the only colour around. The best time for morning tea, whether ginger, moringa, or mint.

Something about the gentle light of the new day’s sun, the crispness of the air around, and the small sounds you only hear when it’s quiet: baby’s first cry, small animals emerging from bushes nearby, windows opening, plants being watered.

As you become more attuned to scents,the smell of the loose gravel of the road would mix in as the town wakes up, people of all shapes bustling on foot to begin their travels. The animals too were awake. The chickens took their rise at 4am, then the dogs began their howling at around 6am.The goats slept later, bleating loudly only at around midday, when those still at home took a break from their chores; all the chopping, sawing, cutting, mowing, sweeping, mopping, dusting. It was noisiest in the day, and at night the quiet was a thick blanket, with the gentle chirping of bugs and frogs in the background.

But, this is when the magic happens.

The house at Drumbilee would smell exclusively of fevergrass and mint after 7pm, the pot on the stove steamed with the ambrosial fragrances of the nighttime blend. The dinner sat on the stove, pot uncovered: rice and peas and fricasee chicken. But even that could not overpower the scent of medicine.

My first interactions with Jamaican traditional medicine and folklore are from here. The dark night drives in my grandfather’s pickup going back to the city, the backseat packed entirely with long stalks of callaloo, fevergrass, jackfruit etc. The scent was overwhelming as a child, it was so green and so strong it would make me nauseous. The drive was a long one on the dirt road, the gravel road crunching beneath the tires was the background sound to the duppy stories that made me so curious as an adult. Trips to Drumbilee meant a week of indulgence afterwards. Even as a child, I grew to understand the importance of the ‘medicine’ I was introduced to. Coconut water, bush tea, fresh air… My culture was taught to me in lessons at school, but I experienced culture almost tangibly in my trips to Drumbilee, where I learnt that nature will heal me, against all odds.