Sylvia Wynter's Dream

I remember going to Grandma’s house in the country every Summer with my sister and two cousins. We would spend weeks upon weeks there before we had to head back to town for school. The first thing you would be greeted by was the many potholes as you turned onto her roads. My father always tried his best to avoid them but ultimately we would fall in them one after the other. I would jump out of the car and smell the flowers and the ocean in the air before going to open the gate that they closed with a chain since my cousin lost the key to the lock one Summer. The rattling of the chains as I unraveled it made me realize that we were here and my Summer had finally begun. I had to be careful while pushing open the white stripped gate because it was covered in rust and broken parts as a result of the aging. Then my father drove in. I turned my attention to the yellow and white painted house that was also stripping and burnt out but was our home for many Summers. The grass had overgrown as usual ready to leave us with itchy skin once again. My Grandma’s mango tree still stood tall and had no shortage of fruit. The garden that bordered the house all the way around was still healthy, filled with shrubs, poinsettias and hibiscuses among many other pink, red and blue petalled flowers and breadfruit and ackee trees around the back. We unloaded the car with our many bags (since we never packed light), then it was time to head inside the house.

After ascending the three steps to the varanda, you have to be careful when opening the small gate also covered in rust and broken parts. Many injuries were caused by it. After walking past the two plants by the doorway, you get a whiff of assorted seasoning. You could never tell what Grandma was cooking, only that it smelled delicious and you were in for a tummy full. The living room looked different every time because of my aunt’s tendency to redecorate. There was always some new fake plant tucked away in the corner of the living room beside the gray wrapped couches. You have to be careful not to trip over the hassocks on the way in. The television, of course, was on the Young and The Restless – my Grandma’s favourite soap opera – and it was turned all the way up so she could hear it from the kitchen. My aunts usually embrace us in warm hugs and complement us on how big we’ve gotten. Then we make our way to the kitchen to the right of the house through the dining room. The scent of seasoning became stronger as you neared the kitchen allowing you to take a guess of what she was cooking. Grandma is there in the small kitchen with a counter and fridge cooking up a storm. If you are lucky enough she would let you taste whatever she may be cooking after she greets you. Going back through the dining room and up the long hallway passed my aunts room. You want to be careful of the hole in the ground that I created Summers ago that still had not been fixed. It had become an entryway for roaches, lizards and centipedes to crawl in and join us for the Summer in our bedroom with two twin beds. We would rather stay in Grandma’s room at the end of the hall to the left anyway with the King sized bed, personal bathroom and, the best part, an air condition unit. There were other bedrooms and bathrooms but none could compare to Grandma’s. It was paradise.