On Saturday we were invited to a barbecue at a co-worker of Angus'. His name is Walker McIntyre, a tall and very stately Jamaican man who insists on wearing a business suit to work everyday and often makes good material for Angus to tell me quirky and cool things he said throughout the day. Walker has been in England for about 30 years, but it doesn't stop his Jamaican accent from seeping through his words.

And Walker is very, very cool.

So we head out to his barbecue on Saturday. We drove to a small home in the suburbs and parked along the driveway. As we walked up to the house we were greeted by Walker, helping his aging mother out of the car. She gave us a big smile and a welcome and handed a massive foil pan to Walker.

We walked into the kitchen, to a major hubbub of people busy at work moving plates around and getting food ready. We were introduced to everyone there with big smiles and friendly handshakes-most of the people had the same last name McIntyre in the room, but with the exception of Walker and his mother none of them were related (it transpired that the name is descended from a Scottish pirate in Jamaica some centuries ago). And with the exception of one woman, who was part Nigerian, part Guinea/English, all of them were from Jamaica, having moved to the UK as children.

We kept offering to help but were firmly admonished each time. We were the guests. We were not to be helping in the kitchen. So we chatted with people and helped whenever we could (I was allowed to make the coleslaw, which I felt very good about. And Angus was allowed to take out the trash, so at least we didn't stand about doing nothing.)

Walker and his long-time girlfriend, a beautiful Jamaican woman named Jane, had baskets filled with fruit all over the kitchen. Lychees, pineapple, guava, and mangoes streamed out of bowls and onto the counters. Walker handed me an especially beautiful mango and asked me if I wanted one. Strangely, I did-I'm not much of a fan of mango, but I did indeed want one.

"But you have to eat it the West Indian way." Walker admonished. "There are two ways to eat the mango-one is with a knife and fork, the other? In a bathtub."

"You want me to eat the mango in the bathtub?" I asked stupidly.

"No no no. I want you to try the West Indian way." he said, laughing. He showed me what to do-you take your front teeth and dig them into the skin, pulling down a layer of skin with your teeth, like you would peel a banana. You continue round the whole mango that way, and then you can sink your teeth into the glistening flesh.

I had mango juice flowing down my arms. I stood outside and peeled the mango, orange juice dripping down my face. When I sank my teeth into the mango flesh, I swear to god I've never had a better mango in my life. It was the most fun eating a piece of fruit that I've ever had.

After I washed up from the mango, we set the table and sat outside. We'd brought some soy sausages for me to eat (I hate telling hosts that I am a veggie, as people tend to stress about vegetarian food. It's much easier for me to bring something, and then let the hosts worry about their other guests.) One look at the sausages from Walker and Jane and I knew they wouldn't be serving them to me.

Instead, they made this fantastic rice, mixed with red peas, onions and creamed coconut. I got to splurge on the side courses, too-potato salad, coleslaw, mixed vegetables. The main courses for the guests were jerk chicken, cajun fish, and curry goat. The jerk sauce for the food was a homemade mix brought over in a Maxwell House jar from Jamaica by Walker on a recent trip there.

The food was absolutely fantastic, as people sat around the table talking and eating. Angus and I were nearly the only non-Jamaicans, and also apparently one of the few couples they'd run into that liked the food as spicy as we do. The Jamaican food was delicious and Walker and Jane hovered about, making sure everyone was happy.

I talked to Walker about his jerk sauce-I knew what it was like to bring things back to the UK to enjoy, and I also knew what it was like to worry that customs would confiscate things. It was the same with his jerk sauce-so yes, maybe they would take it away, and the worst they'd do was destroy it. But at the same time, that really is the worst thing you can do, as all that hope and transport would come for nothing.

It transpired that it was Jane's birthday. "Ooh!" I cried. "Happy birthday! We had no idea, or we would've brought gifts!"

"Did Walker get you anything exclusive and expensive for your birthday? Anything with bling?" Angus asked, munching on curry goat.

"Bling?" Walker asked.

"De shiny-shiny." Jane said with a smile to Walker, her Jamaican accent flowing over her words. Walker just threw his head back and laughed.

We watched a bit of sports on the background TV, as the World Championships were happening in Finland. Talking to Walker and Jane, it was clear they felt similar to me-when Jamaica was in a competition, they cheered for them. When England was in a competition that no Jamaicans were in, they cheered for them. If they competed against each other? They quietly supported Jamaica. It's the same for me-it's hard when you have one home in your heart, and another home in your post code. And then when the two merge, and maybe the one in your heart is bleeding out a bit, you don't always know where you live.

One of the other Jamaican women sat at the end of the table, and made distinct criticisms of what she was eating. The juice was cheap, the rice too hard. Munching on a chicken leg and tearing off the skin, she observed that there was too much jerk spice. Jane just nodded and tried to look understanding. It reminded me of a Neil Simon comedy of a Jewish neighborhood, where they critique each other but love each other dearly.

Sometimes, I wish that we had big get-togethers like that here. My Australian friend has massive barbecues for her expat friends. The Jamaicans around the table all clearly spent a lot of time together. I know that Swedes often get together and celebrate Swedish events together. But the Americans abroad often do things slightly different-it's like we made it to the outside, and we have to prove we can do it on our own. None of this expat togetherness for us, nosiree! We're going Commando, and we're going to acclimate to foreign society.

It's a shame, in some ways, as maybe it means that we are always going to be adrift, the anchor catching on the coral.

Walker then brought out a bottle of clear white liquid. He smiled, pointing to the bottle. "This is the white rum. This is the Lady. Would you like to try it?" he asked me.

"Of course!" I said.

"How would you like it?" he replied, getting a glass ready.

"Straight up, no ice, thank you." I reply. The table is staring at me, mouths open. "Er...what?" I asked.

Walker shakes his head. "The white rum, it's 100% proof. Pure alcohol. You can't dance with the Lady like that. I mix it with ice, see if you like it."

He pours me a glass. I sip it. Everyone is staring at me, expecting me to spit it out perhaps. But it goes down nicely, a smooth easy drink, none of that burning stuff you get with tequila or Bacardi. I smile and set the glass down.

"I think it's lovely." I say, and I meant it. They look at me, astonished. They may have thought the American was an easy one to fall over drunk but they likely hadn't reckoned on my secret weapon-although I am sure that my liver is secretly experiencing a state of necrosis in my body, I used to be well familiar with Everclear in college. I could do the white rum.

I even had another glass and was fine. When we left, it was hugs all around, and as I hugged Jane she smiled and told me that "You did just fine with the white rum, my girl."

It's nice to be accepted for just a moment, even if Jamaica is a place I have yet to see.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 07:43 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
Post contains 1478 words, total size 8 kb.

1 What a great story! I love being invited out with friends who are residents here for a family barbeque or other get-together to see how it's done in their country. Sounds like you had a blast!

Posted by: Kate at August 09, 2005 08:55 AM (15DgN)

2 "You can't dance with the Lady like that" Sweetie, you don't dance with the lady. The Lady, she dances with you AxXx

Posted by: lemurgirl at August 09, 2005 10:15 AM (Ld7dX)

3 Was there any smoking at this party? Sounds like you wouldn't want any white rum near naked flames.

Posted by: Simon at August 09, 2005 10:27 AM (UKqGy)

4 Dear gawd you drank that rotgut straight up?? If nothing else you have proved yourself to the Jamaican crowd and will be invited again LOL

Posted by: Lost at August 09, 2005 11:01 AM (I2ntS)

5 Great story!

Posted by: ~Easy at August 09, 2005 12:59 PM (UQp2v)

6 How awesome! I can just imagine all the faces staring at you, awaiting your eyes to bug out, and the lady to go spewing back out of your mouth. I'm sure you threw them for a loop when you actually enjoyed it!

Posted by: scorpy at August 09, 2005 01:04 PM (vPro/)

7 Sounds excellent! And like you got invited into another community for awhile, which is always nice. Especially for an expat.

Posted by: RP at August 09, 2005 01:46 PM (LlPKh)

8 What a wonderful story, I could feel myself being transported there as I read your words - magical.

Posted by: cursingmama at August 09, 2005 03:13 PM (PoQfr)

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