When anyone from St. James (my parish in Jamaica) hears where I live they cringe. But the violence my small community is famous for is contained to the main road. I live a 10 minute walk uphill from the main and perched on the side of a small cliff. Here the dogs alert everyone to the rare stranger that passes through.
Yesterday I convinced the high school boys I tutor to climb one of the small hills with me. It took forever to climb through the thick jungle to reach the top of only a small hill. On the way down a mother was shocked that we would do such a thing. “Why didn’t you just go to the cave?” She asked.
I pointed to a small overhang in the rock, “That cave?”
The kids broke out in laughter, “That’s not a cave!!!! Let us show you what a real cave is!”
We walked only 3 minutes before we reached a small sink hole. “There is the cave!” one boy shouted.
Another boy interrupted, No, no, no, no. He is just kidding that’s not a cave.
I really though the cave was going to be a small hole in the ground. I have seen a few small caves while walking the train track in Stonehenge.
Just 100 yards further we walked through a small clearing used to grow bananas and then through a small thicket of jungle when suddenly the temperature plunged. Around a bend was the mouth of a enormous cave.
The boys and I walked in as far as our courage would allow before we turned back. Inside the cave “rat bats” swopped down buzzing our heads. The floor was covered in a thick dust composed of bat guano farmers used as fertilizer.
The dogs that had flowed up explored the cave as well. Sticking very close to us.
This was seriously one of the most amazing experiences I have ever had in my life. The best part was when we were walking out of the cave one of the men that had come along with us and told me that I was the only white person to have ever seen this cave.
Bickersteth!
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