Now Slipe in St Elizabeth is not a place you'd come across on your way to the corner store. It's so far out of the way of, well, everything, that you're bound to think you're lost at least twice before you get there.

By the way, a word to the wise: if you ever find yourself trying to find Slipe and come across a shifty looking fellow wearing an eye patch sitting in the shade of a giant mango tree, next to a bar called GiGi's Pub, don't ask him for directions. His 'directions' will lead you in the wrong direction and cost you oh, say 30 extra minutes of unnecessary driving. Don't ask me how I know.

Everyone knows each other

Anyway, Slipe is the kind of community where everyone knows each other. They may not always like each other, but hey, that's life. Most of the residents, I'm told, are fishermen and farmers. A lot of the shrimp sold at the more popular Middle Quarters in the parish is caught in the waters of that community.

Anyway, it was while standing on a lonely stretch of road in Slipe that I heard a noise in the swamp about 100 feet away. I thought at first that it might have been a crocodile, so my immediate inclination was, of course, to head for the hills. But soon a man's head came into view. He seemed to have been merrily paddling a small canoe to shore. I decided to walk over to meet him. I got there just as he was gathering a frayed rope to tie the canoe to a rock.

I said hello.

"Who dat?" he said, whirling around.

I told him my name and asked him what he was up to.

"Well, I coming in from a likkle fishing trip," he said.

"Mi wife sell out a Middle Quarters more time, so mi a look a likkle inventory," he chuckled.

The man gave his name as James and asked me for a hand, pulling the boat to dry land. Something struck me just then and I'm not talking about the hit I took to the shin when James gave the canoe a shove before I was ready. There was a goat laying on its side in the canoe. Its feet were tied with a rope and it looked like a snitch just before being liquidated in an old mobster movie.

"Er ... what's with the goat?" was what I uttered almost involuntarily.

"Oh is mine. Mi leave from over di other side dis morning so mi carry him wid me. If mi nuh tie di foot dem him will jump out and drown," said James. I stood some distance away as James untied the goat. I wondered how it would retaliate. Luckily, once freed, the goat took a few quick steps to its left then quietly started grazing in a grassy area not far away.

"So what you is about?" asked James.

I told him I had made the long trip from Kingston simply to find out what life was like in Slipe. This, of course, made little sense to the fisherman, who went on to ask if that was the sort of thing I found myself doing regularly. I answered in the affirmative. "Maybe yuh can start play like football or something fi tek up more ah yuh time, instead ah just drive up and down so," he suggested.

Life in Slipe

A bit red in the face, I changed the subject by asking him where all the other Slipe residents were. "Well, maybe dem drive gone ah Kingston fi find out bout it," he chuckled a little too loudly for my liking. Smart Alec.

When he had his fill, he said: "No man, di place nuh really so big so most ah di people dem gone road, so like dis time ah day yuh might nuh find nobody to dat."

I asked him about life in Slipe.

"Well, is a real bush. Slipe nuh even deh pan no map. It quiet and ting, but it nuh have no development or nothing. Di good ting is dat is likkle bit ah people live here so we nuh really have no criminal or nuh crosses. It alright still," he said.

I figured James had better things to do so I thanked him for his time and bid him goodbye. As I walked off James let out a whistle and the goat abandoned its spot in the shade and ran over to him.

robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com