WHEN most of us are making our second turn in a nice cozy bed, a workaholic is up and about. She cleans and prepares fruits, provision and other ingredients for her mouthwatering delicacies. Patricia McGarrel, born in Paradise Village, West Coast Berbice, is the mother of nine and grandmother of many. And this hard working woman is 74 years of age.

Before bird’s wife awakes, she is busy in the kitchen, making a variety of eatables. Her small table (stand) has on it plantain chips, cassava balls, juice, polouri, tamarind balls, tamarind syrup, pickle mango, mango syrup, and ‘chicken foot’. When she puts out her produce for sale, they sell very quickly.

Patricia is the eldest of 16 siblings, including two sets of twins and one set of triplets. She had to work very hard from a young age.

“We used to rub down with coconut oil and run to school barefoot. Some days there was little to eat; on others there was ‘shine rice’. On good days there was cook-up and other nice dishes. Milk was sold to the passing train every day. When the milkman was late or the train was early, the milk was then sold cheaply in the village at 6cents a pint. Those were opportunities rarely missed. When that day arrived, many children could be found polishing old, abandoned coins, or rummaging around to find same. Then it was sweet, silky milk for eager hands and hungry bellies”.

She remembers with nostalgia her early life in the country.
“We would go into the backdam and pick green mangoes. These were packed into baskets and covered with plantain bush to quail for a few days. The following weekend, we would take it to market and sell ripe mangoes. One basket got you $300 – $400. You were then able to purchase school clothes. We also created our own savings bank. An old empty sardine tin was nailed to the wall. A slit was cut into it in order to put in coins. When this was filled, it was glee for the thrifty kid. Hopefully, nobody raided the bank, including the banker.

“I loved working,” she said. “I cooked, cleaned and baked at an early age. We had mud oven and fireside. Baking was done every Saturday. The smell of the fresh bread would make our tummies rumble. When I was not doing anything inside (the home), I would head for the trench and catch fish by hook or feel for them. That was fun. Swimming was my hobby. Even now, whenever I go home to the country, I would swim every day. I am a good swimmer.

“The most exciting time for me was when crabs were marching. We would get our buckets or bags and catch them by the dozen. Whenever they were not on the move, we had to feel for them. Once I miscalculated and my fingers ended up in front of a Sheriga crab instead of behind. It grabbed my finger and wouldn’t let go. I screamed and bawled, shaking my tormentor off on the seashore. In anger, I stomped him to a pulp.
This did not stop me from feeling for crabs again.”

Rice was our main food. We would buy rice from the mill when it was swollen and hot. When we did this, we got much more than when it was cold. I loved rice porridge with coconut milk. We would pay 45 cents for a ¼ bag of rice.

“Some weekdays we would cook provision using mainly a kind of plantain called ‘Four Corner’. There was the ever present Water Calaloo, called Guma. This would be cooked with shrimp. Yum! Yum! Back then, whenever you peeled plantain, your hands would be black because the plantain was rich and pure. We were even allowed to drink the black water (in which the plantain was boiled) after boiling them. Nowadays you could peel a dozen plantains and your hands would be spotless; too much fertilizer being used today.

“This small business has helped me to educate all my children and remain independent. Town life is different from country life. In the country you could spend the day in the backdam eating fruits and cooking provision and greens reaped from villagers’ farms. No one attacked you. If you are ever hungry, all you had to do was go to your neighbour and you would get a good meal. If they were in the same situation, they could come to you.

“But in town you have to buy everything. Town people don’t give anything away. I remember some nights we would get together with neighbours and have fun playing and listening to Nancy and jumbie stories. When it was time to go home; trouble. The children were always sent in a little earlier than the adults. We would have to follow each other half-way home. Then slippers were removed and little feet were heard scampering desperately for the safety of home.

“We were all afraid of ‘Auntie Stiff Coat’. She was said to be a spirit that would appear out of nowhere and skin her face on people walking late at night, especially children. She was very, very ugly. No sane child wanted to meet her,” Patricia McGarrel said.

By Neil Primus