This is the town “square” in the community where my mom, her siblings, my hubby, and lots of my other loved ones grew up. I of course am using the word “square” loosely.
On this bench people have fallen in love, developed deep friendships, had a drink together, and in those roads (don’t worry about vehicles passing by) people have danced the night away. The building facing the bench is a store, and it also houses an all night dancehall. The music at this dancehall is played at maximum level, and it goes all night – what permit? What police? This is “country.”
The red cylindrical container is the one of Jamaica’s best jerk chicken pits. No pork is served there as the chef is a rasta – chupse.
Were you able to see around corners, my family’s home would be your next sighting. The building on the hill also belongs to my family, and it carries a for sale sign – long story.
Do not be fooled by the seeming great quality of the roads – lawd, if I tell yuh some stories about those roads.
Clifton is the name of this community, and you will not find it on a Google map. On every visit to Clifton, I silently ask the same question Jesus posed to his disciples, can anything good come out of Nazareth? I mean Clifton – another long story.
I lived here for almost two years (as punishment for things I did wrong), and the only time I questioned my choice of husband was when he suggested we live here.
All of the above is a joke, except this is really the town square. The real story to come soon – I hope you have seen the Life of Pi (you get my drift).