Genebase.com: Strickly ‘Allen’
Almost at the tippy top of Mount Oliphant , in Manchester Jamaica , where the soil is coloured blood red, while huge fruit trees pepper the rocky landscape, the descendants of Cyrus and Laurel Allen still thrives.
Cyrus and Laurel were blessed with seventeen children, even though depending upon which family member one asks, that number can morph up to twenty-one or twenty-two. The Allen clan is huge to say the least, with members scattered throughout America, Canada, the United Kingdom and the Caribbean .
Cyrus and Laurel were farmers. In fact, a number of their children, grand and great grandchildren continue the family business, harvesting and taking to market, various fruits including oranges, tangerines, mangoes and even a number of spices. Like the membership of the Allen family, the Allen homestead is vast. It stretches acre upon acre linking itself to other districts. (The original house no longer exists; it has been replaced with a modern functioning stone house equip with running water, inside plumbing and electricity. The upkeep of the house has been subsidized by June Allen, one of Cyrus and Laurel ’s daughters, with additional support from their son Steven and daughter Salome).
I remember my sister telling me a story of her being three years old and having to walk three miles in order to attend school. My gosh; three freaking miles! Just to fathom that seems like punishment, especially for a child of three. I am sure I would have ‘ducked’ school many a day in order not to trod that distance. Like, who would know, right? Who in their right mind would trudge three miles over rock and harsh landscape back to my house (you know no one had no car back then, especially in the country) to complain to my ma, “ah, Cecil did not attend school today.” Yeah right. But, to imagine my sister had to return home in the evenings. You know I would have just camped outside the school until the weekend right.
My grandmother, Laurel was a sweet woman. Unfortunately, due to me living in the Bahamas , I was not privilege to know her well. I do remember her caramel complexion and the wrinkles that seemed to be ’tattooed’ onto her forehead. I remember her thick Jamaican accent and even that peculiar lullaby she used to sing to me. To this day, I have no idea what exactly the lullaby means, the words seemed nonsensical, but I do know it involved spanking if one did not go to sleep immediately.
“Go to sleep mama baby
Mama will spank you if you don’t
Mama in the bosom of the old mama genie, genie
Who has a little bammi coat.”
But seriously, who is this genie and what is a bammi coat? It seems as if no one knows, but all the Allen clan is familiar with the rhyme.
Being separated from the Jamaican Allens most of my life, I had to resort to being content with hearing stories about Jamaican country life in order to quench my thirst about knowing who is who. I grew up with a huge vocabulary of old Jamaican terms, which I could not make reference to in the Bahamas . Words like penewally, rolling cafe, duppy, juncra, (johncrow), degga-degga and banga never made sense to me. Nonetheless, I find that they stuck in my head, I guess waiting to escape from my mind to my mouth for whenever that day came when I would make that journey to my mother’s homeland.
I absolutely have no idea who Cyrus Allen was. He died before I came on the scene. My mother claims that my blue-black skin is identical to his. That’s good I guess, because when I was younger, I always questioned from whom I got this blessed complexion from. I am by far the darkest of my mother’s children. My immediate relatives had a chocolate hue; however, I was more sensually baked. (Laughing).
Cyrus was called “Mass” by his family and friends. The term is of respect and endearment. Apparently, men and a few women who owned large amount of property and businesses in the country obtain that name. One of my uncles is called Mass Willy, due to his station in life. He seems to be in the forefront in the farming business in that district. Laurel was affectionately called “Nanen.” I have no idea what it means; nonetheless the name seemed to suit her. She looked like a “Nanen.”
Hopefully, at the end of this family search, I would have obtained more stories about Jamaican life. I know my mother is filled with them. The Allen clan is rich with endearment for each other. Often they migrate home to have small family reunions with kinfolks who remain on the small island nation.
