For Bull

A beloved family member & treasured ancestor

You might have noticed a slight delay in my posting here, but you can charge that to my re-integration of the social construction of time in Jamaica. :) I have been so busy with work, that a few days ago it dawned on me that I only have a few short months before I return to Jamaica and I have completed less than 10% of my to do list. Granted buying land is a pretty big 10%, but there is so much more work to be done. To make matters worse, my very close friend, who decided to rematriate after me, has already started getting her kiddo enrolled in school and shopping for housing. Also, my dad is back home right now getting the land prepared for construction and I haven’t even hired an architect yet. So, yes, I have some catching up to do.

All that said, one of the biggest calls for my attention was the funeral service my dad attended on behalf of the family this weekend. My readers from Jamaica already know this, but for those who are less familiar with my culture, we have a very unique naming culture back home. You can go your entire relationship with someone without ever knowing their legal name. My dad, for example, did not know his legal name until he was about 10-years-old when he was being registered to take the Common Entrance examination.

Another common practice is for friends to be totally integrated into your family—in many ways functioning like a legal adoption. I give all this context because it is hard to explain how deeply intertwined our village relationships are for those who do not have experience living in villages.

On Sunday, my family laid to rest, my adopted relative, Bull. That was the day I learned that his legal name was actually Carlton Clarke which I had never heard before the funeral service. I came to the United States at such a young age, that I have very few memories of actually living in Jamaica. Most of my memories are from return trips in my older years. So I dearly treasure the memories of when I actually lived there, had my accent, and lived in my village.

Bull was a part of my village. Bull came into our lives as a part of my dad’s bus company internship. I use the word internship with a smile because he was a young teen who wanted to skip out on school, but my dad made him agree to finish school with the guarantee of employment upon graduation. Once that deal was made, Bull became a permanent fixture in our family, living with us, helping my mom with managing the accounting (and cooking), helping my dad with the bus customers, and became a built-in big brother for my sisters and me. After we left Jamaica, he became a mainstay within our extended family managing properties and so much more for the multiple octogenarians in our family.

I felt so happy (with a few tears in the mix) celebrating his life this weekend. Hearing how many people felt he was their special person. He was a husband, father, brother, uncle, and trusted friend to so many people who reflected on how selfless, hardworking, trustworthy, and kind he was. People like Bull can never die. He continues to live in the hearts of the many, many people who love and treasure him.

Naturally, I was looking forward to having him in my village once again when I return in a few months. I had expected to see him all the time and, let’s me honest, asking him to help me do all the manual labor jobs little sisters ask of big brothers. Instead, he is a beloved ancestor who will continue to call me to live with integrity, generously help those around me, and leave a legacy of love in the new village he is inspiring me to build.