Katherine clears her throat, drawing attention to the awkwardness of the moment. “We will move into our quarters later today, and this afternoon, Iris will be taking us to a ritual at the silk cotton tree.”
“Katherine is very excited about this ritual, which we may be able to participate in, but I was wondering,” Vivian Jean says, staring at her hands. “Can you tell me about the Obeah women or men in the village? I’d love to speak with them. Of course, I understand the practice of Obeah is very private. But I need to—want to know more about the silk cotton tree. Maxi said that the silk cotton tree is a powerful gateway.”
My mother scratches her nose but I’m not interested in hearing her or these women get lost in the superstition of Obeah. “My mother is tired and needs her rest. We can talk about the sacred silk cotton tree, the myths and Obeah some other time.”
“I would love to hear more, especially about the silk cotton tree.” Vivian Jean’s voice is high-pitched and her anxiety shows in every movement.
“It’s all superstition,” I say.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Zinzi.”
My mother’s harsh tone embarrasses me. “Then, please explain what I’m missing?”
She exhales sharply. “All right, then. I’ll say this about the tree: It is a portal between this world and the next, but it’s not for just anyone who visits Accompong. It is a place whereour ancestors are present and can help guide us, the Maroons, on our journey in this world and the next.
“Why is the silk cotton tree so important to you? What do you seek from it?” my mother asks Vivian Jean.
“Maxi told me about its power. I’ve read books and articles by Melville Herskovits and others on the beliefs surrounding it and its importance to generations of Maroon people.”
“That does not answer mi question.”
“Momma, please.”
Vivian Jean sighs. “My interest in the tree is just part of what intrigues me about Accompong and ancient African dance. The rituals and the spirituality of the people are the focus of my work here.”
“Yes. But I think you want more than that, eh? You want to meet the ghost of our ancestors that guard the portal.”
Vivian Jean’s chuckle sounds hollow. “Yes, the duppies.”
“Shush, girl!” my mother’s voice suddenly booms, startling everyone in the house. “Zinzi, you didn’t tell these folks nothin’, did ya?”
The Dunham party looks at my mother and me with wide-eyed bewilderment.
“Sorry, Momma.” I signal for the group to lean forward. “It’s forbidden to say that word in Accompong. Never use it in front of any of the villagers. Or anyone in the Cockpit.”
Vivian Jean frowns. “We know that Obeah is illegal.”
My mother rolls her eyes and hisses. “You keep that word to yourself, as well, girlie.”
“Don’t worry, Momma. These Americans aren’t here to chase superstition or talk to ghosts.”
“Oomph. We’ll see.”
The following day, everyone’s living quarters are ready. Othella and Katherine have one of the colonel’s huts, while Vivian Jean and Tully are in another. Meanwhile, my mothersomehow becomes involved in where Robbie will stay, and now he’s nearby, living in the home of my oldest brother, Raymond.
“Mi surprised you came home.” She sits on the stool, weaving a mat. “You’ve been so busy helping strangers, you forgot about your mother.”
“Momma, I’m helping Jamaican workers. That’s what the union is doing.”
“You’re lost. You can’t navigate the hills,” she warns, shaking her finger at me. “Your connection with the ancestors has faded. You won’t survive without it, Zinzi.”
“Momma, please. I don’t want to upset you, but the ancestors are not concerned with me.”
“And why do you think that? Are you afraid to admit mi right? You no longer practice our rituals, you no longer share our beliefs, but you are just as much a Maroon as me or any of your brothers and sisters. Mi don’t understand how you can turn your back on your culture, your heritage.”
“I haven’t turned my back on Jamaica. I just don’t believe in magic or superstition.”
“Jamaica belongs to the British, not the Maroon people. We belong to no one else.” My mother forces herself to her feet. “You’re not happy in Kingston. I can see it in your eyes. You think I’m old. Have you looked in a mirror? The circles under your eyes are as rugged as the Cockpit.”
