The year 1655 was a crucial year for Jamaican Maroons. When the British defeated the Spanish, many enslaved Africans escaped into the mountainous interior of the island, sometimes mixing with native Taíno. These Maroons formed rather independent communities from the British and were slowly gaining power to the chagrin of the British. By 1720, a spiritual leader named Nanny, emerged in the Blue Mountains, uniting several villages, which later became known as Nanny Town. ‘Queen’ Nanny fought a successful guerrilla war against the British. Meanwhile the British were also engaged in fighting the Maroon warrior Cudjoe in Westmoreland Parish, which led to a peace treaty when the British realised they could not defeat the Maroons.

Nanny refused to sign the Peace Treaty of 1740, but was able to relocate to 500 acres of land, at a site which late became known as Moore Town. Her body is said to be buried in Moore Town. I visited Nanny’s memorial in Moore Town.

Moore Town is really small. Apart from a cultural centre, which was closed on the November day I arrived, there is really nothing expect scattered residential housing. There was a small shop, which sold cheap but cold Red Stripe beer for only 250 dollars per bottle. I drank beer and watched the roosters parade around in the rain. Some men were repairing a car, hammering loudly.

When I wanted to go back to Port Antonio there was no taxi in sight. I decided to start walking back. The mountain road was beautiful and I didn’t mind the occasional light rain shower. The whole distance was quite far. I got to a junction and started chatting to somebody. I ended up in a small bar and bought several people a beer.

The discussion below was the result of somebody asking me how much I paid for my plane ticket. The man in the pink shirt offered me a ride back to Kingston. Along the way we stopped at a house, were he bought two pigs for Christmas.

Barbecue and jerk

When the Spanish settled in Cuba, Dominican Republic and Jamaica they adopted the Taíno word barbakoa for the raised wooden structure the Taíno used to slow cure meat on hot ash. The word entered the English language as barbecue.

The practise of slow roasting heavily seasoned (jerk) meat is said to have been preserved by Maroon communities who learned the practice from the Taíno, although it is believed that the Maroons used underground fire pits to prevent the smoke to become visible. The jerk seasoning preserves the meat and gives it extra flavour. The practice of roasting seasoned meat is called jerking. The jerk seasoning consists at least of pimento and Scotch bonnet peppers.

Traditional Jamaican jerk is made on a fire pit below sticks of pimento en sweet wood. The meat is placed on the wood and then covered with metal sheets to capture the flavourful wood smoke. It is quite a difficult proces because you need to maintain a low but stable temperature for many hours.

On my first night in Portland I walked to one of the Boston jerk places. Boston is famous for its jerk, but it is really a cluster of several jerk places. I opted for pork instead of chicken. It was served with ‘festivals’ (=fried bread) and of course I ordered a Red Stripe. The ladies in the background were rather loud. The loudest lady proclaimed to nobody in particular that she was a Christian and that her Lord commanded her to have sex every day and twice on a Sunday. I couldn’t hold my tongue and I told her that I became tired by just listening to her.

She didn’t believe I had so little stamina and when I confessed I was living not far from the red light district in Amsterdam, she really didn’t believe me. I joked that I didn’t want no ‘double trouble’ and everybody got the Beres Hammond reference. The ladies were screaming with laughter. In the end she forced me to buy her a drink. I made it back to my hotel alone, as planned.

Of course I had to remember the name of one of the men the night before - Shane - and he took this as an opportunity to drag me to a small bar a few hundred meters from the road and fleece a couple of beers out of me. Shane was a ‘habitual line stepper’ to quote Charlie Murphy, and the man in the foreground pulled a chair for me so I could drink my beer in peace.

Jerk Chicken in Port Antonio

After the Boston jerk pork I had to try the jerk chicken. This place is just outside the town center of Port Antonio. The chicken is grilled in large batches in old oil drums.

The rain intensifies Potential Tropical Cyclone 22