A Jamaica Independence Story
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Miss Mattie settles herself in the white plastic chair on her verandah, her bottom a perfect fit for it. Too perfect, because every time she tries to find a comfortable position, the chair clings to her, preventing her from moving as she would like. “Eeda de chair too small or me too big,” she mutters and abandons her attempts to adjust her position in the chair. She taps her plump fingers on the frail arms of her chair to the rhythm of the festival song that is blaring from the radio in her living room. Soon, she is rocking to the music. “Granny, wha’ kine a fool-fool music you a play? Nobody nuh listen to dem kinda music again. Now a modern times. You mus’ move wid de times,” Fenton says, as he bounces on to the verandah. He jiggles his body and smiles down at Miss Mattie. “So me a nobody.” Miss Mattie looks up at Fenton and continues to bop to the music. “No, you a nuh nobody. You a somebody. Dat is not what a mean. A mean dat…” “Me ole?” Without a...