Ode to Ox

The individual I connected to most in the Blue Mountains of Jamaica was a dude nicknamed Ox. When I first arrived at the guesthouse where he was employed, he told me his real name was Paul, so that is what I called him for most of the week. It turned out his real name wasn't Paul. So, he was just messing with me. Having some fun at the white boy's expense. 

Ox was nicknamed such, I presume, because he worked hard like a strong beast in the fields, pulling a plow. Whenever anyone needed something done, they would call out "Ox" and he would magically appear. Here, in this picture, he was assisting the owner in launching one of those fiery floating paper lanterns.  

Ox was the first one up and the last one to bed. He would greet me in the morning and make coffee. At the end of the week when I was settling my account, I had to throw him under the bus so to speak.

He had only charged me for four coffees all week (six days) when in fact every morning I had usually three cups. While snitching on him, I slid a ten dollar US bill into his hand as I handed my credit card to the owner. She scolded him for his negligence in billing me. I knew the bill wasn't right and I think Ox was just cutting me a break. But, I had the cash and felt I should pay up.

Ox and I didn't talk a lot. He was on the quiet side. He had a good sense of humor though and there were moments of shared amusement. When I mentioned to him that he did it all around the guesthouse, he responded ruefully, "I am a robot."  

On the last night there, where I would be up much too early the following morning to say good-bye to him, I got very sad that I would probably never see Ox again. Even though we hardly talked, there was a shared mutual affection. He would smile at me as I returned from one of my long walk/runs all sweaty. After drinking three cups of his strong coffee, I would depart like a slow train from the station, not to return for four hours in my ups and downs to coffee plantations. I am sure I looked a bit crazed and mad.  

The last night, as I sipped on some Jamaican Rum (I just had to have some while I was there) I teared up. It was awkward. It wasn't that I would just miss Ox, I would miss the beauty of the Blue Mountains, the people I had met, and even just feeling a sense of the transitory nature of life itself. I could go back to this place, and maybe I will, but there is much else to see and do, so I think that this visit was once in a lifetime. It was sad to leave and to say goodbye. 

Life is a cup too soon empty. I know that the life here on earth is brief, brutal, but also beautiful. I wanted Ox to know that his life was important, that he wasn't a robot. I am not ashamed to admit that I loved him like a brother. 

Over 30 years ago, I read this quote from the great man of God Francis Schaeffer:

Our attitude toward all men should be that of equality because we are common creatures. We are of one blood and kind. As I look across all the world, I must see every man as a fellow-creature, and I must be careful to have a sense of our equality on the basis of this common status. We must be careful in our thinking not to try to stand in the place of God to other men. We are fellow-creatures.

(Francis A. Schaeffer, No Little People, Ch. 1)