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