Simple life in Holland Bay

Hidden behind what seemed like a mile of bush by a lonely roadway in Holland Bay, Portland sits the home of an enigmatic old man called Ratty. That's actually not the name his parents gave him at birth but he's been called by that moniker all his life and now, at the ripe, old age of 70-something Ratty admits he can't recall his real name.

"Cho weh yuh ah badda badda mi bout dat now fah? Mi name weh mi name. Ratty mi name. If yuh call, mi will ansa yuh," he said when I paid him a visit early last week.

Now Ratty is little more than five feet tall and has a wrinkled face that leaves him looking perennially annoyed. He is though, quite the talker. Strange, since he lives so far from others and is known by some in nearby communities like Hector's River and Manchioneal, to be a bit of a curmudgeon.

"Mi nuh like dem, dat's why dem ever have all manner of ting to say. I nuh put dem pan practice," he said.

I had specifically gone in search of the man, having heard of him earlier that morning. It took some effort to find his home, a small, wooden structure with a zinc roof. It seemed to have been built on a rock. A wise man, I supposed.

"Come outa di sun. Never mind di puppy, him nuh have no use," said Ratty. I had found him at the back of his home busy clearing bushes with a filed-down machete. He was sweating heavily. I told him that I was just in the area and was interested to learn what life was like for him in Holland Bay.

Sleeping dog

The puppy, a white dog with big ears seemed unimpressed with the goings-on and just stretched and went to sleep near the front door.

Ratty and I sat on the rock, just in front of the house. He retrieved a red rag from the pocket of his pants and wiped sweat from his forearms. He sighed. I asked him why he chose to build his home in what seemed to me to be the middle of nowhere.

"Is long time mi live here yuh know. Mi used to live amongst people but sometime yuh find seh people can be too baddarational. Yuh understand?" he said.

I nodded. "So mi decide seh I want likkle peace and quiet. So when di daughter pass off mi just come build my likkle place and gwaan teck life easy."

Not too far from Ratty's humble home is a great view of the sea. The sound alone of the waves crashing to shore was enough to settle the nerves of even the most obsessive coffee-drinker.

I asked Ratty how often he went into town.

"Mi nuh know sah. Mi nuh really have nuh cause. Mi have mi farm ground up pon di hill and mi don't have no light so mi nuh have no bill fi go pay. Mi get mi water from di river," he said.

There was a blue drum full of water not far from where we were sitting. Ratty said the heavens opened up only the night before, filling the container with precious rain water. It was enough, he said, to serve him for two weeks.

Shortfall

But surely there must be some shortfalls to that kind of life, I asked Ratty. He chuckled, his chest jumping up and down, then went into a whisper.

"Between mi and yuh, is long time I can't find no woman. Hee hee!" he said.

"When mi go river and see di woman dem and start congratulate dem pon dem self, dem feel nice. Sometime mi get one ah dem fi show likkle interest and mi tell dem seh dem can come here come hold a reasoning. But, when dem start follow mi and see dat dem haffi walk through di bush dem, dem get vex and nuh badda," said Ratty, shaking his head.

The golden ager said he has since started clearing a path between his home and the river. That way, should such an opportunity again arise, the hike through the bushes should no longer prove an impediment. That explained his work with the machete when I had first met him that day.

"When dat sort out now, mi alright. Mi nuh have no worries inna life," he laughed.

Where should Robert go next? Let him know at robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com.