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We used to grow much of what we ate
KEEBLE McFARLANE
Saturday, January 10, 2009
It may be difficult for the hustling urbanite of today's Jamaica to believe, but up until a half-century or so ago, the country was able to feed itself largely with what it produced. About the only staples imported were - get this - half of the national dish: the salted cod usually paired with the fruit of the blighia sapida tree and the rice which combines with red beans in the other celebrated national dish. There were other items many people considered essential, such as tea, canned sardines and salmon, bully beef and chocolate-based drinks like Milo and Ovaltine which came from elsewhere, but they could just as easily drink various kinds of herbal teas and the rich chocolate drink made from the fruit of the cacao tree.
Now, almost every day we hear people moaning about not being able to obtain or afford imported chicken, or about the exorbitant price of meat from abroad. We all shake our heads at the ironic situation where sugar produced in the United States sells for less than home-grown sugar, and there is the ridiculous case of the packaged banana chips coming in from Costa Rica.
During the Second World War, imports came almost to a standstill because the colonial power, Britain, focused almost totally on producing goods considered essential to the war effort and because the main enemy, the Germans, were harassing the supply line of ships crossing the Atlantic from Canada and the United States with tanks, planes, food, clothes, fuel, arms and ammunition. Most of our people had long been accustomed to feeding themselves with home-grown meat, vegetables and other staples like bananas and root crops, and as the war tightened the range and quantity of imports they adjusted to the shortages.
As a child I spent roughly equal time in the rural and urban areas, which gave me a ringside view of how people coped. Supermarkets didn't exist, and what had long become known as the "Chinese shop" was the source of household staples. That's where - in the city or the country - you obtained your cooking oil, sugar, condensed milk, cornmeal, flour, canned goods, soap for bathing and laundry and even luxuries like cornflakes and sweet corn.
The only fresh meat you could buy was beef or pork, and those you obtained at the weekly market along with potatoes, yams, cassava, beans, onions and fruits according to season. Chicken was available for sale in only a very few places, although many people sold eggs. It was only in the 1950s that large chicken farms and processing facilities came into existence, around the same time as supermarkets first opened.
In those days, almost every house - even in the heart of the city - had a chicken coop in the backyard, with a dozen or so chickens to supply meat for Sunday dinner and eggs for daily use. Some people raised pigeons and ducks, and kept Guinea chicks as watchdogs because they kicked up such a racket when disturbed while roosting at night. They were also very good to eat, as the meat had a firmer texture and more distinctive taste than chicken. A vegetable garden took care of things like lettuce, carrots, tomatoes and beans.
Sunday was a day for a drive in the country, and because very few people had telephones (or even electricity, for that matter), unexpected visitors were quite common. Relatives or friends who happened to be in your area would stop by for a visit, and sometimes were invited to stay for dinner, which did not take place in the evening but any time in the afternoon. In such cases mother would instruct us to catch this or that fowl and we would perform the slaughter. We covered the bird with a box or pail, with the head stretched out on a convenient block of wood. "Wham!" would go the axe, hatchet or machete, and the box or bucket would contain the fluttering bird for the couple of minutes of its death throes. We left the plucking and evisceration to the adults, and returned to our play until it was time to savour the delicious fruits of our efforts.
<span style="font-weight: bold">It is amazing to consider how quickly people can become detached from those roots, and even to disdain doing things to feed themselves.</span> I recall an incident in the 1970s, when I ran into a group of Jamaicans at the Toronto airport. They were returning home from a visit, and among the prized items in their luggage were bags of red kidney beans which were then in short supply. I remarked to myself how lopsided this picture was: you can grow three crops of beans a year in Jamaica and only one in Canada with its short summer, yet these people didn't think they could stick a few seeds by the fence in their backyard and with a little care, have all the beans they needed.
In contrast, during a working trip to Havana some years ago, when the "Special Period" had just begun to bite, I heard many stories about people growing vegetables all over the city, and saw some myself on a high bank of the Almendares, a small river which runs through the Cuban capital. I also heard that people were growing pigs in their yards, and one story was that a veterinarian had developed quite a practice cutting out the vocal cords of pigs so that the squealing wouldn't attract the attention of the busybodies who often run the block committees known as the Committees for the Defence of the Revolution.
I visited a family who lived in the once fancy Vedado district near the centre of the city. One of the grown sons showed me a little pen he had cleverly built among hedges near the front of the house, where he raised a few chickens. This was in October, and he told me, "If you come back on December 24, you can taste one of these." Christmas dinner was the fate of at least a couple of those birds.
A retired Jamaican friend who lives just outside Toronto does a thriving trade every summer growing callaloo, Scotch bonnet peppers, onions, cucumbers and beans in his suburban backyard. He has a few customers for the fresh produce, and while he can't live off the proceeds, they certainly provide a welcome addition to his pension.
<span style="font-weight: bold">Growing what you eat is good not only for the pocket, but for the morale as well</span>.
KEEBLE McFARLANE
Saturday, January 10, 2009
It may be difficult for the hustling urbanite of today's Jamaica to believe, but up until a half-century or so ago, the country was able to feed itself largely with what it produced. About the only staples imported were - get this - half of the national dish: the salted cod usually paired with the fruit of the blighia sapida tree and the rice which combines with red beans in the other celebrated national dish. There were other items many people considered essential, such as tea, canned sardines and salmon, bully beef and chocolate-based drinks like Milo and Ovaltine which came from elsewhere, but they could just as easily drink various kinds of herbal teas and the rich chocolate drink made from the fruit of the cacao tree.
Now, almost every day we hear people moaning about not being able to obtain or afford imported chicken, or about the exorbitant price of meat from abroad. We all shake our heads at the ironic situation where sugar produced in the United States sells for less than home-grown sugar, and there is the ridiculous case of the packaged banana chips coming in from Costa Rica.
During the Second World War, imports came almost to a standstill because the colonial power, Britain, focused almost totally on producing goods considered essential to the war effort and because the main enemy, the Germans, were harassing the supply line of ships crossing the Atlantic from Canada and the United States with tanks, planes, food, clothes, fuel, arms and ammunition. Most of our people had long been accustomed to feeding themselves with home-grown meat, vegetables and other staples like bananas and root crops, and as the war tightened the range and quantity of imports they adjusted to the shortages.
As a child I spent roughly equal time in the rural and urban areas, which gave me a ringside view of how people coped. Supermarkets didn't exist, and what had long become known as the "Chinese shop" was the source of household staples. That's where - in the city or the country - you obtained your cooking oil, sugar, condensed milk, cornmeal, flour, canned goods, soap for bathing and laundry and even luxuries like cornflakes and sweet corn.
The only fresh meat you could buy was beef or pork, and those you obtained at the weekly market along with potatoes, yams, cassava, beans, onions and fruits according to season. Chicken was available for sale in only a very few places, although many people sold eggs. It was only in the 1950s that large chicken farms and processing facilities came into existence, around the same time as supermarkets first opened.
In those days, almost every house - even in the heart of the city - had a chicken coop in the backyard, with a dozen or so chickens to supply meat for Sunday dinner and eggs for daily use. Some people raised pigeons and ducks, and kept Guinea chicks as watchdogs because they kicked up such a racket when disturbed while roosting at night. They were also very good to eat, as the meat had a firmer texture and more distinctive taste than chicken. A vegetable garden took care of things like lettuce, carrots, tomatoes and beans.
Sunday was a day for a drive in the country, and because very few people had telephones (or even electricity, for that matter), unexpected visitors were quite common. Relatives or friends who happened to be in your area would stop by for a visit, and sometimes were invited to stay for dinner, which did not take place in the evening but any time in the afternoon. In such cases mother would instruct us to catch this or that fowl and we would perform the slaughter. We covered the bird with a box or pail, with the head stretched out on a convenient block of wood. "Wham!" would go the axe, hatchet or machete, and the box or bucket would contain the fluttering bird for the couple of minutes of its death throes. We left the plucking and evisceration to the adults, and returned to our play until it was time to savour the delicious fruits of our efforts.
<span style="font-weight: bold">It is amazing to consider how quickly people can become detached from those roots, and even to disdain doing things to feed themselves.</span> I recall an incident in the 1970s, when I ran into a group of Jamaicans at the Toronto airport. They were returning home from a visit, and among the prized items in their luggage were bags of red kidney beans which were then in short supply. I remarked to myself how lopsided this picture was: you can grow three crops of beans a year in Jamaica and only one in Canada with its short summer, yet these people didn't think they could stick a few seeds by the fence in their backyard and with a little care, have all the beans they needed.
In contrast, during a working trip to Havana some years ago, when the "Special Period" had just begun to bite, I heard many stories about people growing vegetables all over the city, and saw some myself on a high bank of the Almendares, a small river which runs through the Cuban capital. I also heard that people were growing pigs in their yards, and one story was that a veterinarian had developed quite a practice cutting out the vocal cords of pigs so that the squealing wouldn't attract the attention of the busybodies who often run the block committees known as the Committees for the Defence of the Revolution.
I visited a family who lived in the once fancy Vedado district near the centre of the city. One of the grown sons showed me a little pen he had cleverly built among hedges near the front of the house, where he raised a few chickens. This was in October, and he told me, "If you come back on December 24, you can taste one of these." Christmas dinner was the fate of at least a couple of those birds.
A retired Jamaican friend who lives just outside Toronto does a thriving trade every summer growing callaloo, Scotch bonnet peppers, onions, cucumbers and beans in his suburban backyard. He has a few customers for the fresh produce, and while he can't live off the proceeds, they certainly provide a welcome addition to his pension.
<span style="font-weight: bold">Growing what you eat is good not only for the pocket, but for the morale as well</span>.
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