DUST TO DUST Part 2

                                                DUST TO DUST 

                                                  By Nzinga Nzinga

Part 2

“Awright. As you know, they have these red skin people over in a part of St. Elizabeth near where my people come from. Not light skin like mine but real pale skin, light, light almost white. Beside them I look dark. They are so light they can pass for white. As a matter of fact some of them pass for white, even now, in America.”

“I know the type. We have some near where my mother was born. In a place called German Town. Straight hair, blue, grey, hazel or green eyes, and when they get oldish, their skins get spotted just like real white people’s skin.”

“Same kind. As I said they pass as white in America.”

“Belle, you notice how is only in America that our people have to be doing all kinds of silly things to pass as white?”

“That is America, my dear. Free for some but not free for all. The matter of colour still predominates and colour white, or rather, colourless is still king. Anyway let me tell you about what happened to these whitish people. This very light-skinned man by the name of Jacob Jenkins, died. He was the head of the family. People called him Maas Jakey. A tall heavy-set man with a crop of silky white hair. 

The funeral was scheduled for the Saturday afternoon. The body was travelling from a funeral parlour in Kingston to lie in state for two hours before the funeral service. Up to the time the service should start, it still had not arrived and a phone call put through to the funeral home indicated that it had left at the appointed time.”

“What caused it to be late?”

“There was a terrible accident in Manchester on Spur Tree Hill, where an oil tanker had overturned and blocked the road and there were no by-roads on which to divert the traffic so the hearse and family escort had to sit there while the traffic piled up on that busy Saturday afternoon.”

“What a shame!”

“True. The church was packed with people from all over the place, and plenty big shot cars parked in the churchyard and far along the streets in both directions. Maas Jakey’s children were nearly all big time professionals and their friends had turned out from all over the island and even from abroad, some coming from as far away as Alaska, Switzerland and Australia, to support them in their hour of grief. All together there were seven sons and three daughters. Hear what happen now. The mourners were there, waiting inside and outside the church, for as large as it was, it was packed like sardine. They had heard about the accident which had claimed the life of the tanker driver and was the cause of the long delay.

“At last the cortege was arriving. A large luxurious black hearse with a family member sitting beside the driver and the assistant undertaker turned into the churchyard. It was preceded by five police outriders. There were sixty black cars carrying immediate members of the family, relatives and friends following although many of them had arrived earlier or on time and were already seated in the church.

“The casket, a bronze and copper coloured modest but expensive casket  was carried into the church by six members of the family and placed inside the church, just below the altar. There were so many wreaths! Since time for viewing the body had long past and the service was already two hours and a half late, one of the five officiating ministers announced that only the immediate members of the deceased would be allowed to view the body. One of the assistants from the funeral home, who was standing respectfully by, opened the peephole.”

“Lawks, Belle, don't call it that. It gives me the creeps. It sounds too morbid. Lawks, these oranges are so sweet. They sweet till they scratch. Wow, wow!”

“Anyway when the wife or rather widow, a tall very blue-eyed, freckled, straight hair woman, who was the first to go up to look on the face of her late beloved husband for the last time and bid him a fond farewell, took one look into the casket and screamed one dutty outa order scream: ‘Oh my God, is not Jakey. It’s not my husband. Is a ugly big face black man dem put in Jakey coffin!’ and she fainted across her husband's casket.”

Lulu interrupted to have a point clarified. “Do you mean that she fainted because the corpse was a black man or because the man was ugly or because the man was not Jakey?” she asked mockingly, not knowing whether to believe the story or not.


“Look, chile, don’t take serious ting make joke. Is true thing happen. I know the family personally. They have a colour problem. Everyone of them bound by considerations of colour so I want you to understand the shock the woman must have felt. All her life and her husband’s life not to mention their parents, they did everything in their power to keep their family ranks as ‘whitish’ as possible and here at the end of old Jakey’s life, the man was to go to his Maker, a black man, and not even a good looking one at that, but an ugly black-as-pitch one. 

You must also realize that it doesn't matter if that black man looked as handsome as Paul Robeson, that set would still consider him, by virtue of his black skin, as ugly as sin. Digest those facts. So we are where the wife faints and falls over and lands on the casket, almost knocking it over. Pandemonium. Chaos. Mayhem. Disorder.” Belle was addicted to crossword puzzles.

“Everybody wanting to see or hear with their own eyes and ears if it was true. But is only one little peep...Sorry, I mean the little window on the coffin so is only one person or two at a pinch who can peep through it. First time such a shocking thing happened in the lives of the people assembled there. They wanted to add it to their repertoire of most amazing things they had seen. Family members rushing to see if Mama is right and only one small opening so it’s only one or two persons can see into the casket. Mama is lifted off the casket bearing the repulsive corpse, the sight of which has sent her into an unconscious state, and taken to the vestry where her doctor son and her own blood sister matron attend to her. 

The word passed around swiftly like when fire get ‘way in a gas station. ‘Is not Maas Jakey.’ ‘Is not Mrs Jenkins’ husband.’ ‘Is another man, a black man, at that.’ ‘Is a big ugly black brute.’ ‘Lawd, that is supposed to kill Miss Jenkins dead. I hope she recover.’ ‘A black man? I don’t believe it. The Jenkins don’t have nothing to do with black people except to work out they soul case or to trade with them.’ ‘Serve them right, stuck-up people. They too colour prejudice.’ ‘I would give anything to know what pass through Mrs Jenkins’ mind when she came face to face with that fake corpse. A black body!!’

Someone from Kingston who had just lost her uncle remarked, ‘For all we know, he died from some kidney disease. That can turn a fair-skinned person black. We buried my aunt last week. The last time we saw her, she was as light as Lena Horne but when we saw her in the coffin, she was black as me. They said her kidneys had packed in and that was why she turned black.’

“These were just a few of the mixed sentiments that a small minority of the mourners and curiosity seekers expressed. The family banned any picture taking and a grandson who was a well-known professional photographer took his camera back to his car and sat in disgusted silence like most of the members of his class and their elitist friends. It took over half an hour to restore some vestige of order in the church and have the congregation return to their seats. 

The organist tried to drown out the disorder with some loud funereal hymns but he was not very successful. The older and more influential male members of the family, the five ministers, and some deacons, huddled together near the coffin in some sort of whispering discussion. 

“Then one of the sons, the judge, made his way up to the pulpit and made a plea for the attention of the congregation. They cooperated and he informed them that there was a most terrible mistake with the corpse so he was asking their forbearance and please could they just sit down quietly while they removed the casket to the hearse to be returned to the funeral parlour. Meanwhile they would have a private family discussion in the vestry and return to tell them what decisions they had made.”

“Before the undertaker’s assistant could close up the window of the casket and set it up to roll it out to the hearse, another son of the deceased who was not one of the refined and influential ones, but an out-and-out loud mouth, ready-to-fight-at-the-drop-of-a-hat, grabbed the assistant and thumped him down right there in the church, causing him to fall across the casket, almost overturning it. 

He was just about to hit his victim again when the judge said in a stern voice, ‘Stop it, Stanley. You are in the house of God. It is not our father who lies in that casket but it could or should have been. Show some reverence and respect. Violence cannot solve this problem of ours. Will somebody help that man, please?’ Two people did. They lifted the stunned assistant undertaker to his feet.

"Stanley who was always afraid of his soft-spoken elder brother cooled down and went to the vestry to see what had become of his unconscious mother. The assistant was feeling weak so he was escorted to the hearse while the driver and someone else rolled the casket down the aisle. They could not sneak out the side door since members of the family were standing there. 

The habit of playing while the coffin leaves the church was so ingrained in the organist that he got set to play but wasn't sure what funereal piece to render while a wrong corpse is being wheeled out of a funeral service not intended for it, so he settled for Swing low/Rock of Ages/Fly Away Home. Some members of the congregation uncertain of the correct procedure, but preferring to err on the side of commission stood up in respect as the wrong corpse of an unknown blackman was wheeled down the aisle to the hearse.”

To be continued

 All the images were taken from the Internet and I claim no copyright.