Glimpses into the world of Bandi Payne – Part II

by Dr Richard A Byron-Cox

Last week, I closed with Bandi beginning to narrate his experiences in England en route to Shashamane. I wanted to be (as far as possible) a fellow traveller, so I was “fingers on lips” in rapt attention. “Some people came from England to visit St Vincent and were so impressed with the banana art, they invited me to England. Being there was interesting….” As he spoke his facial expressions changed and I would have given much for a peep into his head to get the pictorial display of his thoughts.{{more}} “I went to many parts of England, including schools, to show the banana art at exhibitions, and taught many people this craft.” He was speaking as if from a far-off place and a bygone time.

“I spent four years and obtained a Btech National Diploma in Art and Design. I am officially certified in this field. I knew it was time to move. But there was a problem.” He seemed in even deeper reflections now, and I’m sure I detected in his face a tinge of sadness, but this could be pure conjecture. “All I had was my diploma. No fancy clothes, no money and nothing to return to. You know Vincentians. When you return from places like England and States, you have to have things to show off; something to set yourself up, so that they know you didn’t waste time abroad. What was I to do?” He had emerged from his mental recall, and, my brain issued a command to my tongue, “Be still!!”

“I had heard of the Ethiopian World Federation Incorporated and began with Desmond Trotter attending meetings,” he continued. “You know he was wrongly accused and convicted of murder in Dominica?”

“Yes, that is a sad story.”

“It was injustice.” He said this as if it had been done to him personally. He paused. I remained silent. To me, Trotter’s story was a sideshow at this hour. I was here for the main event! He understood. “This organization is devoted to the betterment of Ethiopia and Africa, which was His Majesty’s mission. We became members. His Majesty had offered lands to Africans in the diaspora who wanted to return and contribute positively. And so we came. At least I had land and a community of like-minded people. Why then return to St Vincent where I had nothing? Here, I have something real. This gift from His Majesty! I am home.

“But the main reason I am here is because I studied my family history, and we came from the area around the Jamma River. The Jamma River is where the name Jamaica comes from. Most people know of the transatlantic slave trade, but before that there was the East African slave trade, where my people were taken to Iran as slaves, from where they were resold to Jamaica. From there they spread throughout the Caribbean. But they never forgot they came from the Jamma River area and so came up with the name Jamaica, which really means a place of a lot of water.”

“Oh, I did not know that is where the name Jamaica comes from!” This was Dr Bahir making an intervention. Until then, he like I, just sat and listened most attentively. “The Jamma River is in the district of WereIlu “AwraJa” in my province of South Wello. I born and grew up there!” His voice rang with excitement. “You have taught me something here! Jamaica is tied to Ethiopia.”

“I was taught at primary school that Jamaica actually means land of wood and water,” I joined in. I did not say that I was also taught that Jamaica is an Arawak word. I wasn’t here to debate. Au contraire! I really wanted to understand the man and his world. I had to let him tell me about it. So instead, I enquired, “And you have never left since?”

“No. Why should I leave?” And I am safe here from those who are looking for me!” The “those” bothered me; who were they? And why were they looking for him? But this could wait, because old people say “See me and come live with me are two different things.” I wanted to know had he found his Mecca in Shashamane? Or is the romantic vision now a real nightmare?

“May I ask another question?” I said in the most respectful tone I could generate.

“Ask anything, anything.”

“Are you at peace here?” My eyes were x-ray beams straight in his eyes.

“Yes.” It was a flat unassertive response. Indeed, the hesitation/doubt was barely masked.

I must do some unmasking; but how?

l Part III: “Ras Hailu’s life in His Majesty’s Kingdom”