{"id":19234,"date":"2017-01-10T14:08:00","date_gmt":"2017-01-10T13:08:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/?p=19234"},"modified":"2022-11-07T18:01:28","modified_gmt":"2022-11-07T17:01:28","slug":"orlando-patterson-jamaica","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/orlando-patterson-jamaica\/","title":{"rendered":"Orlando PATTERSON – Jamaica"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n\t

\"Orlando-Patterson-writer\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Orlando Patterson was\u00a0born in\u00a0Jamaica. He was studed\u00a0in Kingston and the London School of Economics. He was Professor of Sociology at Harvard.<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Published writtings : 'The Children of Sisyphus' (novel 1965) ; 'An Absence of Ruins' (novel 1967) ; 'The Sociology of Slavery' 1967 ; 'An Analysis of the Origins, Development and Structure of Negro Slave Society in Jamaica' 1968 ; 'Die the Long Day' (novel 1972) ; 'Ethnic Chauvinism: The Reactionary Impulse' 1977 ; 'Slavery and Social Death' 1982 ; 'Freedom in the Making of Western Culture' 1991 (renamed 'Freedom, Vol. 1: Freedom in the Making of Western Culture ' winner of National Book Award 1991 ; 'Rituals of Blood: Consequences of Slavery in Two American Centuries' 1999 ; 'Freedom: Freedom in the Modern World' 2006 ; 'The Cultural Matrix: Understanding Black Youth' (with Ethan Fosse). 2015<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

The Children of Sisyphus<\/span><\/h1>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

([extract from the novel 'The Children of Sisyphus' 1982, original text in English]<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Twilight come down quick-quick. A vast red splash across the grey, calm sea. As the deceptive peace of night fell upon the place, little mysterious kerosine glows began to twinkle from within the shanty hovels, coops and sheds, clustered together like little flocks of wet crows. And the flags of the great Emperor hovering above them, gold and red and green all shading now for oneness, rising every now and then in the wake of the evening breeze, then falling limply, drooped, the little flags of glory.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

The little spots in the golden splash grew larger till the vague outlines of small canoes could be seen, then the black skin of the naked fishermen. There were four of them, tall men, strong men. They all wore beards and kept their long hair uncombed till it dignified their shoulders in wiry, woolly braids. As they reached the shore they headed for the little notch of dark blue water. It was an indent perfectly suited for tying their boats, as it was not only near to the shore, but took the form of a sudden drop, so that they could step out of their canoes right on the edge, which they called the rap-trap, and the water that settled there was warm and seductive, coming from the bowels of the nearby power station.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Cyrus stepped out on the black silty shore. It had been a bad day. But his face, if it betrayed weariness, showed little disappointment. He was too used to bad days to make it bother him. He would go to his hut and eat the food his woman had prepared for him. Perhaps if he had mind for it, or the energy, he would make use of her before the sailors did. Oh, mighty God of Ras, it pained him so much to know that his woman went whoring to help support him. But what to do. It was prophecy. They were the children of Israel suffering for the misdeeds of their fathers. But the day of departure would soon come. The Holy Emperor had sent his prophet already to lead them out of this land of bondage. It was just a matter of time.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

But until the time came it was suffering and more suffering.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

It was damnation and injustice at the hands of the white overlords and their brown lackeys. They would have to suffer at the hands of Babylon and it would be a sin to try to evade it. It would be blasphemy in the sight of God Rastafaria, who must have had just cause for punishing them. So when he allowed his woman to follow the paths of e\u00a0and the ways of whoredom he was actually doing what was right. He might even receive some recompense in Ethiopia for his penitent submissiveness. But, oh, Sellassie, Holy Emperor, who leads against the foe, it was such a terrible suffering, how terrible is thy wrath.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

He helped the other men out with their nets and walked towards his hut. As he passed one of the disty little shanties held upright on either side by two sticks on which the red, green and gold flag of Ethiopia waved, the tinkling of money he had managed to scuffle that day. He must have made a lot, for Cyrus remembered him going out dressed up as an old cripple in the morning.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Peace an\u2019 love me god-brother, Cyrus greeted, pushing his head into the little oblong door. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2013 Ow de scufflin\u2019 today ?<\/p>\n

\u2013 Love again, me Brother, but de Lord say mind thou thy own business an\u2019 thy awn business will mind thee well, was the curt reply.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Money-man, even to his best friends, never played the fool when it came to matters dealing with the other brethren, and many despaired of him, saying that he was too mean and selfish to be a true Rastafarian. But Money-man, or \u00ab A Certain Jew\u2019 \u00bb, as some preferred to call him, always pleaded that he was saving up his passage to go tho Ethiopia. He wasn\u2019t putting all his hopes on the delegation, as the other clutists<\/em> did, for the wickedness of the white man was such that they would put everything in the way ot hte delegation to prevent from succeeding. A more laudable reason for being mean could not be found. But many of the cultists still remained to be convinced of his sincerity.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Cyrus laughed and walked away. Money-man was still his good friend despite what they might say about him. He reached his hut and hurried inside, for he was beginning to feel hungry.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

No one was there. He looked towards the box in the corner where Dinah always left his food in case she had to leave before he arrived. There was nothing. But that was funny. He was sure she had a little money when he left this morning.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Getting angry, he walked outside and looked at the three sooty stones on the ground beside the hut which they used as a stove to cook on. The ashes were cold and it was clear that no fire had been caught there that day. He saw his son walking with a group of boys a little way off and called him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2013 Nicholas, whe\u2019yu mother ? <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Don\u2019know. Me was playin\u2019in de common an\u2019when me come she gone. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 She don\u2019say whe\u2019she gone ? <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 No. An\u2019it look like she gone fo\u2019 good too. She tek her clothes an\u2019ever\u2019thing wid her. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Wha\u2019yu say ! Cyrus ran inside to verify the boy\u2019s statement. Then he dashed back. outside. His features became contorted with a kind o painful stupidity. His dark brown eyes gleamed fire. He plucked his beard ; he swore by the name of the Holy Emperor till even Brother Nathaniel had to wake from his evening slumber.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2013 God bli\u2019me ! God ! Rastafaria ! Babylon let loose !\u2019he screamed, rushing towards Mary\u2019s hut.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Whe\u2019Dinah gone ? Whe\u2019Dinah gone ? he roared.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Hush ! Yu wakin\u2019up me baby, yu wakin\u2019up de little angel, she said.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Baby ? Which blasted baby yu talkin\u2019\u2019bout ? Tell me, woman, tell me quick before me wrath fall\u2019pon yu, whe\u2019me woman gone, whe\u2019Dinah is ? <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 She is a baby to me. Don\u2019t care how big she get she is still my baby, my - - - <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Oh, your bombo-hole<\/em> woman ! Damn an\u2019 blas\u2019 yu stinkin<\/em>\u2019 soul to hell ! Don\u2019 mek me wring yu rass neck, tell me whe\u2019 me woman ! <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 But\u2019ow me mus\u2019know ? Is de firs\u2019me hearin\u2019 now dat Dinah not here. Jus\u2019 leave me out. Lawd, look wha\u2019 yu mek \u2018appen. She ran towards the bed and held the girl in her arms.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2013 Baby, baby, not even a little sleep yu can get, eh, sleep, me pretty, sleep, me baby. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

It would be useless talking to Mary, so he dashed towards the 1939 Ford carcass wher Rachael lived. The old woman was roasting a piece of cod-fish for her supper. He held her roughly by her arm and spun her round. She yelled with pain and pulled away her hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Wha\u2019 de backside wrong wid yu ? Is mad puss piss yu drink or wha\u2019! <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Whe\u2019 she is ? Whe\u2019 she gone ? Don\u2019tell me yu don\u2019 know or else ah wring off yu stinkin\u2019 neck. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Wring it off ! Wring it off ! she dared him boldly.\u2019Is long time I been waitin\u2019fo\u2019somebody to do dat fo\u2019me. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Cyrus released her, but still glared at her menacingly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 So yu not tellin\u2019 me whe\u2019 she is, yu bleedin\u2019 ol\u2019 og, not tellin\u2019me. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Racheal\u2019s beady little eyes marrowed on him. Then they softened with a condescending kind of pity. A pity which she felt only she had a right to give.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Sorry, Cyrus, don\u2019know whe\u2019she is. But don\u2019 worry, she will come back. She will come back. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Bitterly, he spun round to face the little crowd that his shouting had attracted. They were mostly women and thier children, ragged and half naked, staring at him idly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Yu all lying to me ! Yu know whe\u2019 she is ! But Babylon shall fall. Ah goin\u2019to find her. An\u2019when ah dind her, as there is a black god, ah goin\u2019to kill her. Ah goin\u2019to murder her an\u2019 teach her de place o\u2019woman-kind. Ah goin\u2019to teach her not to follow de ways o\u2019Babylon.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Ahh me god-bother, glory be. Babylon seem to set a plague on de mind o\u2019we woman dem. Dem jus\u2019seem to be walking out on we into de land o\u2019 Babylon one by one. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

It was Crocus, a short, stocky man, who, though not yet a true cultist, was a strong sympathizer. He had wicked black eyes that were moist and gleaming. As he came towards Cyrus, rocking on his bandy legs, he had every right to sympathize with since Mabel, his own woman, had left him not too long ago. A few yard away from Cyrus he held his hand ceremoniously towards the east and shouted :<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 De black god of we, de true Children of Israel, descendants of de black King Solomon an\u2019 de black Queen Sheba, they shall burn up de white dogs an\u2019 de brown traitors fo\u2019 pollutin\u2019 we woman wid dem evil ways. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Whe\u2019she gone ? Why she leave ? She don\u2019know is here she belong until we ready to return, Cyrus pleaded aloud to himself.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Is a conspiracy ! Is de white men dem conspiring\u2019 gainst we an\u2019 we woman. Dem know that de time is near when we shall leave dis\u2019ell, dis land of bondage. Dem know dat not\u2019in, dem Firs\u2019 dem start whe\u2019 boyt birth control an\u2019all kind o\u2019 tripe ddat we mus\u2019practice if we is to improve we lot. An\u2019 when we find out dem scheme dem tryin\u2019 dis new one now. Dem tryin\u2019 fe get\u2019 way we woman dem from we. Is a plot, birth control and all dem other stunt is a plot fe kill de negro race ! <\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Ah mus\u2019 find her, Crocus. De time fo\u2019 departure is drawin\u2019 near. The delegation them soon write and sen\u2019 the date. Ah did want to carry her to Ethiopia with me as me queen. Whe\u2019 she is ? Whe\u2019 she gone ? <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

His anger started to boil up in him again. He would find her. Now-now. He marched to his hut and put on black drill pants and his green, gold and red shirt. Taking up his staff, he dashed outside. He turned towards the Marcus Garvey Drive when suddenly he heard a sharp commanding voice calling his name.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Instantly he turned round. He stared for one long moment at the figure standing at the doorway. His anger melted. His face smoothed into an almost submissive countenance.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 What ails thee ? Brother. Has the wickedness of Babylon infected you ? Brother Solomon\u2019s woice was the same calm lowness.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Cyrus jumped to attention. He stuck his forefinger out and drew up his forearm ceremoniously until the side of his palm rested on his right breast.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Peace an\u2019 love, glory, Brother Solomon.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

There was a long, piercing glance. Brother Solomon was thinking. He always seemed to be thnking.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 Come inside an\u2019 make me give you some words of wisdom, Brother, you seem to need it. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Cyrus found it difficult to believe. He would be going into that room again. That strange mysterious room that had all the knowledge of the world in it. Slowly, hesitantly, he walked towards the door, he walked up the little step, the only one in the Dungle, since Brother Solomon\u2019s hut was the only one with a floor. Then, with extreme deference, his head bowed unconsciously, he entered. He closed the door behind him.<\/span><\/p>\n

The room was clean and neat. There was a chair in one corner and a table in the next. On the table stood a large frame with the picture were written the familiar words which, though Cyrus could not read, he was able to as The Prince of Peace. In another corner was tall pole with the flag of Ethiopia hanging from it. Right below the window, which looked out into his legs and on it was and oddly shaped lamp. Around the lamp were three candles, one red, one gold, the other green. In front of them was a queer-looking container with a burnt, brownish substance in it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

But it was the writing on the wall that interested Cyrus most. Those mysterious scribblings. If only could read. Suddenly he heard Brother Solomon.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013 we must not forget the holy ritual, Brother Cyrus. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Cyrus jumped to attention again, holding his arm in the ritual position. They both repeated the cult\u2019s version of the Ethiopian national anthem :<\/span><\/p>\n

Ethiopia, the land of fathers,<\/span><\/p>\n

The land where all gods love to be ;<\/span><\/p>\n

As the swift bees to hive sudden gather<\/span><\/p>\n

Thy children are gathered to thee<\/span><\/p>\n

With our red, gold and green floatin\u2019 o\u2019 us,<\/span><\/p>\n

With the Emperor to shield us from wrong,<\/span><\/p>\n

With our God and our Father before us,<\/span><\/p>\n

We hail thee with shout and with song. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Orlando Patterson<\/em><\/p>\n

extract from 'The Children of Sisyphus', Longman Publisher, London 1982<\/em><\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

.<\/p>\n

\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Orlando Patterson, writer from Jamaica, extract from ‘The Children of Sisyphus’<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[250],"tags":[],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19234"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19234"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19234\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22357,"href":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19234\/revisions\/22357"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19234"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19234"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.revuenoire.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19234"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}