It is 4.02 am. In my effort to detect the early-morning noises beyond my immediate surroundings I hear a chain reaction of roosters, seemingly echoing the salutations of the one crowing outside the front gate. Each successive call sounds farther from the previous one until I can hear no new ones. I imagine that if I could hear sufficiently far, I might notice a chain of crowing stretching around the island from the rooster that started it all, and back to it, creating a necklace of early-morning sound.
Listening beyond the immediate physical space, one can become aware of layers of life not always acknowledged as we lose ourselves in the rush of days, clouds of thoughts, distractions of social media, mindless occupations and the compulsion of attending to appointments and tasks at hand.
How much would change or spring to life if we each consciously looked and listened beyond ourselves, into the hidden worlds of others?
My thoughts turn to a recent interaction with a cashier at the grocery – nothing new as far as a lot of customer service goes at that particular establishment; she was sullen and silent, never responding to my salutation or my parting thank-you. It is easy for the average consumer to judge quickly, seeing such service providers as rude and lacking in customer-service etiquette.
The man ahead of me in the line had experienced a similar reaction from that cashier, prompting him to ask, concerned: “Are you okay?”
There was no response, only silence and absolutely no eye contact. Maybe there was no need to respond in words. Her actions spoke loudly.
What if we had taken the time to listen and look more deeply and discern (or at least try to) possible hidden reasons for her attitude.
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Beyond the impression of "bad customer service," what could her downcast eyes and sullen expression have been saying to us – in a potential silent call for help and recognition? Perhaps..."Forgive me. I am new on the job, and a bit overwhelmed. I suffer with extreme anxiety and cannot bear to even look at people on most days, but I need this job to pay rent and feed my two children. Two different fathers. I don't even know where they are. My son is one year old. My daughter is still breastfeeding, but I must leave her at home with my sister, a bottle and some formula.
"Sis lost her job during covid, so I support her too. Her current man is always around...lazy, smoking, cussing, listening to loud music...and living off me too. The money I give my sister buys his cigarettes and alcohol.
"I worry about him being at home with my baby girl...and even my son. You know how it goes these days with those big hardback men and young children..."
A few days ago, driving past the Buccoo cemetery, I was struck by the explosion of colour – in the form of multiple bouquets of flowers, in shocking amounts, covering the dry earthy mounds of fresh graves. I had never seen so many wreaths in that, or any, cemetery – an image that spoke volumes of
