Brown Girl in the Ring

A Jamaican Tale of Love and Ritual

“Me win! Me win!” Sharpe shouted, hands raised.

With water streaming down his broad mahogany chest, he turned to see Ram Foot rising from the receding seawater. “Me think me going join Jamaica’s swimming team for the next British Empire Games.”¹ Sharpe said, slapping his friend’s back.

Ram Foot chuckled. “Is how you think you going join the team? You a quashie–or better yet–a quaco² boy from Westmoreland.”

Sharpe gave Ram Foot a shove. “Is how you call me boy when you and me is both twenty-five-year-old? And you know say me no like when you reference me by me first name.” Sharpe turned toward the road. “Anyway, I going beat you to Marsha house.” He took off, running toward the forested path.

Ram Foot bolted off toward the craggy slope.

Sharpe ran as fast as his feet would carry him. Up the long curvy path. Through the rocky hillside village of Hakin. Around the last bend leading to Marsha’s mother’s shack. Then he stopped in his tracks, dumbfounded. On the front step with his arm around Marsha, sat Ram Foot, an empty glass next to him.

Nearly out of breath, Sharpe sat down on the other side of Marsha, taking the glass of water she offered him.

Now it was Ram Foot’s turn to reach over and slap Sharpe on the back. “Them don’t call me Ram Foot for nothing. Eee, Marsha?”

She laughed, leaning into Ram Foot, causing Sharpe to sulk.

“No worry Quaco…me mean Sharpe.” Marsha gave Sharpe a side hug. “You know say me love both of you.”

Sharpe looked at her. “And that is the problem.”

Marsha’s mother called from inside, “Marsha! Come and finish help me with the cooking.”

She gave both men a quick kiss on the cheek, smiling back at them as she headed into the house. Lingering on the steps, neither wanting to be the first to leave, they heard Marsha’s mother say, “Me forget to tell you say Miss Lucy ask me to send you round to see her. She have something she want talk to you ‘bout, but she wouldn’t say what.”

Sharpe and Ram Foot looked at each other with the same quizzical expression.

Lucy was the village gossip maker, matchmaker, and all-round troublemaker. Few people liked her, yet they all knew they needed to heed her.

Marsha’s mother came out the door and swatted the two men with a dishrag. “Go ‘long! Go ‘long! Marsha don’t have time to idle with the two of you.”

They promptly got up from the front step, yelled their goodbyes to Marsha, and went on their way.

The next day Sharpe headed down to the river to bathe. He met Marsha coming up the main path from the river carrying a basket on her head with one arm balancing it.

“Where you coming from?” asked Sharpe.

“You know full well where me coming from.” She laughed, taking the heavy basket filled with damp clothes off her head and handing it to him.

“What a heap of clothes.”

“You also know say me wash some of the old people clothes in the village.” She gave him a light slap on his arm. “Stop playing the fool.”

Forgetting his bath, he turned with basket in hand to walk Marsha back to the village. As they talked and laughed, he noticed she was wearing a new pair of earrings.

“Me like you earrings. Them make you look pretty.”

“So you saying me never look pretty before?”

“No, no. That’s not what me saying. Them add to you already beautiful face.”

“That’s more like it.” She bumped him with her shoulder, lingering skin to skin a little longer than a playful bump would require. Pulling away, she added, “Is Ram Foot make them out of calabash shell and give me.”

Sharpe stopped and faced her. “You have to stop fooling with me and Ram Foot.” He looked her in the eye. “Marsha, me want you for me gal, but is which one of us you want?”

She sucked her teeth and looked away.

He stood waiting for an answer.

“You is a big, handsome giant.” She looked up at him. But sometime you too serious. Ram Foot handsome too, and he know how to make things and can even build house. But sometime him play too much.”

She started walking again.

Sharpe followed.

“Beside, right now me mind on something me have to take care of first.”

“Does it have to do with Miss Lucy?”

Marsha stiffened. “What you know ‘bout Miss Lucy?”

“Yesterday me hear you mother say Miss Lucy want to see you.”

She gave a feeble laugh. “She just wanted to talk ‘bout something stupid.”

Sharpe raised his eyebrows. “There is no such thing as stupid when it come to Miss Lucy.”

They walked the rest of the way to the village in silence.

The following morning, Sharpe met Ram Foot on the path headed to Marsha’s house.

“Me see you give Marsha earrings. You trying to slip in front of me like a snake.”

Ram Foot laughed. “How can I slip in front of you when you is not ahead of me?

“You know say she really love me. Yesterday she say me handsome and you can make things. Which one you think she really prefer? No worry, though. You will find somebody else.” Sharpe returned Ram Foot’s laugh.

Ram Foot’s brow tightened. “We will see who win.”

When they arrived at Marsha’s home they found her sitting on the front step crying.

Ram Foot sat down beside her, putting his hand on hers heasked, “What is going on, Marsha?”

“Nothing.” She wiped a tear from her cheek.

Standing in front of her, Sharpe responded, “Nothing can’t be going on and you crying.”

She sniffled.

Knowing Marsha’s mother could hear their conversation from inside the house and figuring her mother might have something to do with Marsha’s mood, Sharpe said, “Come. make the three of we go for a little walk.”

She nodded and got up from the step.

As they walked down the path, Marsha’s mother came out of the house, dishrag in hand, calling, “Where the three of you going?” She never received a reply.

With all of Ram Foot’s gentle coaxing and Sharpe’s pressing to tell them what was going on, the only thing they got from Marsha was what they had already figured out. It had something to do with Lucy.

Then a thought came to Sharpe. Stepping in front of Marsha, he asked, “Do this have anything to do with Magus?”

Marsha looked up at him wide eyed.

“Me thought so. What is it?”

She looked away from Sharpe. “Nothing.”

“It can’t be nothing.” Sharpe shook his head. “Magus is a bad man. Anything to do with him can’t be nothing.”

Marsha turned to go back, and Ram Foot followed her while trying to draw details out of her.

Sharpe remained where he was, mind calculating.

When Ram Foot returned with no more information than when he had left, Sharpe told him they had to find out what was going on between Marsha, Lucy, and Magus. He convinced Ram Foot, the stealthier of the two, to spy on Lucy, eavesdropping if he could. Ram Foot agreed.

Around noontime, Ram Foot found Sharpe having lunch with his uncle.

Seeing alarm in Ram Foot’s eyes, Sharpe excused himself and led Ram Foot out of earshot. “What you find out?

“It bad.” Ram Foot rubbed his forehead. “It really bad.”

“What is it!” Sharpe shook Ram Foot by the shoulders.

“Me couldn’t find out nothing from spying on Miss Lucy, but me did hear two women talking. And them say Magus is going have Marsha tonight?”

Not believing his ears, Sharpe questioned. “Have her? Is what you mean by have her?”

“You know what me talking ‘bout. Him going have sex with her. Tonight!”

Now it was Sharpe’s turn to rub his forehead. He leaned back against a nearby tree. “I know Magus is an evil man, but this is too much.”

Ram Foot threw his hands in the air. “What we going to do? He is an Obeah³ man. Me know say them say not all Obeah man is bad. But this one—him wicked! If we get involved, him will set all kinda guzzo⁴ ‘pon us.”

“Me no care ‘bout no guzzo. Is Marsha me care ‘bout.” With steel in his eyes, Sharpe looked at Ram Foot. “You did your part, now me a go do mine.”

“Watch out Sharpe. That Obeah man don’t fool ‘round.”

“No worry ‘bout me.”

At dusk, Sharpe headed up the hill toward Magus shack, holding a bulging crocus bag over his shoulder with one hand and carrying a machete in the other. Before he turned the corner to where Magus lived, he entered a thicket, which afforded him cover. He stooped down and turned to watch for Marsha coming up the path.

He sat there for quite some time, keeping an eye on the path while the muted ambers of dusk morphed to black.

In the night’s stillness, crouching against a tree trunk, Sharpe’s thoughts drifted to the past. He remembered his mother’s death when he was a boy and the emptiness he had felt. He remembered being sent to Hakin to live with his aunt and her husband and being grateful they had taken him in. But it had never felt like home. Since then, he had been looking for home. And now, in Marsha, he was hoping to find it.

Pulling his thoughts back to the present, he focused on what was about to happen.

About half an hour went by when Sharpe heard a voice further down the path. Growing louder by the minute, he recognized it as Lucy’s.

“We almost there. Stop the crying, girl. Settle youself. You no want Magus to see you crying. Him expecting you to be willing. Truth is, when I first went to him meself, me was scared, but it wasn’t too bad. And now me have a pickney for him. The more you settle youself, the better it will go for you.”

Sharpe felt his anger rising. He wanted to jump out and rescue Marsha right then, but he knew it would be worse in the end. He had to follow his plan. What was in the crocus bag was the only thing that could save her now.

Shortly after Lucy and Marsha passed him, Sharpe slipped out of the thicket, following quietly behind them until they were standing in Magus’ rocky front yard.

Lucy turned to Marsha. “You wait here.”

Sharpe, hidden behind a thick tree, watched as Lucy approached the open front door. Magus appeared, face deeply creviced, eyes looking past Lucy at what was to be his evening delight.

A shiver ran up Sharpe’s spine.

There was an exchange of a small pouch Sharpe knew had to be money.

Rage brewed inside his belly. But he knew he had to keep his head.

Looking over at Marsha, he sprang out of the shadows, causing her to gasp.

In a few quick motions, he dropped the crocus bag, pulled twelve coconuts out, and arranged them in a large circle around her.

Magus’s eyes widened in disbelief, and Lucy shouted, “What in hell you think you doing!”

Magus’s neighbors popped their heads out their windows and some came out of their dwellings to see the commotion.

Ignoring them, Sharpe took the thirteenth coconut out of the bag and, with two swift strokes, cut off the head, creating an opening for the water.

Perplexed, Marsha asked, “What you doing?”

“Trust me.” He offered her the coconut. “Drink.”

She took the coconut and glanced at Lucy and Magus, who were speechless.

Sharpe whispered, “Drink it. Me know what me doing.”

He looked in her eyes and saw fear, but he also saw trust.

She put the coconut to her mouth and drank, then handed it back to him.

Sharpe also drank, then poured some of the water over his head and over hers. Dropping the coconut to the ground, he held her face in the palms of his hands and pulled her toward him, kissing her, as he had wanted to do for so long.

The neighbors clapped, cheered, and carried on.

Sharpe took Marsha’s hand, pulling her around the inside of the circle while singing, “Brown girl in the ring, make me hold you hand. Brown girl in the ring, make me wheel and turn you. Brown girl in the ring, make me hold you hand. You look like sugar in a coconut water.”

Marsha began laughing.

Magus twisted his mouth like a screw, grabbed the pouch from Lucy, and retreated into his lair.

Lucy clenched her fists, letting out a shriek.

Sharpe spun Marsha, continuing his song. “Show me how you love me. Make me wheel and turn you. Show me how you love me. Make me wheel and turn you. Show me how you love me. Make me wheel and turn you. You look like sugar in a coconut water.”

With that, Marsha spun herself into Sharpe’s embrace, kissed him, then whispered, “Thank you.”

Picking her up in his arms as though crossing a threshold, he replied, “You is worth it.” Then he began retracing their footsteps down the path.

“One thing, though,” said Marsha.

“What is it?”

“Is not so the song go, you know.”

“Well.” He smiled. “Is so it go now!”

John Crow sit up pon coconut tree top, but him no mek de water touch him.

Brown Girl in the Ring: A Jamaican Tale of Love and Ritual, Copyright © 2022 by Dale Mahfood, Rockstone Publishing House, LLC, Florida.

Author’s Note

Dale Mahfood

is an author whose work offers a rich and genuine exploration of diverse cultures and landscapes. Drawing from his roots in Jamaica and his experiences living in London and along the U.S. Eastern Seaboard, Dale brings a unique perspective to his storytelling. His background in English education and his active involvement in literary communities, including co-founding the Jamaica Brew Festival, highlight his dedication to the craft and to celebrating diverse voices.

Brown Girl in the Ring is an engaging backstory introducing Sharpe, a main character in his novel, When Trees Fall, a story with compelling characters and deep cultural themes. Currently, with Up From Mountains, Dale is taking a collaborative approach by sharing his work-in-progress on Substack, inviting readers to engage directly with his storytelling process. If you enjoy nuanced characters and stories that connect you to various places and histories, Dale Mahfood’s work is certainly worth exploring. Subscribe to his Substack by clicking the button near the end of this page.

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1. The Commonwealth Games were called the British Empire Games from 1930 to 1950

2. Quashie and Quaco are West African male names given according to the day of the week a boy was born, but in Jamaica they came to be used as insults that meant the person being referred to was low class and ill mannered. Sharpe’s first name was Quaco, but he preferred being called by his last name, Sharpe.

3. Obeah, somewhat similar to Haitian Voodoo, was brought to Jamaica and other Caribbean islands by enslaved Africans, particularly those of the Igbo tribe. While it was said to manifest itself as both white and black magic, in Jamaica, the word Obeah came to be associated primarily with evil occult practices.

4. Guzzo is a Jamaican patwah term for black magic.