Confessions of a Dying Woman: 1: Country Edition

 

Dear Sista Punci,

I greet you in the mighty name of our lord and savior and our soon coming king. I know by now that chatty-chatty mash mouth Bev, must have told you by now that I will be meeting my savior soon. That is why I want to confess and get a few things off my chest before I am being put to rest.  Sista Punci, I know you are a woman of God so I hope that you won’t have me up in your heart after them bury me in the ground, because the Bible say that the truth shall set you free.

Sista Punci, there is no easy way to tell you this so I’m not going to beat around the bush. Sista Punci, them say you can’t cook. I didn’t say that but I remember the potato pudding that you brought to church one Sunday and share up amongst us. Brother Dalton was asking Sista Bev, if you did know that it is sweet potato that you should use to make the pudding and not irish potato. 

Source

 You were a likkle bit off with the pudding Sista Punci. There was something in the pudding that did not sit right with my spirit nor my taste buds. Apparently it did not sit well with Sista Bev, belly either because she nearly dodo out her constitution that night.  She say she sweat, she sweat, she sweat so till. She all lose weight when she finish that night.  To tell you the truth that God love Sista Punci, the pudding did pleke –pleke and it look like you mistake the grandulated (granulated) sugar for salt. 

Source

It look like you did run out of flour to, because the pudding did just a bruk –up, bruk -up so. I was saying to myself, as bad as things may be between you and Miss Spinny, you could have borrowed a cup of flour from her. After all she lives the closest to you. But then again, she was probably afraid that you wouldn’t give her back her cup because is three plate you have for me and a dutch pot. The other day when I came by your house I was going to ask you back for my pot but I realize that it was my pot that you have on the fire cooking. From the smell of the pot I couldn’t even tell if it was your dinner that you were looking about or if it was dog food that you were cooking. I did love that dutch pot. It was my favourite daughter who bring it down from Kingston for me. 

source

 

Anyway, I was only telling you about your cooking because the church people them call you ‘Run Belly Punci’ behind your back. The last time you bring  coconut drops to church, not even one dege-dege soul eat it, not even the blessed ants them.  Sista Punci, the Bible say that you should beware of your enemies and Sista Bev, is one of them. She was the one who start walk and tell people say, is your soup help finish kill of Mass Isac. She say the soup did long like a river and come in like le-le water. Come to think of it though Lord, how long gut, craven Bev , with her teeth them that oney-oney like corn grain know that Mass Isac soup did salt? 

Because the hypocrite badmind church people them always a talk bad about your food, I encourage you Sista Punci, to only cook for yourself and the mawga dog them round by your yard that look like if them bark them will break in a two. Sista Punci, you no fraid Johncrow come scrape up the two dog them? When you cook in my dutchy pot that you borrow and forget to give me back, feed only yourself and nobody else. Give the manegy dog them Bev, and Dalton share.

I feel much better now Miss Punci. I can die in peace in Jesus name. Walk good you hear me sista.  Walk on the path of Christ and not round by Mass Ronald so you can hide and pick off him breadfruit and soursop them.

Your sister in Christ

Sis Madge.