Trevor

As I walked down the little road under pouring rain, I passed by Trevor's small shop. I asked him for shelter and we looked at the rain together. He asked me for my umbrella and I watched him walk toward the little cove where he spends most of his time. He went to a pot that was protected by metal and stirred something he was cooking in there. Trevor, like many Jamaican men, is an excellent cook. Everything he ate was fresh out of the ground or the water. He cooks daily for his family and on Saturday nights he holds a party where his friends play Loodi and listening to reggae.

I asked Trevor to cook some of my meals. We negotiated a price and we both seemed to enjoy this exchange. One morning I found out that there had been a party to celebrate the passing of one of Trevor's relatives. He said I could have come and I responded that I was mad that I had missed it. Trevor said "Don't be mad, be glad. You have life." There wasn't a conversation that I had with Trevor where he neglected to mention that life is beautiful and to "give thanks and praise." He shared that the cove where he lives gives him every comfort.

On the last day that I saw Trevor, it was pouring rain again. I had one mission before reaching the airport- to drop off a surprise for him. I had noticed that Trevor had little to sit on and arranged to have the Imam at a local mosque sew a red hammock for him. Jamaican time meant that this wasn't even begun until the morning of my departure. I waited anxiously but in the end I managed to hand it to Trevor under a downpour.

I receive voice messages from Trevor that always include: "Life is beautiful. Give thanks and praise." He knows that I love photography so our "conversations" include the photographs he sends me of his food, of the changing light at the cove and some self-portraits.