Exotic names reflect an exotic past

THERE is a conspicuous absence of insects, other than gorgeous butterflies, around our idyllic temporary home, at Pon de Rock, Fort Charles Bay, Jamaica, although, according to the information pack supplied by our hostess, scorpions are abroad in the garden at night and one should wear shoes.

There are no snakes, but slim little lizards, with black-and-white, checkerboard backs are common. I’ve struck up a passing relationship with one that lives in the pitted rock outside the back door. I drip water onto a plant and it leans out, delicately balancing its back feet on the rock and its front feet on the leaf, as it sips this libation fallen from heaven via a plastic mug.

The weather is dry and warm, 27 degrees, and no rain for weeks. A tall young man told us he was a farmer and grower of cantaloupe melons, and he badly needed rain. We gave a youth a lift and he proudly showed us his ID as a member of the Jamaican Fire Service.