In August Town today the houses are broken down by poverty. Two elderly Bedwardite women there recently told me of their messianic notions of black redemption and the Revivalist church they frequented. “You don’t fly there?” I asked. “No, man, we do not fly there. Is a taxi we take”, they replied crossly.
How cool to sail through the bright tropic sunlight of Jamaica in a zero-gravity display of holiness. Augustown comes as close to it as one can get.
Augustown by Kei Miller is published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson
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