Note from Jamaica: A Morning with Balbina

This is Balbina Elliott. She’s 87 years old, born and raised in Billy’s Bay, St Elizabeth. She’s lived here her whole life—nestled between sea breeze and bush, in a home full of history, memory, and quiet resilience.

I found Balbina by chance. I was driving through St Elizabeth when a woman’s silhouette caught my eye. Something about her posture, the way she stood in front of a huge limestone rock, made me stop. I reversed the car and walked into a yard where a family was gathering the morning’s eggs from their chickens. I asked if I could take a photo, and one of the women—her sister—said yes.

Then I asked, “Who’s the oldest woman in this area?” Without skipping a beat, she pointed up the road and said, “Balbina Elliott.”

I drove a little further until I saw a group of men on the roadside. I asked again, and one of the younger men smiled, hopped on his motorbike, and said, “Follow me.” He led me straight to her house. Balbina welcomed me warmly. I asked if I could interview her, and she agreed—so I promised I’d return the next day to record. 

And so, this Sunday morning, I woke up early, got dressed, and roped in my new roommate, Zora Kuettner—a renowned documentary filmmaker I serendipitously met on this trip—to join me for a little adventure. Zora brought along her Mamiya camera, and while she photographed the soft light of Balbina’s porch, I sat down to record a conversation with her as part of my Womb Lines project.

Balbina didn’t have a story you’d see in a history book. But that’s exactly the point.

She is one of 11 children. Her grandmother, like so many Jamaican women of her generation, migrated to Cuba in search of work, leaving Balbina to be raised by others in the village. And yet, she tells me she never went hungry, never felt unloved, and never wished to leave Billy’s Bay. Even as the world moved faster and jobs became scarce, she stayed rooted in the soil she was born into.

She told me her mother was a very loving woman, giving her a little bits of food from the pot. She told me how she gave birth in her bedroom with the local midwife while her husband went fishing. She told me how three of her children died leaving only her son who who continues to care for his mother.

Now, at 87, Balbina has found a tumour in her breast. She discovered it this past April, and although she speaks about it with grace, the weight of time is clear in her voice. I sat there thinking—as I often do—about how many women’s stories like hers are never told.

We know so much about what men in history thought, what they wrote, what wars they fought. We can read their letters and essays, chart their politics and philosophies. But when it comes to women—especially Black and brown women—we are left with silence. We know almost nothing about their experience of childbirth, mental health, body image, relationships, menopause, desire, or ageing. Nothing of their day-to-day joys and quiet decisions.

If you asked what a woman in the 12th century thought or felt—we wouldn’t know. But we could tell you what the king had for breakfast.

While I’m here in Jamaica, I plan to interview the oldest living relative I can find—someone who holds the stories of my grandmother and great-grandmother. I’m not doing this out of nostalgia. I’m doing it because I don’t want my family history to vanish.

Today’s newsletter is shorter than usual because I’m about to head off to the Calabash Literary Festival—a celebration of Caribbean writing, poetry, and imagination. But I didn’t want to miss the chance to leave you with this one, small but urgent request:

Call your grandmother. Ask her what she remembers. Record it. Especially if she’s Black or brown. Because when she goes, her stories go with her.

P.S. If your grandmother might be open to sharing her story, I’d be honoured to interview her. I’m recording oral histories of elder Caribbean women—as part of my Womb Lines project, and I’d love to meet you both together.

You can use this link to book a time for me to come and visit:https://calendly.com/sharmadean/black-grandmother-oral-history-clone

Let’s make sure her voice is remembered