MAKING CASTOR OIL A FAMILY MATTER
“HOW LONG do you think you can continue with this?” was a question I asked Melda Harris about her extraction of oil from castor beans. Miss Melda looked down on the mortar and pestle she was sitting over for a few seconds.
Before she could reply, her granddaughter, Chevelle Foster-Cornwall, said she is not going to stop. She knows her grandmother very well, apparently. When Miss Melda raised her head again, tears were rolling down the right side of her face as she said, “A true, mi not stopping, mi love fi look bout it, is a shame.”
Also looking on were her husband, Lewie Foster, who was around the pot over the wood fire, and another granddaughter, Sebrina Foster.
It was Chevelle who had told me about her grandmother’s business of extracting oil from castor beans the traditional way. She is one of my art of public speaking students on the Mona campus of The University of the West Indies. In one of her speeches, she spoke about the process that her grandmother uses to extract the oil from the beans.
I had seen the cold-press process some years ago, but I have never seen the traditional and tedious way. And so, I expressed my desire to see how her grandmother does it, being an eternal student myself.
Two Saturdays ago, I headed to Newland district in Yallahs, St Thomas, to see Miss Melda making castor oil. It took me a little while to find her, though she was not very
far from the main road. Long story. When we reached her yard, she and Sebrina were tidying up the entrance to the premises, a familiar scene. I reminisced briefly.
As soon as introductions and greetings were exchanged, the wood fire to bring the water to boil was lit. Lewie was in control. Sebrina was asked to get the mortar and the pestle. She went reluctantly.
Upon Sebrina’s return with the decades-old wooden mortar, Chevelle poured some castor beans into it, after which Miss Melda pounded them to a pulp with all her might.
When the water was hot enough, Lewie put the pulp into it and stirred. Soon, white foam formed on top of the water. It was the oil coming from the pulp. After much more stirring, and foaming, he used a cup to remove the foam and pour it into another container. The foam was placed over fire a few more times before it became oil. I didn’t wait to see the process complete because it takes quite a while. It is tedious work, based on what I saw and was told.
As Lewie went through the process, he talked about how much of an expert he had become at extracting the oil, having learned it from Miss Melda. She has been doing it for approximately 15 years.
She said she saw a woman extracting the oil and became interested in the process, but the woman refused to show her how, saying it was hard work. Since hard work does not faze Miss Melda, she went elsewhere to inquire about making castor oil. That was how she met the man who showed her how to do it.
With her newly acquired knowledge,
Miss Melda embarked upon the challenging endeavour, and her family became involved. Chevelle recalled having to sit and help out while her peers play. She said she would ‘bawl’ and ‘wring up’ her face, because she did not see the value of it.
She does now, especially with the ‘natural hair movement’ going at full speed. She is even thinking of it as a business she could set up. As she was chatting with Hospitality
Jamaica, she was picking beans from the stems, because, despite her tertiary studies, she still helps her grandparents from time to time.
Sebrina, who said she wants to be a lawyer, also plays her part, gathering the beans, acquiring wood for the fire, washing the pots, etc. It is a family affair, a most admirable one, and should the time come when Miss Melda really cannot make her castor oil, “Mi woulda feel like mi not inna dis world,” she said. “When mi no have it mi fret.”
And to all those who want the much sought-after traditional Jamaican castor oil, step into Miss Melda’s world and see why you should pay her what she is asking for a bottle. Also, remember that it gets so hot around the pot that sometimes Lewie has to ‘tek wheh’ himself.
I took myself away from Miss Melda and her family’s space, while reflecting on how unpretentious and united they are.