Note to the Listener:
This audio is an unedited field recording of a Saturday afternoon at Coronation Market in Kingston, Jamaica. While some parts may sound muffled or scratchy due to its raw nature, I invite you to take a few moments to absorb it in stillness, free of distractions, and embody the atmosphere it conveys.
Although there is no accompanying video footage, I hope your imagination takes over, filling in the visuals with your own interpretations. Having walked the market’s pathways myself, I believe I carry some of its psychic memory within my body—a memory that might find its way into your visionings as you listen.
Walking through Coronation marketplace in Kingston was like stepping into a living, breathing archive—a pulsating rhythm of sound, movement, and energy that carried me deep into the soul of my heritage. It wasn’t just a place of commerce; it was a communion of ancestors, a collective manifestation of memory and survival.
As I stood in the midst of this dynamic orchestra of sound, smells, textures and colors, the overlapping conversations and the fluid ways of relating in the space resonated deeply with me, reminding me of how my mother, my sister, and I interact with one another—how our conversations often sometimes chaotic, eventually weave into a tapestry of shared understanding. While yes, this obviously feels frustrating and like no one is truly listening to the other, but in the marketplace, I realized this way of talking is also ancestral. It’s not just us speaking; it’s our elders weaving their presence into our words, creating a song of connection. This realization made me want to honor this style of communication and find some beauty in it. It was a poignant reminder that ancestral ties are not only found in traditions or rituals but also in the subtleties of how we communicate and care for each other across time and space.
The cadence and vibration of voices intertwined with the sounds of the marketplace—layering, overlapping, and blending language into an unintentional symphony. An outsider of the family may experience this style of conversation, as only noise but I see it as an opportunity to be still and present in the moment, for if the listener directs their attentions elsewhere for even a moment, all words would fall on deaf ears. You will miss “it.” In being present, you will hear the songs and messages hidden within the “noise.”
Oya and the Marketplace
Coronation Market was not just a space of transaction but an extension of the home, and heart. For me, it carried a powerful feminine energy—fiery, determined, and assertive. It was not passive or subdued; it was action embodied. Here, the women hang back proud, knowing the value of their goods and themselves, exuding an unshakable confidence in their presence and purpose. In the Ifa pantheon Oya is the Orisha of transformation, swift action and the winds, sweeping out what is outdated, underserving or stagnant. Oya also oversees the marketplace and was there in full force, propelling us forward. Her energy coursing through the pathways and bellowing us through narrow alleyways, guiding our movements up and down the grids of stalls.
The market is a space of exchange—not just of goods, but of energy, ideas, and traditions. It is a cauldron of life, death, and rebirth, much like Oya herself. The scraps of coconuts and food, the piles of fresh produce, the hum of activity—all of it symbolized the cycles of creation and destruction that she governs. Her winds churned the energy of the market, blending it like ingredients in a massive pot, stirring the collective spirit of the people.
The marketplace also revealed the richness of Jamaican sound and language. The voices of vendors weren’t just functional—they were poetic. Women on loudspeakers speaking swiftly and rhythmically, with more soul than the most skill auctioneer. The interplay of conversations all felt like a carefully crafted symphony. Jamaicans are natural wordsmiths, their voices carrying the spice of the island’s spirit. This is where our music comes from, where sound and storytelling originate, in the everyday exchanges of life.
Tarot Reflections
Later that day, as I reflected on my experience, I thought about the tarot cards I had pulled earlier that morning: the Queen of Pentacles , Fire festival and the Death card. The Queen of Pentacles embodies abundance, groundedness, and the nurturing of life’s pleasures. It was her energy I felt in the market, as I held the bounty of the land in my hands—golden ackee, saltfish, and the fruits of communal labor. The marketplace is her realm, where wealth circulates, not just as money but as sustenance and connection.
The Death card, on the other hand, represents transformation, the inevitability of change, and the cycles of life. The market was full of life and death—the fresh produce, the scraps, the discarded remnants, and the energy of people in constant motion. It was a reminder that nothing stays the same, and that change is the only constant.
The marketplace isn’t just the heartbeat of Kingston—it’s the heartbeat of my heritage. It’s a space where the past, present, and future converge, where Oya’s winds stir, and where the language of my ancestors continues to thrive. I am grateful to have witnessed it, to have felt its pulse, and to carry its lessons with me as I continue my journey on the island.
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