Jamaican Review: Asia’s Cafe in York Pharmacy – Part 2

Asia’s cafe in york pharmacy – Image courtesy of Asia’s Cafe on facebook

I went back a couple months after my first visit and was sorely disappointed when I heard that they no longer served Paninis. Oh, how it broke my heart and my appetite. I had been dreaming and salivating for months about biting into a warm panini.

Why Asia’s? Why?

Chikungunya epidemic in Jamaica

Now let’s travel to September 22, 2014 at approximately 8:00 p.m. This was Jamaica’s Chikungunya patients central. Everyone that visited doctors, clinics, hospitals or couldn’t afford to were here at York Pharmacy. That night, they were buying every last Panadol, Panadine, Cetamol and Cetadine. The line at the cashier was constant and it took an hour for me to get through; but kudos to the pharmacists on duty that night.

Did I already allude to the fact that Jamaica’s healthcare system ‘shegg up’. That is patois for ‘wukless’ and again patois – no good, worthless, of low standard, a place for producing more dead bodies and mindless frustration. Anyway, I digress. My mom was about to pass out having been in, KPH clinic from 10:00 a.m. and only got through at 7:00 p.m..

Asia’s Cafe was a major disappointment this night. I went to the attendant and pleaded with her for a cup of tea for my mother who looked like she was about to be claimed by the grim reaper, while showing her the $1000 in my hand. The cashier was full and I was desperate. My mother had not eaten at the hospital all day because she had to wait on her number to be called.

Needless to say, the server ignored my plea. I was soon regretting having recommending this place to my poor, dying mother – and everybody else for that matter. I went to the cashier, who was now available, paid for the tea with shrimp soup and appealed to her. She got up, wiped her hands having just dealt with money and got the tea.

Customers were lining up, so she asked the server to give me sugars and my spoon. Here we go again. Ms. Server proceeded to ignore the urgency, again, and started to serve someone else. Looking back over to my poor, sick mother – Denise lost her cool.

In my naturally low baritone, with Bounty Killa precision, I said “Yow! Just gimme di tea fah me modda before yuh mek she dead in yahso”. That’s all it took. Tea in hand, a smile of apology to the startled man beside me I was off to revive my poor, sick mother.

Off to the pharmacists I went to join the throng of ‘chicken gonorrehea’ sufferers. This is the name we Jamaicans, who could not pronounce chikungunya, called it.