A jumbie is a malevolent (possibly evil) and mischievous entity that plays a central part in many Caribbean folklores. I suppose they are akin to imps, sprites, ghosts, and pixies. Mocko jumbie shows, which are put on as a part of the cultural experience for tourists and during carnival parades, incorporate dancing stilt walkers who aim to colorfully represent these naughty, long-legged, and typically footless spirits. I’ve never really given the idea of jumbies much thought. That is, until they became an explanation for all of my breakdowns.

My afforementioned car has had many more compex problems than the leaking radiator I spoke of in my last post.  It’s had electrical issues that no one could fathom; windows that open one day and not the next; an engine that starts in the morning, but not in the afternoon; an engine that demands a 15 minute snooze for no reason at all and without warning. Needless to say, it always ends up that the day I have eventually made it over to the mechanic, everything is working like clockwork. Worse than that, my car will turn into  a cartoonishly vital Herbie or Kit, doing shit off its own back just to show how far from the scrap heap it is.

The mechanic has concluded that I have a “jumbie car”.  Now, I am not sure if this is his qualified opinion or whether he is just humouring what he believes to be a stupid English woman. I admit it – I refer to USB thingies as “pokies” and also confess to going to the plumbing store and asking for the “things that hug and kiss” (techincial term: unions, as I have recently learnt). With this in mind, I can appreciate why the mechanic probably thinks it’s easier to blame a jumbie for my troubles than to attempt to explain what the actual problem is. But the issue remains – when I asked if there was anything he could do about a “jumbie car”, he simply looked at me with total miscomprehension as if I had asked him to turn off the rain or to make a rabbit come out of his hat.  Apparently, a jumbie car is a jumbie car. Love it or leave it.

ghost car_WWLOR

My laptop is also subject to the wiles of a jumbie. I hadn’t blogged for almost 2 months because it had refused to start up. Everyday, I’d diligently flick it on and everyday, for 60 days, it refused to start. But today, for inexplicable reasons, it started without question. I am now a believer – the Jumbie Factor is real.  It marches in, causes havoc, and just as you are about to give up all hope, in a moment of compassion, it cuts you some slack.

In my experience, jumbies take you to the edge. They push you in the gutter, kick you in the ribs until you are about to utter your last breath or surrender, and then they offer you a cup of tea and all is forgiven.

Dear God – perhaps we are kindred spirits?

Written By:

Current Rock of Residence:

Somewhere in the Caribbean

Island Girl Since:

arrived in error, 2011

Originally Hails From:


A frequently regretted, late night, red wine decision resulted in her arrival to the islands. She lives on one rock and commutes to work, by boat, to another rock. Her isolated hillside apartment has unrestricted ocean views. She’s a booty call for a scorching hot Rastafarian. Yet, if you allow her to take off those rose-tinted spectacles, she’ll be the first to tell you – life’s a bitch. If you’re looking for a reason not to live on a rock, you’ll get it from her.

Want to read more posts by this writer? Click here.

Similar Posts You Might Like

Women Who Live On Rocks
Keep in touch with the tropics!

Keep in touch with the tropics!


Join the community & connect with tens of thousands of island-loving souls. 

 Once a week, we send you the latest posts, funniest rock life finds, and more. 

 We respect your inbox - you can change your delivery preferences anytime.

Got it! You're all set.

Pin It on Pinterest