On trees all over Jamaica there grows a fruit that decides for itself when it is ready.
It is called ackee. For a long time it hangs there, green and closed up tight, like a little fist. Then it turns pink, and then a deep, glowing red.
And then, one day, all by itself, it opens.
The pod splits into three parts and folds back like a flower, and inside are three soft yellow pieces, each one wearing a shiny black seed like a hat. People say the tree is smiling.
Everyone in Jamaica knows the rule, and every child learns it early: you never, ever pick an ackee that has not opened by itself. It is not ready. You wait. The tree will tell you.
Ackee did not always live in Jamaica. It came across the ocean from West Africa long ago, the way so many things and so many people did, and it stayed, and it grew, and now it is Jamaica's national fruit.
When it is finally ready, it is cooked with saltfish, and onions, and sweet peppers, and a sprig of thyme. The pieces of ackee go soft and golden and fluffy, so much like scrambled eggs that visitors always look twice at the plate.
It is eaten in the morning, usually, with fried dumplings or boiled green bananas, while the kitchen is still cool and the day has not properly started.
And every single mouthful began with a fruit that would not be hurried.
Goodnight. Some good things simply have to be waited for.



