Jamaica - Culture Articles

An Old Friend?: What Is For You - Part 2

Aisha Scales — Mon, 06 Feb 2012 13:30:02 UT

The car was parked nearby and it wasn’t long before we were driving down Palisadoes Road, along the strip of land that connected the Norman Manley International Airport to the rest of the island. Although I was concentrating on the conversation with my family, I just couldn’t keep my eyes on any of them. I was too busy looking out the windows. Every time that I came back to the island and was driving down Palisadoes, I felt like I had to devour everything I saw with my eyes, as if, if I didn’t, it might all disappear. As I talked about how school was going, I was staring out of my window, watching pelicans suddenly dive into the sea and scoop up their prey. As I laughed at my uncle’s cracks about Canada’s bitter winters, I was staring out the front windshield, fascinated by the speed and recklessness of the Jamaican drivers who were heading in the other direction and those overtaking us. As I sympathized with Bridget about how quickly summer vacation always ended, I was staring out her window at a goat and her kids walking through the brush.

The drive on Palisadoes ended at the Harbour View roundabout and suddenly I really felt like I was in the city. Now what was fascinating me out the window was the people that we were passing by on the streets. I watched, mesmerized, as they called out to friends, sat on stoops sharing jokes, hawked their wares, or chased stray dogs away. Nobody was doing anything particularly interesting, but with every thing that they did, they seemed to be oozing their national identity. Every movement seemed distinctly Jamaican.

Before too long, we moved into a more residential area and my view now changed to the houses of Kingston’s middle class. I had always loved the Jamaican architectural style, where the weather allowed the houses to be much more open than they could be in Canada. As I passed by the houses, I appraised each one, deciding which I would live in and which I wouldn’t. It was a complete shock to me when I suddenly felt the car slow down. “Are we here already?” I asked as I realized we were turning into my aunt’s driveway.

“Already?!” asked Bridget incredulously. “And it tek so long?”

Two hours later, the house was in sleepy silence. After a late lunch of pepper pot soup and hardough bread, my aunt and uncle had both gone to take a nap. Bridget had seemed intent on attaching herself to my side but Aunt Sharon had firmly put a stop to that and told her to give me some privacy. She had reluctantly agreed and was now quiet in her bedroom. I was unpacking a few of my things in the guest room, lost in my daydreams, when I was startled by the loud bang of the front door opening and closing. Suddenly the house seemed filled with noise, as I heard Jeremy’s voice call out, “You guys back yet? I’m home!” I started to grin as I heard his heavy footsteps jogging up the stairs. “What’s up, cousin?” beamed Jeremy, knocking on my open door. “Wha yu a seh?”

“What’s up, Jeremy?” I squealed, giving him a big hug.

He shrugged and grinned. “Nutt’n really. Sorry I didn’t come to the airport but I had to meet up with someone.”

I rolled my eyes. “Uh-huh. It seems you’ve become quite the player these days from what I’m hearing.”

“Me!? No way. Just trying to enjoy life, you know what I mean? Nutt’n nuh wrong wid dat!”

“Well, being in a relationship is overrated, I know that much,” I said wryly. “You and some guy just mash up?”

“Yep, he dumped me last week because I was coming here. Said he doesn’t do long distance.”

He shrugged and grinned. “That’s good news for you, why would you want to come here and be tied down to someone all the way in Canada? Anyway, come to my room, this guest room too boring, not even a TV in here.”

Bridget’s door flew open as she heard us passing by, and she trailed behind as we went to Jeremy’s room.

“So you ready fi start school in Jamaica?” he asked brightly after turning on his television. “You know is not vacation this time around!”

“Yeah, I think I am. I’m pretty excited about it. My parents keep warning me that it’s going to be so hard, but I think I can handle it. I know I’ll learn a lot, that’s my goal. Besides, U of T is no joke either.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Well, Miss Straight A, I’m glad that one of us can seh dat! I’m sure this year gwine be tough for me. You have to make sure that I get my work done, especially since I’m going to be living on hall.”

I laughed and threw my hands up helplessly. “There’s only so much I can do, you know, we’re not staying on the same hall!”

He grinned. “Well, every time you’re going to the library, jus’ mek sure you link me first.”

Jeremy was going to be living on Chancellor Hall, an all-male hall and the same hall that both of our fathers had lived on. In fact, that was how our fathers had met, which had eventually led to my aunt and uncle meeting. Growing up, I’d learned that alumni of the University of the West Indies seemed to stay fiercely loyal to their halls forever. My uncle was so proud that his son would also be “a Lion of Chancellor Hall”. My own mother had lived on Mary Seacole Hall, an all-female hall and the sister hall to Chancellor. She always talked about the fun time that she’d had there, and she had done a pretty poor job of hiding her disappointment when I chose to live on a co-ed hall instead. I was going to be living on Rex Nettleford Hall, one of the newer halls on campus. Tradition was great and all, but now that I was single, I was very happy that I’d be having some testosterone around me.

“So what about you, Bridget?” I asked, turning to my little cousin. “Are you ready to start first form?” Bridget had done fairly well on her Grade Six Achievement Test and was now ready to move on to high school.

Bridget looked nervous as she shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just used to being the oldest person in the school and now I’m going to have to be the youngest.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I remember that feeling when I started high school, and when I started university too actually. But it’s so cool starting something new that you forget all about that stuff really quick. And then, next thing you know, you feel like you were always there.”

She didn’t look convinced. “I guess so. At least most of my friends are going to be at the same school as me.”

“That will make a big difference, trust me. Imagine how I feel! Jeremy’s the only person I’m going to know, and he’s not even going to be living on the same hall. I might never see him.” The thought made me feel a little nervous. Who knew if anyone on hall would like me, or vice versa? What if I didn’t fit in?

“What classes are you taking?” asked Bridget. “What are you going to be when you’re done?”

I sighed, thinking how to answer. “That’s the million dollar question. I’m not totally sure what I want to do with my life yet.” I turned more toward Jeremy. “I’ve thought about that so many times in the last few years and still no answer yet.”

“You must have some idea,” he replied, eyebrow raised. “Yu’ been at U of T for two years already! Aren’t you doing history or something like that?”

“Well, I’m getting a degree in Caribbean Studies. And I’m really happy that I chose that, I love all my classes, they’re great. But as to what I want to do with that when I’m done…no clue. I’ve thought about going to law school, and going into international law, or maybe immigration law. I’ve thought about doing a master’s and a Ph.D and hopefully becoming a professor one day. I’ve even thought about going into politics. That would be kind of cool. But who knows? I think that this year might help me decide what I want to do once I go back, or at least I hope so.”

“See, that’s what happens when you’re too smart,” declared Jeremy, shaking his head. “Too many options. You see me? Accounts is all I’m good at, so that’s all I can do! And we’ll find out this year if I can actually even do it. Now come. Listen to this new riddim, it’s wicked, Nadiya, trus’ me.”

Later on that night after another light meal, the house had quieted down again. I was lying across the guest room bed reading a novel I’d picked up at the Toronto airport and, although the book was good, I was having a hard time concentrating. I found myself reading the same lines over and over again because I was feeling so antsy. I’d had a nap and a shower and both had invigorated me. I wanted to do more with my first night in Jamaica than just sit around but the whole household seemed settled in for the evening. Bridget and her parents were watching a children’s movie, and last I’d seen Jeremy, he was on the phone with some girl. So I was delighted when he knocked on my door and asked if I felt like going out.

“Of course! What’s the plan?”

He laughed at my enthusiasm. “Lawd, Nadiya, yu bored, eeh? Sorry, I should have realized that you would want to go out tonight. Anyway, nuttin’ too exciting goin’ on still. My friend, Kamal, called me just now. One of his friends is having people over to his house to watch movies. So you’ll get to meet some UWI people.”

“That sounds good to me. Just give me about twenty minutes?” Fifteen minutes later, I had put on a little bit of makeup, changed into a casual, but pretty, colourful halter-top maxi dress and sandals, and was ready to go.

“So this guy, Kevin, whose house we’re going to, he’s a good person for you to meet actually,” Jeremy said as we got in the car and headed out of the driveway. “He’s the same age as you, I think. He’s a medical student.” It was crazy to me that, in Jamaica, it was possible to go to both med school and law school straight out of high school. I couldn’t imagine being able to handle either one of those at my age, or even to know that that’s what I wanted to do with my life.

“He doesn’t live on campus,” Jeremy continued, “but he’s a really friendly guy, he knows everybody, and he always knows where all the good sessions are.”

“Is he cute?” I asked teasingly. This guy sounded interesting!

Jeremy kissed his teeth. “Nadiya, I cyaan judge dem tings. But I will say, nuff girls like him, so they all seem to think so.”

As our journey went on, I noticed that our drive was taking us successively higher and higher into the peaks of Beverly Hills, and I started to realize what kind of money some people on the island really had. The closer one got to the sky in Jamaica, it seemed, the closer the housing prices got to the sky as well.

“Well, judging by his neighbourhood, I think he could be the hunchback of Notre Dame and he’d still have girls chasing after him!” I said as I looked out the window.

My cousin laughed. “That’s a good point. And just wait, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

He was right. I thought the area in general was impressive, but when we actually got to Kevin’s house, the sight of it took my breath away. It was the biggest, nicest one I had seen thus far, and that was saying a lot. There were huge black wrought-iron gates in front of the house, but they didn’t block the view of the circular brick driveway, the twostorey- high columns in front of the massive front door, and of course the house itself. You can’t even call that a house, that’s a mansion! It was absolutely gorgeous, with lots of balconies, huge windows and flawless landscaping.

But when Kevin answered the door for us, I forgot all about the house, and I saw the real reason he had so many girls chasing after him. The guy standing before me was the absolute definition of gorgeous. He was about six feet tall with a really low and tidy haircut, a well-groomed five o’clock shadow, and a complexion about the same colour as mine. He had teeth so white they were practically sparkling, eyes so dark that they did sparkle, and I would have killed to have his long curly eyelashes. I literally felt my heart skip a beat when he smiled at me and I saw his slight dimples. Even in his loose T-shirt, it was clear that he worked out a lot and had a great physique. I had thought that Colin was really cute, but Kevin was, quite literally, the best-looking guy I had ever seen in my entire life.

When Jeremy introduced me, my normally outgoing self was speechless. I just smiled shyly, mumbled a hello, and quickly looked down as Kevin led us into his living room. There was already a large group of people in there, but no more male supermodels. At least it will be easier to talk to them, I thought wryly.

And it was. Everyone there was around my age, many were students at UWI, and all of them were very friendly and receptive, typical Jamaicans. One of them, a girl named Tamara, was actually a third-year student at the University of Western Ontario, a Canadian university with a sizeable Jamaican population, so she and I even talked for a while about life in Canada.

In spite of everyone’s amiability though, I couldn’t help feel somewhat detached from the rest of the group, and not just because they all knew each other. It was funny, when I was in Canada, I always declared myself a Jamaican. But right then, sitting on that couch, I felt more Canadian than I’d ever felt before. The others talked about people, places and things that I had never heard of, and sometimes used words in patois that I couldn’t even begin to decipher. Although I had been feeling so at home in Jamaica since I’d arrived, I had to admit that I was now feeling a little bit like a foreigner.

But even while going through this self-reflection, I still managed to keep one eye on Kevin the entire time. Which meant that it was easy to see that I wasn’t the only one who was watching him. A lot of the girls there, even some of the ones with boyfriends, were clearly flirting with him. In spite of it all, he seemed completely blind to the attention. He appeared to be a very funny, outgoing guy just as Jeremy had said, but he wasn’t responding to any of the girls’ advances.

At one point I found myself alone in the kitchen with Tamara and worked up the courage to ask her about him. “So…tell me something. What’s the deal with Kevin?”

Tamara burst out laughing. “Bwoy, I should have known,” she said with a shake of her head. “Every girl who see my cousin seem to fall in love wid ‘im. He is single, if that’s what you want to know, and that’s by choice obviously.”

“But how come?”

“I suppose it’s because of medical school. He says he’s too busy right now for a girlfriend or for dating. When he’s not at the hospital or studying, which is most of the time, then he’s out with his friends.” Tamara shrugged. “But you know what, personally I think that if he met the right girl,” she said with a sly grin, “he’d be willing to make sacrifices.”

Before I could reply, the subject of our conversation walked into the kitchen. I felt my face flush, wondering if he had heard anything we’d been saying. “What’s up, girls?” he said with a smile as he opened the refrigerator. “Yu havin’ a good time, Nadiya?”

Once again, I felt speechless. “Yeah,” I responded shyly. God, you’ve got to say more than that, I reproached myself. He’s going to start thinking you have some kind of medical problem. “I’m having a really good time actually,” I continued bravely, noticing that Tamara was slipping out of the kitchen. “I’m glad that you had this get-together, it was nice to get to know some people from UWI before I started. And I met a girl who’ll be living on Rex, so that’s nice too.”

“Yu looking forward to being on campus?”

“Oh definitely! I’ve lived on campus the last two years at U of T, and it was always fun.”

“Yeah, I thought about it, but...” and he leaned in to finish his sentence, “I think everybody would laugh at my Spiderman pajamas and I just can’t sleep in anything else.” He winked at me. “Yu comin’?”

I had to do my best not to grin like an idiot as we walked back into the living room together. When Kevin had leaned in towards me, I had felt like I might melt, and my pulse was still racing from that wink. He was the most charming guy I had ever met.

As we entered the living room, I looked away so that nobody would see me biting the inside of my cheek or see that I was blushing. I ended up glancing over at a piano off to the side of the large hallway. I had noticed some pictures on the top of it before, but hadn’t been close enough to see what they were. Now, I slowed to take a closer look. They were the typical family pictures that you’d expect to see in a living room: children in various stages of growing up. There was a picture of what appeared to be Kevin graduating from high school, as well as a similar older picture for two boys, who were without a doubt identical. There were a few pictures of all the boys when they were younger (Kevin was so cute!), but one picture especially caught my eye. It was a picture of Kevin’s sixth birthday (I could tell by the banner in the background), and he was blowing out his candles, in the midst of a sea of over-excited children. Just at the edge of the picture, there was a little girl in a pink dress that looked like a cotton candy explosion who was reaching her hand towards the cake with a look of greed in her eyes. “Hey, that’s me!” I cried in surprise.

Kevin came back over to the picture to see what I was pointing at. He smiled widely. “That little girl who stuck her hand right in the middle of my cake was you, Nadiya? Yu serious?”

“I’m positive! I have a picture of me wearing that same dress at home, and I know I was on my way to someone’s birthday party. I guess now I know whose party it was.”

“Yeh man, I know my mother invited everyone in my class. You went to St. Peter and St. Paul Prep?”

“I sure did.”

“Wow, what a small world,” he said with a grin. “Well, for the record, I don’t remember it very well at all, but my parents tell a great story about my little girlfriend who completely mashed up my cake and ended our relationship!”

I couldn’t believe it. At one time, even though it was fourteen years ago, I had actually been this gorgeous creature’s “little girlfriend”! Well, hopefully he’s over the cake thing enough now to think that I’m worth dating again!

I definitely wasn’t in Jamaica looking for a serious relationship, and from the sounds of what Tamara had said, her cousin wasn’t looking for that either. But spending more time with Kevin, getting to know him better...that sounded intriguing!

The Arrival - What Is For You : Part 1

Aisha Scales — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 13:30:01 UT

As the airplane finally broke through the clouds, and I could see the familiar airport and the runway beneath me framed by the beautiful Caribbean Sea, the mixed feelings that I had been having for the entire flight finally started to tip the scale towards the positive. I could feel my excitement level rising and my trepidation melting away as I stared out the window. The bank of clouds that we had been flying over for so long wasn’t over the land, and the sun was shining down brightly on to the ground below. In the distance, I could see the mountains reaching up to the sky, looking like ancient, noble rulers of the land. Their massiveness was countered by the countless tiny white dots scattered over their surfaces, the houses of Kingston’s upper class. In that moment, it was hard for me to imagine a more beautiful sight than what I saw through the small square in the side of the plane.

This is going to be great, I smiled to myself as the plane descended towards the ground and the runway got closer and closer. A year away at school in Jamaica. How could I have ever doubted myself? The applause coming from the Jamaican passengers sitting around me as the airplane touched down smoothly on the runway only served to build on my excitement. I joined in, clapping energetically. We were all clapping not only to thank the pilots for the smooth landing that they had provided us, but also to thank them for bringing us back home.

I had been so enthusiastic about this trip at first, from the moment that I had first seen the flyer for the exchange program that the University of Toronto offered, right up until last week. That was when my boyfriend of six months, Colin, had broken up with me. At first, he’d been so supportive of my trip, telling me that it was a great idea and that he thought that it was an opportunity that I shouldn’t pass up.

“I know what I said,” he’d muttered, not looking at me, when I pointed that out. “But what else was I supposed to say? I couldn’t tell you to stay!”

I had to fight back angry tears. “No, you couldn’t tell me to stay but you could have been honest with me. You had me thinking you were so happy for me and you said you might come visit me...”

He’d finally looked up, exasperated. “Come on, Nadiya, be real. I wasn’t serious. I’m not going to go to Jamaica! I’ve heard about the crime down there, there’s no way I would go there, especially to Kingston. I think you’re crazy to be doing it, if you really want me to be so honest with you.”

I was stunned into silence at how cold he was being and how insincere he’d been previously. Colin, clearly relieved that I’d had nothing to say, had jumped up. “Sorry, Nadiya, but I just can’t do long distance. We’ll see where things stand when you get back, I guess.” He had given me an awkward peck on the cheek and practically galloped out the door.

Since that evening, I’d become convinced that I was making a huge mistake, and I still felt that way that morning when I was at the airport saying goodbye to my parents. I lost my boyfriend (even though he was a jerk) over this trip, I’m not going to see my parents until Christmas... Do I really know what I’m getting myself into? Living in Jamaica for an entire year was going to be much different from my usual one- and twoweek vacations with my parents. I had started to panic as I was handed my boarding pass, having visions of myself battling mammoth-sized cockroaches and mosquitoes as the humidity made my hair frizzier and frizzier, missing Colin the whole time.

After I got my boarding pass and was all checked in, my father had been the first to say his goodbye. After a firm hug, he instructed, “Make sure you call us from Aunt Sharon’s house as soon as you get in tonight so we know you got in safe. And do you have enough money with you?” I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “Don’t make that face, you never know when you’ll need cash, you know,” he admonished me. “Who knows what could happen.”

I definitely appreciated the fact that my father was being open with his wallet, but he had given me enough cash in the past couple of weeks to buy a small country. “Daddy, I have enough money. If you give me any more, it will weigh me down.”

Then it was my mother, who already had tears running down her cheeks. “Please be careful, Nadiya. We all know Jamaica is a wonderful place, but don’t forget that it has another side too, alright? It can be a very violent place, especially for those who are naïve to it. Don’t ever wander around campus alone after dark, yu hear? And all your family is there, so make sure you call them whenever you need anything, anything at all. And as soon as you can, make sure to get a cellular phone. It doesn’t matter how much it costs, you can call us whenever you want and we will send you the money that you need.”

“I know, Mummy, I will, I promise. I’m going to take care of getting a cell and starting a bank account in the next couple days so that everything’s all set before classes start.”

My mother smiled at me and then gave me a tight squeeze. “And make sure you have a wonderful time. Your father and I always tell you that some of the best years of our lives were the years that we spent at UWI, so I know you’re going to have so much fun. But we’re really going to miss you,” she added wistfully.

I smiled back, but couldn’t stop my own tears from falling. Usually when she started her anxious mother routine, I wanted to get as far away as possible, but not in that moment. “I know, I’m going to miss you guys too.” I gave one last hug to both of them and then grabbed on to the handle of my carry-on that up to now my father had been pulling. I adjusted the strap of my purse, took a deep breath, and with a final “Bye, I love you!”, I hurried off to the security gate. I had given them one last wave at the security gate, but had barely been able to see them because of the tears clouding my vision. At that moment, I had been convinced that I had completely lost my mind. But now, sitting in my seat as the plane cruised to a stop, I felt the complete opposite.

Here I am, I thought happily, looking around me as people started to unbuckle their seat belts and open the overhead compartments (despite the seatbelt sign still being on and the purser’s annoyed announcement). Home.

Because even though I had been living in Canada for the last ten years, a full half of my life, I still considered Jamaica a second home. I had been only ten when we’d migrated, but I had plenty of fond and vivid memories of my time growing up there. I clearly remembered my old prep school, the pretty purple and white uniform I had proudly worn, playing Brown Girl in the Ring with the other little girls in our neighbourhood, going for ice cream with my parents on the weekends, and regular trips to the country to visit my grandparents. But even if I hadn’t had those memories, my family had come back to Jamaica to visit just about every year since we had moved, so the country had never gotten too far away from my sight or mind. That was why I would be seeing my parents at Christmas; this year, they were making their annual trip to Jamaica during the Christmas season.

Not that my heart wasn’t also in Toronto. I hadn’t done much travelling but I was still convinced that it was the greatest city on earth, and nobody could tell me different. It was a bustling, beautiful metropolis with a myriad of things to do and, in spite of its large size, it didn’t have the dirt or danger so common in other big cities. It had a beauty quite different from Jamaica’s; a beauty of concrete and steel instead of wood and water, skylines instead of mountain ranges, but I appreciated that beauty just as much. Toronto had a population whose diversity was unbeatable, and a population whose diverse groups all co-existed in peace. I had gone to high school with people whose origins were literally worldwide and I’d had a similar experience at U of T. A journey on the bus or subway in Toronto could feel like a brief world tour, all for the cost of a token. Most important was the large Jamaican population that had made us feel at home as soon as we arrived in Canada. It was a city in which I planned to spend the rest of my life, but I knew that it would all still be there for me when I got back, and for now, I was just excited to see what this year away as a free and single girl would hold!

An hour or so later, the excitement had worn off. I was finally through customs and just anxious to get out of the airport. After waiting in one slow-moving line after another, and watching luggage spin around on the carousel for what felt like an eternity until my suitcases came out, I was exhausted and grumpy. But as I walked outside, the hot and humid air hit me like a wave, I saw the bright sunshine and the crowd of people peering eagerly in looking for their loved ones and I couldn’t help smiling. I searched the crowd, looking for any familiar faces. Then I spotted them; my aunt, uncle and cousin were waving frantically at me. My smile turned into a huge grin and a laugh. I scuttled over as fast as the bag I was pulling would allow me and gave them each big hugs. There was a flurry of greetings. “So Nadiya, you think you can handle a year out here in Jamaica?” teased Aunt Sharon.

I shrugged playfully. “We’ll see, I guess!” Aunt Sharon shook her head and smiled at me. She adored her older brother, so by extension, she adored me. True to form, she started to gush. “Bwoy, Nadiya, look how nice you’re looking! I can’t get over how pretty you are. And how much you look like your mummy AND your daddy.”

I couldn’t argue with her about that. My parents were both very typical Jamaicans in their appearance, even though they looked vastly different from one another, and I, their only child, was like the solution to the math problem of their average. My father was what Jamaicans would call brown-skinned: he was a mixture of black and white. His beige skin and his loosely curled hair stood in sharp contrast to my mother’s dark chocolate skin and strong West African features. My complexion was neither light nor dark, falling exactly halfway between those of my parents’. I had my father’s high forehead and pointy chin, and from my mother, I had inherited her round eyes and high cheekbones. My hair, like my skin colour, was halfway between that of my parents, not as loosely curly as my father’s waves, but not as tightly curled as my mother’s kinks. I usually wore it straight to make it easier to manage (hence the worry about frizz). Even my height was halfway between that of my parents. My father was just over six feet tall, and my mother was barely five feet, putting me right between them at five foot six.

My aunt was still going on. “Such a shame that you gone and left us and turn Canadian, eeh? That’s the problem with this country, you know, so many of the best and brightest have felt forced to leave over the years. But I’m just happy to have you back for a whole year! Maybe you can have some influence on my little daughter, otherwise known as my little monster!” She gave her daughter a wry glance.

“Hey Bridget!” I said to this same cousin now, flicking the young girl’s ponytail. “How’s it going?” Bridget shrugged and smiled shyly. “OK.” She was always shy with me after not seeing me for a while, but I knew she would open up soon enough. She was as talkative as her mother when she was ready.

“Where’s Jeremy?” I asked, suddenly realizing that Bridget’s older brother was missing. Jeremy was nineteen, only one year younger than me, so we were close, or at least as close as we could be living so far apart.

Bridget rolled her eyes. “He’s out with some girl, as USUAL.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The jealousy in her face was obvious.

Uncle Wallie laughed heartily. (I had already left Jamaica by the time I found out that his real name was actually James, but that’s Jamaicans for you.) “Bridget is learning that a little sister isn’t the only female in a man’s life, and I don’t think she likes it too much.” Uncle Wallie was of full Chinese descent, which had often surprised some of my Canadian friends when they saw him in family pictures. I had had to explain many times that Chinese immigrants had arrived in Jamaica as far back as the 1800s, brought over as indentured workers when slavery ended. A lot of people didn’t realize just how multiracial the people of Jamaica were. No matter what his race though, my uncle was a die-hard patriot, as Jamaican as they come. I still remembered when he had taken his family to China for a trip years ago, and although he came back raving about the wonderful time that he had in his ancestral homeland, he also came back declaring that now he knew more than ever that Jamaica was his one and only home.

He continued now, “I hope you don’t feel insulted he didn’t come, Nadiya. He knows he has all week to spend time with you.” I had decided it would be best to come to Jamaica a week before my orientation started, to give myself time to do the little things I had promised my mother I would do, buy whatever I’d forgotten to bring and get settled in, so for the first week I was staying at my aunt’s house. After that, both Jeremy and I would be moving down to campus. Jeremy had been eager to get the chance to experience university life fully and completely, and that did not include living at home.

“OK,” declared Uncle Wallie, grabbing the handle of my suitcase. “Is too hot to just stay here and stan’ up. Time to get you home and get you settled in.”

What's in a Song? - A List Jamaica Independence Festival Song Winners : Countdown to Jamaica 50

Karen Mitchell — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 13:30:02 UT

Edward Seaga once stated that the main reason for the inception of the Jamaica Independence Festival was to have to, "...have something to mobilize the spirit of the people," to celebrate after the long arduous process of achieving Independence in 1962. After helping to lay the groundwork for the first festival, Seaga remembers it was decided that festival would be held every year in commemoration of the first festival and thus it became an annual event. Since its creation no single portion of the event has served to galvanize the sense of nationality and the celebration of our culture than the selection of the "Festival Song." One of my earliest memories is standing on my veranda with my thumb in my mouth skanking to that years' festival winner. Somehow, year after year, the selection committee always managed to get it right. Choosing just the right anthem to set the tone and mark the mood of the Island. The song literally becomes a auditory time-stamp as to the economic, political and social tempo of the Island. Whenever you hear it, it becomes an automatic jovial nostalgic frame of reference as to what it means to be a Jamaican. We've compiled a condensed list of past winners let us know which were some of your favorites. Visit the Jamaican Cultural Development Commission official website for a list of this years contenders and for festival information.

1966 - The Maytals with "Bam Bam"
1967 - The Jamaicans with "Ba Ba Boom"
1968 - Desmond Dekker & The Aces with "Music Like Dirt"
1969 - The Maytals with "Sweet and Dandy"
1970 - Hopeton Lewis with "Boom Shaka Laka"
1971 - Eric Donaldson with "Cherry Oh Baby"
1972 - Toots & the Maytals with "Pomps and Pride"
1973 - Morvin Brooks with "Jump In The Line"
1974 - Tinga Stewart with "Play de Music"
1975 - Roman Stewart with "Hooray Festival"
1976 - Freddie McKay with "Dance This Ya Festival"
1977 - Eric Donaldson with "Sweet Jamaica"
1978 - Eric Donaldson with "Land of my Birth"
1979 - The Astronauts with "Born Jamaican"
1980 - Stanley & The Turbines with "Come Sing With Me"
1981 - Tinga Stewart with "Nuh Wey Nuh Betta Dan Yard"
1982 - The Astronauts with "Mek Wi Jam"
1983 - Ras Karbi with "Jamaica I'll Never Leave You"
1984 - Eric Donaldson with "Proud to be Jamaican"
1985 - Roy Rayon with "Love Fever"
1986 - Stanley & The Turbines with "Dem a fe Squirm"
1987 - Roy Rayon with "Give Thanks and Praise"
1988 - Singer Jay with "Jamaica Land We Love"
1989 - Michael Forbes with "Stop and Go"
1990 - Robbie Forbes with "Island Festival"
1991 - Roy Rayon with "Come Rock"
1992 - Heather Grant with "Mek wi Put Things Right"
1993 - Eric Donaldson with "Big It Up"
1994 - Stanley & The Astronauts with "Dem a Pollute"
1995 - Eric Donaldson with "Join de Line"
1996 - Zac Henrry & Donald White with "Meck We Go Spree"
1997 - Eric Donaldson with "Peace and Love"
1998 - Neville Martin with "Jamaica Whoa"
1999 - Cheryl Clarke with "Born Inna JA"
2000 - Stanley Beckford with "Fi Wi Island A Boom"
2001 - Roy Richards with "Lift Up Jamaica"
2002 - Devon Black with "Progress"
2003 - Stefan Penincilin with "Jamaican Tour Guide"
2004 - Stefan Penincilin with "Ole Time Jamaica"
2005 - Khalil N Pure with "Poverty"
2006 - Omar Reid with "Remember the Days"
2007 - Neville 'Gunty' Winters with "Woman A Di Beauty"
2008 - Roy Rayon with "Rise and Shine"
2009 - Winston Hussey with "Take Back Jamaica"
2010 - Kharuso with "My Jamaica"
2011 - Pessoa with "O If We (Can Change The World)"

Kingston: Vintage Jamaica - Countdown to Jamaica's 50th Independence

Karen Mitchell — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 13:30:01 UT

Kingston Post Office and Town Hall after 1907 Earthquake.

What began as just another balmy picturesque day in paradise, ended for its inhabitants as the day the world as they knew it, violently shook and was literally casted upside down.

By 1907, Jamaica, the tiny "...verdant beauty..." set in the middle of the Caribbean, like the magnificent jewel she was considered at the time, had established its resilience to Mother Nature's occasional tempestuous fury. Kingston, the bustling harbor town built integrally as a preferred alternative in terms of location to the city of Port Royal, (which had eventually succumbed to repeated tropical onslaughts of natural disasters), had experienced exponential population growth and was the country's center for commerce and trade. The afternoon of January 15, 1907, found the city in normal post noon menagerie of big city activities until approximately 3:30 pm when it was reported that preceded by a low whisper of a breeze that grew to a thunderous roar, the ground beneath Kingston began to violently shudder, creating gaps an fissures that swallowed not only entire buildings, but the terrified occupants within them.

When the shaking finally subsided, Kingston was almost unrecognizable. the loss of life was counted at over eight hundred souls, and almost all the historical buildings were either severely damaged or destroyed. The ensuing fires that swept the city leveled what structures remained, leaving survivors to brave the elements by sleeping outdoors for weeks. The devastation of the 6.5 magnitude earthquake left many to question the ability of Kingston to recover and move forward. But in the destruction many saw an opportunity to rebuild a bigger, better, logistically sound, Kingston.

Like a Phoenix, out of the ashes and rubble, and after a considerable amount of assistance and planning, Kingston did once again find the strength to rise to it former and continued magnificence.

The above picture, taken from the Jamaicans.com online archive is one of many provided by Dr. John Mercado depicting the devastation reeked on the Kingston Post Office and Town Hall by the earthquake. The sense of desolation is almost palpable.

Today Kingston is a still thriving mecca even after facing continued social, political and yes, challenges by Mother Nature. The enduring fortitude of it's its inhabitans cannot be denied.

If you have any pictures you would like to submit to our gallery and have them considered for possible publication at Jamaicans.com, send them to: ChildofParadise@ymail.com

Tags: earthquakes, Jamaica earthquake 1907, Jamaica historical events, Karen Mitchell, kington post office, tony callum, vintage jamaica

Vintage Jamaica - The Tramcar

Karen Mitchell — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 12:30:01 UT

There are those that are quite surprised by the discovery that in 1845, with the installation of a steam railroad line between Kingston and Spanish Town, the Island of Jamaica was among the first in the Americas to establish a tramcar system as a means of "modern" mass transportation.

It was the somewhat glamorous quality of the picture that initially caught my attention. The tramcar cushioned between a row of stately palms trees and a smattering of elegant vintage cars that instantly shouted, "California!". Only to be amazed that this idyllic looking, active intersection is not some obviously thriving area in the Sunshine State, but actually a snapshot of popular King Street in Kingston, Jamaica, circa 1930.

In 1876, The Jamaica Street Car Company recognizing the need for an efficient way to transport the approximately 50,000 occupants of the bustling capital, instituted a system using horse car from May Pen, to Constant Spring, to Rae Town.

By the early 1930's, the approximate time this snapshot (top of the page) was taken, there were a documented forty-four motor cars, five passenger trailers, and two freight trams transporting both passengers and products on the by now twenty six point seven miles of track traversing Kingston.

To much public upset and citing extreme financial constraints at the prospect of of well needed expansion, the Jamaica Street Car Company stopped tramway service in May of 1948. The remaining cars became like many pieces of our tangible connection to our history, were destroyed. The owners deeming more value in their being reduced to melted steal than as museum quality collectibles.

Also see the the article "The Tramways of Kingston, Jamaica"

To submit a photo that you feel depicts the essence of "Vintage Jamaica" please submit them for possible publication and inclusion to the Jamaicans.com gallery please submit them to childofparadise@ymail.com.Follow Karen on twitter: @ChiefofParadise

Anansi-a-dead-oh!

Mon, 06 Jun 2011 12:25:00 UT

Dear Aunty:

I know this is late, but me just get the news. I cant believe is true so I’m writing to authenticate the veracity of the statement that dem a plan up fe kill off Anancy. See yah ma, when Aunty Girlie tell me frighten, me frighten so till that me almost drop dead right there on the spot. Same time me bawl out ‘Murder! Blue murder!’ Aunty Girlie had was to tek time fan me, so cool me down. Me cyaan believe things gone so bad. That de violence spread so far, that down to teacher a carry on wid dem slackness. No man! Nutten couldn’t go soh. Teacher a destant smaddy. A mus lie dem a tell. No teacher would a sey such a ting like ‘Kill off Anansi!’ A mus lie dem a tell, an give teacher bad name. Which teacher could so stupid fe want fe kill off we national treasure.

My modder was a teacher. She was Head Teacher at one of de best primary schools in Jamaica and sake of dat, me know plenty teacher. Me is one of de few people me know who use to like most of my teacher. And as far as I know, except for one or two cubbitch one -- teacher used to be peaceable people. Although dem used to learn we all kind of English foolishness in dose days, like bout de heather on de Scottish moors dem, and never teach we nutten bout de bush dem eena de school yard – dem was good people. The good teacher dem used to tek dem hand tun fashion and tell you how de English story dem relate to de jamaica condition. Me know dat is why me turn out good. And even doah de one Maas Mutty tek it cuss me pon radio sey cause me live a foreign, me nuh have no business ah talk bout what Jamaica supposed to do, for dat is Jamaica business, me feel strongly sey as a proud flag carrying member of the Jamaican overseas nation, me have a right fe mek my feelings known. Further more even more important than my contribution to the national psyche through my contributions to the furtherance of Jamaica’s profile over here in foreign, I have to send home money to help mind my modder – cause government money cannot mind her... cause as heverybody know, dat rain a fall but de dutty tough -- even fe good oldtime teacher. But I digress! As I was saying Me no believe say dat a Teacher coulda really a call down death and destruction pon Anansi.

So me writing fe express me outrage and concern and fe find out how de story really go. Ascorden to how Aunty Girlie give me, she sey she hear dat some teacher sey dat is time Anansi is replaced by a more suitable image because Anansi glorifies de ginnalship in people. Me want fe know if is de same Anansi whey me know, she a talk bout. Me not saying is not true sey Anansi have some ginnal ways still. Me all write a DJ song bout it. In fact me a plan fe look a producer like Scratch Perry fe help me mek a money, off a de song. But if a true dem a tell sey dem want fe execute Anansi, me haffe move faster. Me cyan believe sey people coulda so ignorant and bad mind. As far as me know, and me tell Anansi story all de time, Anansi story is life learning story. For example, Plenty Anansi story, Anansi get juk when him try greedy too bad. Him always get soak. Dat is a opportunity fe teach people bout honesty. De few time when Anansi ginnal and get way ah no really nutten serious him do like tief money or tief food. Is when odder people try tek advantage of him cause him lickle. Dats is how Jamaican people come to know sey we likkle but we tallwah.. We nuh mek we small size stop we from conquer de world. And furthermore, Anansi travel wid we from Africa! If it wasn’t fe Anansi we woulda never know sey we connect up to de Ashanti people dem in Ghana. And dem used fe run tings! Furthermore Anansi help us through tick and tin, him help we survive slavery, four hundred years of story keeping and story telling dat bandage we batter bruise mind and soul … and now dat dem have TV and flim, dem a spread lie and want fe kill him off. If Anansi was good fe tek we out of old time slavery, me tink sey him equally good fe tek we out of dis new time slavery we into now. For dis is mental slavery!

Before dem come up wid story fe modernize Anansi, fe help we through de new kind of slavery dat we finding we self into, dem a talk bout kill off and dash way. You see how dem love foreign tings in Jamaica… so tell dem import and internalise de American dashway mentality. America have big big comic book and movie wid SPIDERMAN and call him SUPER HERO…. and we a dash wey fe owna Spiderman ANANSI ! What a stupidity! Dem people who a call out fe crucify Anansi a suffer from de same said mental slavery whey Brother Bob Marley was a sing bout. And If teacher enslave, den Jamaica in a problems bad indeed. Noh vision no dey and so we a go perish. National anthem say soh! Ah no me!

Yuh see me? Sometime when me want fe explain how foreign life feel to Jamaican people, me just mek up a Anansi story fe explain wey me mean. Me all go a big conference an tell story how Anansi mek WORLD PEACE. Me mek up story bout how Anansi mek we free from slavery! And me tell story how Anansi mek we een slavery! My Anansi noh easy. Me noh have no fear fe mek people know bout Jamaica Anansi. Me tell dem say dat Anansi is a FOLK hero and me is one of Anansi FOLK so me free me tell any story bout him ascorden to how me find him. And me know sey dat one hundred year from now, when people a talk bout ‘One time Long Time”, is my story bout Anansi first trip to de moon or de one bout Anansi eena de UN dem a go tell. So me naw mek nobody teacher or minister or any oder leader prescribed or proscribed, not even de PRIME MINISTER come KILL off Anansi just so. No way!

If is true sey dem a call fe de arrest and execution of Anansi, me a go launch a Save Anansi Campaign. Anansi is a World Heritage Figure. I not taking it lightly cause as you slip you slide. First is Anansi, next you know dem tek on Nanny and start complain sey she shouldn’t be we national hero because it a teach de pickney dem fe rely pon magic bullet. Den de next ting you know dem tek on Garvey, cause dem a go sey he was a deportee. Every body have 20/20 HINDSIGHT vision We need prayers.

IMe naw mek it just go so. Bad enough dem a kill off innocent people a Jamaica every day, police and thief alike.. now teacher a turn killer to. Well it naw go goh so. Send come tell me quick quick… so me can start me Save Anansi Campaign!

Your loving niece,

Cousin Claira

Claire A. Nelson Ph.D.

Founder & President

Institute of Caribbean Studies, Washington DC

www.icsdc.org

www.caribbeanamericanmonth.org

Marketing 101-Yardie Style

Darnatz Darnatz — Mon, 16 May 2011 12:40:00 UT

If you’ve ever done a course in Marketing you would know the importance of the FOUR P’s-product, price, place (location) and promotion. Any marketer worth anything will tell you that if you do not focus on these four things-yuh product nah go sell. That might be true but it seems that these fancy-schmancy marketers may need to come take a course in Marketing at the University of Downtown Kingston, Jamaica, cause wi good bad enuh. You only have to spend a few minutes in the hustle and bustle of Downtown Kingston to really appreciate how good our people are at marketing-(note I did not say selling, because I truly believe that as Jamaicans we are such skilful marketers that we can even get an Eskimo to buy ice from us!!!).

What makes it even more interesting is that there is such a high concentration of vendors in Downtown Kingston, most of whom are selling the same/similar items that to survive, one MUST be different, and you MUST stand out from the rest. So you go Downtown and you hear “taste and buy guinep”, ‘taste and buy hag plum” but I bet you’ve never heard of “taste and buy rat poison”-oh yes-“rat poison”. You see this vendor decided that rat poison was such an obscure thing that he had to refine his sale technique. I bet you him neva have han fi sell.

Our vendors are also mindful of the developing market trends that they fashion their sales pitch to reflect popular songs in Jamaica. Some months ago, Spice released a song in which she spoke of her liaisons with her lover while her husband was at work –the popular name of the song is Jim Screechie. So here I am trying to get a blouse to go on a trip one day, when I hear “see di jim screechie panty dem yah”. Of course I am intrigued and lo and behold I looked around and there was a man grinning from ear to ear holing up a very interesting undergarment with all the elements necessary for you to “jim screechie” with ease without being caught.

There is one special group that I prefer to call the “opportunistic marketers” who label their products according to upcoming events. For example during Champs season you would hear “see di Champs bag juice dem yah”. A tell yuh-we no easy yuh know.

Some vendors are so insistent on plying their trade that the government has been forced to make concessions and allow them to operate in previously no vending areas. Anyhow yuh waan fi bling out fi a session jus check di hairdressa dem Downtown fi di latest hairstyle, nails and “boppers” (false eyelash). They have turned some streets into a “walk of fabulosity” an nuh badda tink seh a jus ghetto girl go to dem-caah nuff middle class women go there because their hair is impeccably done an it cheap.

Don’t believe for one moment that is ongle di street venda dem a baas pon marketing enuh caah trus mi di food place dem inna di mix to. Take Sufah for example, if you are Downtown an hungry a yuh waan hungry because any money yuh have yuh can still eat a food. At one time you could get a food fi even fifty dollars!!!!

Seems we have di ting lock. Our people are just truly creative, we know how fi survive. Maybe University students need to be sent Downtown for practical exercises in marketing-mi no know mi jus a seh, all dis book book book, mek dem go learn from the true masters of marketing.

The Vital Role Jamaican Cartoonists Play

Margaret Juliet Bailey — Mon, 09 May 2011 12:30:02 UT

The English definition of a Cartoonist is a person who specializes in drawing cartoons. The work is usually of a humorous nature and created for satire and informative purposes. Cartoons are used for entertainment, commentary and for the enlightenment of political issues.

There are many different forms of Cartoons, gag cartoons, editorial cartoons, comic strips and animation. Cartoonists, first develop rough sketches of their subjects into finished pencil drawings and the artwork is completed in black India ink, using a brush or metal ribbed pen.

A vital part of the Jamaican culture has been the cultivation of several brilliant artists who remain unknown due to their love of true art, and refusing to sell out to commercialism. Jamaica has been fortunate to have two distinguished Cartoonists in their midst whose Artwork or Cartoons have been seen all over the world and created social awareness for Jamaica.

The first Cartoonist is Clovis Brown. He grew up in Spanish Town, Jamaica, where he attended Crescent-All Age School, Bog Walk High School, and The Edna Manley School of Visual and Performing Arts. While a student at Bog Walk Secondary School, he was often bombarded with requests from students to fill up their drawing books with art, exclaiming, "Clovis, fill these up with drawings for me nuh!"

He was later recognized for his impromptu drawing talents and he was approached by a Representative from The Edna Manley School of Visual and Performing Arts. He accepted the invitation to become a student there and began excelling in still life pictures, which won him accolades with his fellow classmates. With several different art forms to his credit, Clovis Brown went on to specialize in Graphics and branched out in Art Work and Illustration.

Once he graduated from The Edna Manley School of Visual and Performing Arts, he worked as a Freelancer for a top Jamaican Advertising Firm by the name of Moo Young, Butler and Associates. During his employment there he drew a full page of cartoons featuring former Prime Minister, Edward Seaga and His One Man Band, within a short while he gained notoriety. His cartoons made him very sought after by the rivaling political parties and other newspapers.

His career with the Jamaican Daily Gleaner was started in the 1980's because of his previous endeavors as a Cartoonist who educated Jamaicans politically through his caricatures and artwork. Working at the Gleaner as an Editorial Cartoonist, he gained valuable experience which enabled him to move on to a position at the Jamaican Daily Observer, where he has worked for approximately 22 years.

Clovis Brown prides himself on his ability to unveil the antics of Jamaican Politicians and Law Makers with a touch of candor and humor. His work is featured as an Illustrator in a new book by Kelly Griller, "Every Road Leads to School" and on the Daily Gleaner Website where he is most noted for his cartoon, "Everbody Tun Don" featuring Edward Seaga.

In Clovis Brown's world, the work of a Political Satirist can be rewarding, however, it also has its downsides which involves being plagued by frivolous lawsuits, claiming defamation of character and other insignificant topics.

The second, notable Cartoonist in Jamaica is Las May, who is a self-taught Cartoonist. Like Clovis Brown, he studied Art at the prestigious Edna Manley School of Visual and Performing Arts, and he also started his career as a Cartoonist for the Jamaican Gleaner.

Although he would rather be known as a Graphic Artist and Illustrator, his first big break came when he submitted a comic strip story to the Gleaner that was published in the Jamaican Star. Las May's career was started due to this comic strip and he became a Cartoonist with the Star's "Laugh With Us" section.

Las May has acquired International notoriety through his cartoons which display humor regarding the Jamaican Dancehall Scene, Inner City Issues, Drug Dealng and Government Overspending.

Some of his work is displayed on YouTube, "The Jamaican Election Campaign 2007", LasMay.com, ("Depressed Police", "Can You Trust The Police?" and former Prime Minister, "Portia Miller Simpson as a Donette".

Cartoon Artists perform a much needed service in society because they help to inform the educated, uneducated, the hearing impaired and mentally challenged regarding developments in their community and the world. The task of a Cartoonist is without a doubt, filled with controversies and they are often plagued with retribution and distortions of their translations. However, most people do not realize the good humor it offers and pass their "works" off as vindictive fodder, explaining that it is lack of good judgment and direct assaults on characters.

Humorous Artists are an extension of child's play, even though sticks and stones can break bones, words don't hurt and pictures only convey what the viewer wants to believe. Cartoons are meant to bring light humor and folly to the tumultuous and economically challenging times we live in. They are drawn to create awareness, but not to be "stewed" upon.

So, in good taste and gratitude the Jamaican Hall of Fame would like to say Thank You to Clovis Brown and Las May for their many years of artistic entertainment and political satire. As we say in Jamaica, "Sometimes yu haffi tek bad tings mek joke...."

Lyrics-De Jamaican Way

Darnatz Darnatz — Mon, 04 Apr 2011 11:30:02 UT

I have always been amazed at how bold, bright, brazen and bumptious our Jamaican men are when it comes to dropping lyrics. I am convinced that the things that women have to endure from some of these men happen only in Jamaica.

Now if you thought I was talking about the regular “browning”, “empress or “my size” that some men use to get a woman’s attention, then you would be wrong. I am talking about those men who are actually convinced that they have what it takes to make a woman give them their number. What makes it even more ridiculous is that when you look at the type of man calling to some of these well-put-together women yuh jus waan pap up, cause nowhere inna him wildest dream would she even give him the time of day, but does he care.

One of my earliest experiences was at the tender age of sixteen when I was keen on showing my “belly-skin” and was proud of the fact that it was cute. Now here I was walking in Half Way Tree minding my own business when a man comes up to me and says, “Bwai baby, mi woulda drink some rum outta yuh navel enuh”. Can you imagine the horror? Not only was I embarrassed but I was also furious because even if I were going to engage in any romantic liaisons, I sure would not want anyone to drink rum from my navel. I wondered couldn’t he had said wine or some other drink, but rum-so not sexy. But then again, rum is the choice drink of many Jamaican men, so he was simply staying in familiar territory.

I thought that things couldn’t get any worse, but over the years men have said some things to me that have made me blush and I sure could not repeat them here for fear of making yuh yeyelash curl up-so mi ago keep it PG-16.

Some years ago I was at Hellshire, relaxing and trying to complete a chapter for my upcoming exams when a man who sells fish and festival came over to me and said “Babes, mi a watch yuh from ova dey so. How you do? I quickly mumbled “I’m okay” hoping that he would get the message and leave me alone. But he was persistent. Next thing I know missa man is telling me “yuh know seh mi can tek care a yuh. Is a man like me yuh want inna yuh life”. For the first time, I took a good look at him and it was all I could do from laughing out loud. I wondered if he intended to maintain me on the money he made from his livelihood, cause my studies no come cheap. He also didn’t seem put off by the fact that I was married and that my husband was swimming a few feet away. He even suggested that he could be the ‘man pan di side’ and kept insisting that he was the right man for me. Now can you imagine me exchanging my good good husband fi him-no sah. Eventually, I had to let him down easy and I just silently laughed at the episode.

If that weren’t bad enough, I made the mistake of going out in the front yard in a very short shorts some time ago and almost immediately a man named Blacka who has no abiding city and who literally hangs around construction sites in the hope of getting a job walked by and said “Psst, sexy-yuh look good enuh. A shoulda you a my ooman”. I began to cringe because Blacka no stay prappa yuh nuh and I wondered if that was the kind of man I was attracting. Yuh know seh mi go in go tek off di shorts caah mi couldn’t tek another lecherous soul like Blacka lusting afta mi. But later when I had some time to think it over I realized that Blacka was just one of many as there are many Jamaican men who nuh have dry trash inna dem name but believe that they can get any Miss World. I applaud their ambition.

Enough about me though, here are a few of the things that have been said to some of my girlfriends.

“Yuh machine look good”
“Baby yuh know seh mi spirit tek yuh”
“Mi would gi yuh a bwai pickney now”-so romantic
“Champion”
“Yuh chassy set good enuh”

Anyway, the stories are never-ending and could fill a book, so mi ago lef some fi lata. Tek care till next time.

Only In Jamaica - Part 1: The "Masacraw" Of The Queen's English

Darnatz Darnatz — Mon, 07 Mar 2011 11:45:01 UT

Being a full-time mom, wife and a part-time teacher does not often allow me the time to engage in one of my favourite past-times, writing. My husband has been prodding me for years to write more and I keep telling him I have no time, which is true, but I believe maybe I needed to be inspired. So started my quest:"What should I write about?" and then it hit me-Jamaica!!! After all there is much on the rock to fill a thousand books. So here's the first look at a series I like to call "ONLY IN JAMAICA-PART 1: THE "MASACRAW" OF THE QUEEN'S ENGLISH.

I never cease to be amazed at the many ingenious ways that our people find to “masacraw” (massacre) the English Language. The interesting thing is that many of them do it and do not even realize that what they are saying is wrong. The daily news is chock full of such examples, not to mention everyday life in general. I am sure we have all heard of at least one instance of Jamaicans doing what we do best-talking. Now I can't promise you that the following will enhance your intellect, instead my intentions are purely to provide you with an opportunity to engage in gut-busting-kin-puppa-lick laughter. I won't even comment on the fact that this state of affairs shows how we struggle with the English Language and that our people and our students really need serious help but again, another time and place for such serious discussion.

SCENARIO 1: I'm sitting in a classroom and the Form Teacher enters to mark the afternoon register. He proceeds to mark one boy absent for the morning session and the students protests loudly.

TEACHER: "You were not present this morning when I came".

STUDENT: "Yes sir, I was here".

TEACHER: "Where were you? Where were you".

(Getting equally annoyed with the teacher, the student replies, with great emotion.)

STUDENT: "Where we me? Where were me? How you mean- Where were me?"

Now you know how I was trying not to laugh and had to exercise much restraint not to start rolling on the ground an "gi laugh fi peas soup" because I could not believe what I had just heard. What also struck me is that the student asked the questions with such confidence and I doubt he even realized what he said.

SCENARIO 2: This was related to me by a friend.

A lady gets up to give testimony in church and relying on a popular hymn which has the words "JUST AS I AM THINE OWN TO BE.......says: "Jesus never said you should be just like a potato, he didn’t say to be just like a dasheen, he said to be just like a yam". Now like the student this lady never tried to reason out what the real words were, she simply repeated what she thought she heard and you can very well imagine the conviction with which she said it, given we have all been to church and have seen how we in Jamaica testify.

SCENARIO 3: I was walking through Emancipation Park and was approached by a lady who says: "Hello, good night, we are holding a village for the Haitian people, so can you give a donation please". Now for a few seconds I wondered what the hell she was talking about but then I remembered seeing a lot of candles in the park and in fact the earthquake had only recently occurred in Haiti, so I realized that what she really meant to say was that they were keeping a VIGIL. Again, Miss Lady never skip a beat and I am sure she repeated it to many other persons throughout the night.

SCENARIO 4: Again, this was related to me by a friend.

A long line of people are waiting in a popular local bank and in waltzes a dapper and distinguished looking man who proceeds straight to the cashier window, bypassing all who were already waiting. Of course, they reacted quite angrily to this and the following exchange occurs:

QUEQUE: "A wha do dis man doh eh-a weh him come from-bout him a cut di line-him no see wi?"

WELL DRESSED MAN: "Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am?

MAN AT THE BACK: (He steps out of the line)- "I don't care who you am.............."

Talk about opening yuh mouth an put yuh foot in deh.

Now there are so many others that I could relate but a feel sorry fi yuh from all di laughing so I'm gonna take it easy and give you some homework -(real teacher eeh). The following are words and phrases that I have received in essays or that people/students have said either on the news or when speaking in general. Try to figure them out, I sure had a good time reading and hearing them. Here goes:

“Aspects of this project will be curried”-trust me this has nothing to do with curry chicken.
Biasism
Abolishment
Genocity
Extravaganzer
Discomfortable
Intelligate
“Dem nah hole wi astrije down here”
Abundantful
Construency

Then there are:

ON A TAXI: "Sloid as a rock"
ON A SIGN FOR A SIDEWALK COOKSHOP: Strue peas

Mi gone yaah, cause just writing them a mek mi pap up. Next installment-ONLY IN JAMAICA: THE HIGH SCHOOL EDITION. Happy laughing.

Why Daddy Eats Patty Every Saturday

Brittany Murphy — Mon, 17 Jan 2011 08:30:02 UT

Back in Jamaica when Daddy was a boy he and his younger brother, Andrew, found some brown seeds in their bathroom cabinet one Sunday morning. They had no time to investigate what type of seeds they were so they dropped them by the front gate when they were on their way to church. When the boys came back they discovered a plant had began growing right next to the opening for the front gate. The boys had never seen a plant like that before. As the boys began to approach the plant they smelt the aroma of patties cooking in the oven. They ran inside to see if their mom was baking patties because they never had patty for Sunday dinner. Their mom looked at them like they were mad men when they asked about patties. The now embarrassed boys went back outside and noticed little yellow blossoms growing on the plant.

When the boys’ father came home he asked who planted the plant right in front of the gate. Their father said he had to pull out his machete and cut the plant down. The boys asked what type of plant it was. The boys’ father did not know what type of plant it was, which was strange because their father grew up in the country. The boys were puzzled and became even more confused the next morning. When the boys woke up early to catch the bus for school they noticed the plant had grew back. They tried to cut it down but could not so they had to wake their father to help them. When they came back from school the plant had grown back again, it was even taller and stronger. Their father grew tired of having to cut down the plant twice a day. By Wednesday he had given up on the plant. The plant continued growing, the blossoms got bigger and more golden as the days went on.

By Saturday the blossoms were the size of coconuts. The boys were ramping outside when all of a sudden a patty hit Andrew in the head. Both boys began looking around to see who was throwing patties. Then patty hit Daddy in the head. Both boys looked up and realized patties were falling out the blossoms on the mystery plant. So many patties began dropping that t looked as if it were raining. People began coming out of their houses with buckets and basins to catch the patties. From that day on every Saturday patties rained from the plant, which is now known as the patty tree. The patty tree is still at the house Daddy lived in as a boy. It still rains patty on Saturday, every Saturday.

So that is why Daddy eats patty every Saturday.

About the Author:
Brittany Murphy is the daughter of the Jamaicans.com founder X. Murphy.

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