Port Antonio Pics

Me in Port Antonio
Me and Ninja Star at the beach
These are the friends we met in Port Antonio that came and hung out with us on the beach!
This is all of us at the beach!
Me and Devon at the beach

This is Rachael, Leann and me on the way to Lime Cay.

Port Antonio - The Discovery

Port Antonio – The Discovery
Port Antonio has given me a much better experience than Kingston. Yesterday we decided to take a trip for the weekend and go to Port Antonio, a small town on the northeastern coast of Jamaica. In order to get here, we had to take a three and a half hour bus ride. For those that don’t know already, in Jamaica, there is no capacity to vehicles, and you can always fit more people. So on the way down, the five of us sat in the back of a large van – all five of us in four seats. Every row was the same, and as we acquired more people on the way, passengers began to sit on other people’s laps or stand in the little space remaining. In order to make more room for passengers, some men rode with one foot in the car and held onto seats and left their bodies hanging out of the sliding door. It was crazy and the roads are bumpy so I can’t imagine how scary it would have been for those guys. At times the road was so windy and the turns were at such high speeds that I felt like the car was going to flip off and fall to the ocean below. Eventually the passenger load thinned out and we had enough room to sit one person per seat. The entire ride was charged with loud dancehall and reggae music, and one of the passengers, a man in a yellow shirt, was drinking malt liquor the whole way down – just kept drinking and drinking and drinking - and by two hours into the ride, he was dancing in his seat with his arm around an old woman who he named "grandma". This man was absolutely hilarious and he was being loud and making friends the whole way down.
When we arrived at Port Antonio we checked into our rooms at the OceanCrest Guest House. The woman who owns it is really nice and she cut us a great deal for a second night. She has been very fair with prices and accommodations, and she calls us her daughters. The Port Antonio citizens know her as Auntie and no one messes with her. Once we got settled into our rooms, we were starving so we walked to town and bought some chicken. When we walked down the first main street we were confronted by happy faces and men that asked our names and told us that we were beautiful. At first I thought these people were going to be really nice and then pick our pockets or something, but it turns out that these people are just amazingly kind and they love meeting foreigners! The people of Port Antonio proved to be welcoming and anxious to see new faces. This area of Jamaica has no crime at all. It was explained to me that because it’s such a small town, everyone knows each other and respects. Even tourists, though sometimes charged higher prices, are treated fairly and politely. Auntie told us that we didn’t have to worry about theft or rape or anything like that in this area, which was very assuring, and turned out to be very true.
We stayed out really late just hanging out on the street with these people. There were several notable characters, and it seemed like one of them had their eyes set on each of the girls – except for me of course because I’m already dating the coolest man in the states…. ANYWAY, here is a brief description of a few people…
Kevin was the first person we met. He was hanging out on the street and when we walked by he introduced himself and asked us if we were going to the club, LaBest. We told him that we were hungry and he introduced us to ChickenMan, who makes the best chicken in Jamaica. ChickenMan owns a barbecue and hangs out on the street selling chicken. It was really good. As the night went on we all became acquainted with Kevin, but he seemed to have a special attraction for Catherine, who he said that he was in love with – "seriously". He explained that if he were to marry Catherine, he would provide for her and that all she would have to do all day is watch TV.
Devon was hanging out with Kevin and ChickenMan before we met them. He was wearing this neon green Tupac shirt with the price tag still on it for style. Apparently he makes his living by buying shirts for cheap in Kingston and then selling them in the Port Antonio area for high prices. Devon ended up being fascinated with Leanne and he’s planning to find us in Kingston and rent a room in a hotel where he and Leanne can spend "a night of pure pleasure" together. Leanne was not too keen on this suggestion.
By far the most outrageous character that we met here was Ninja Star. Ninja Star is this totally awesome guy (who smells like B.O. and bad breath) who is a celebrity within Port Antonio. His claim to fame is the jewelry that he makes, but he is also recognized as a musician. He constantly makes really weird noises, he’s as thin as a toothpick and was so high that nothing he was saying made sense. He became fascinated with Rachael and, since he’s related to Michael Jackson, Nanny (of the maroons), Nat King Cole, Wilson of the tennis balls and Nefertiti, he’s going to provide for her forever. He works for the Queen of Australia, who helped Bob Marley and said she was going to hook him up in a music video with DMX, Eminem and Puff Daddy. He owns three houses and a boat. According to him, the ocean is the most beautiful thing ever and girls are the ocean. Ninja Star and I both have Japanese heritage, so we are brother and sister. Apparently, in the year 2006 (which is actually in the future), the world will be ruled by blacks and Japanese. Ninja Star is always smiling and laughing and making sure that everyone around him is doing the same. We discovered today that he can do back flips somewhat successfully. Ninja Star’s wardrobe was one of a kind. Yesterday he was wearing glasses frames (no lenses), a million bling necklaces/rings and a bright neon green shirt. Today he was wearing the same bling and a fanny pack. When he wanted to get into the water today, it took a whole half hour to get his clothes and jewelry off. When finished, however, we figured out that he couldn’t swim. He was doggy paddling out to us and this wave hit him. He went under, but as soon as the wave passed, we saw his same face – big smile, big eyes and that crazy laugh. Kevin had to shoo him away and tell him not to come out any farther. After that he gave Rachael one of his bling rings because he wants to marry her. He was absolutely ridiculous. When you smile, you are Ninja Star. When you laugh, you see Ninja Star…. I don’t think he’s gone a day of his life without being high.
While we were hanging out with this crew, we saw a familiar face walk by. We immediately recognized him as the man from the bus that was drunk and dancing with "grandma". He was extremely happy that we had recognized him so he bought us all drinks – 12 people. He wanted us to walk down this dark alley but we didn’t want to go, so he got kind of offended. After a while, some of our new friends thought he was trying to be mean to us, so they started getting mad at him and telling him to go away. We had to intervene and explain that he was our friend from the bus, and he was so happy that we were acknowledging his friendship that he, for a second time, bought us all drinks! He was such a happy guy but he was extremely drunk. In fact, when we asked him what his name was, he spelled it, "D-R-I-C-H" and was trying to spell D-E-R-R-I-C-K.
Last night we spent most of our time in the street, hanging out with cool people who kept saying, "you’re beautiful," "you’re an angel" or "how you like your time so far?" I have to admit that while Jamaican culture is so much more than marijuana, I realized the real prevalence of the drug in this country. You literally cannot go anywhere in Port Antonio without seeing or smelling the ganga. People try to solicit it to you and trick you into taking it. A man introduced himself to me and offered to shake my hand while concealing a bag of the herb. I wasn’t expecting this, and the baggie fell to the ground. Devon immediately kicked the man out of the area because he knew that we do not smoke and told the man off. It was so comforting to have a local looking out for our wellbeing.
After we went to LaBest, the nightclub, we headed back home. On the way home we passed by a bar owned by a Rastafarian. The other girls headed back to the house and I stayed and talked to the rastas that worked in the bar. They told me a lot about Rastafari, and they are by far the kindest people that I’ve met thus far because they care about you, but they don’t try to pick up on you like the rest of the men in Port Antonio. I stayed and talked for two hours to the three rastas who were working. Stuie, the owner, was originally from Brooklyn but has spent most of his life in Jamaica. He corrected a lot of views that I had about Rastafari. Actual Rastafarian religion is not based on race. He says that there are many Asian and white Rastafarians that are more dedicated to the religion than other black people. He also explained the biblical influence and how Rastafari compares to other religions that are popular in this area. He told me a lot about the history of Jamaica and taught me about the famous Rastafarian leaders as well as a pattern of 3’s that is found in the bible and life. When it got too late, one of the rastas named Rick walked me home. These rastas are absolutely amazing. I cannot tell you how different they acted compared to the other people – no pick-ups and no concern about anything. I feel that I can really relate to these people, even though there are things that I would not want to be associated with – like drugs. In a big sense, rastas remind me of hippies. Some key words that they use to describe their religion are love, respect, life, truth…. I can’t help but see the similarities between this subculture and the hippie subculture in America, and maybe that is what has sparked my interest in it. Rastas are such peaceful people and I can’t wait to visit them again.
Today our housemother cooked us a big breakfast for $300 each. Then we headed to Winifred Beach and spent the day there. Winifred beach is the most beautiful beach we’ve been to yet. In order to get to the beach, you have to walk 3 miles (or drive) down an unpaved road through a rainforest. Once you get to the beach, you can order all sorts of food, etc. The water is gorgeous and we immediately took a swim. When we got tired of that and decided that it was time to sunbathe, we got out and saw all of the friends that we had made the previous night (including Kevin, Devon, Ninja Star, etc). We spent today at the beach, brushing off people’s seduction techniques and laying in the sun. I played soccer for two hours with four other locals. It was nothing like regular soccer – no shoes, loose sand flying everywhere and random waves coming in to distract you, but I was able to hold my weight, which was impressive to the guys that I was playing with. They said that I had skills and they were proud to have met an American woman who plays football.
Tonight we walked down to the rasta bar and one of the rastas took us to a restaurant called Gang Gang’s. I had chicken and rice and peas with veggies, and it was the best meal that I’ve had since I’ve been here. After eating we went back to our place and rested for a while. Nightlife in Jamaica does not begin until 1am (and lasts literally until the sun starts to come up), so we had a lot of time to kill before going out. When we finally did, however, we realized that there was not much of a scene at all. We had heard that on Saturday nights, the happening place was a club called the Roof, but it had an entrance fee that none of us wanted to shell out so we decided to head back to the rasta bar and hang out for a bit.
We all had a long conversation about the importance of Haile Sellassie I, the Rastafarian god, and his significance to the rest of the world. Another topic was the issue of race. Stuie was so supportive of people becoming blind to race, but I couldn’t help noticing how homophobic he was. Our conversation ended on the topic of poverty and wealth. Stuie said that poverty is a state of mind and that wealth was a type of spirit. It’s not the first time that I’ve heard a phrase like this, but it’s the first time that it actually stuck around and meant something to me. Anyway, we spent about three hours there having insightful conversations when everyone decided to leave. Again I wasn’t ready to leave because I was so fascinated so I stayed a while longer and talked to Rick about our outlooks on lifestyles. Rick was really interesting to me and I’m pretty sure that he was interested in the way that my mindset differs from his. Something that struck me as really profound was when he told me that everything moves with life – people, animals, plants, wind, soil… it was really interesting and we’re planning to meet up again when I make another trip out there. He does woodwork and he’s going to make me a bowl to take home.
This weekend was the best weekend so far, and even though I’m beginning to get closer to the other students, I wish that I could be sharing these experiences with people at home – family, friends and Kyle. Miss you much.

Pictures from the beach

this is the beach i went to last week
more pics of the beach
this is uswith our fried fish and festival
these are the two boys i talked about in my blog

Just Some Ranting

Jan 15, 2007

Guess what was on the front page of the newspaper today…the picture covered half of the page and the title was huge: Obeah Practice. Obeah is witchcraft and I haven’t heard anyone talk about it except in the books that I’ve had to read for my literature class. I bought the paper because I was interested, only to find that the story explained that a man was having trouble performing sexually because the girl’s father cast a spell on him. I was surprised that this story would be front-page news – just gossip – when there are murders everyday and an election in four months that will surely involve riots, murders and violence. I don’t read the paper on a regular basis so I don’t know if something like this would fly in America, but I was thoroughally disappointed in the story I got.

I have never seen roads like the ones in Jamaica. Everyone complains about having to drive a stick in San Francisco because it’s hilly and curvey. Jamaica, aside from the coast, is all mountains, and no one here owns an automatic. To add to the difficulty, the streets in these mountains are about one and a half lanes wide with no center line, so if there are two cars going in opposite directions, it results in chaotic horn-honking and waving fists. And on top of all that, the roads are in desperate need of paving. There are pot holes everywhere, and they’re so bad that drivers will wait five minutes for school traffic to clear out so that they can pass without driving over them. Now lets talk about the main roads. I already explained that there were no traffic laws at all until five years ago. Of course, the result of this is that not many people follow the traffic laws because they grew up driving with out them. The first thing that I learned about Jamaican driving, however, is that taxis rule the road. Taxis swerve in and out of traffic, going 50 km/h faster than the posted limit and honking at anyone that gets in their way. I took a cab a few days ago, and when someone cut my driver off, he pulled up in the next lane and threatened the other man’s life: "Bati boy, ya soon be dead!" All Jamaican drivers (but especially taxis) seem to be in such a rush. It’s ironic because every other aspect of life is laid back – nothing opens on time, lunch is as long as you want it to be, etc. Finally, in America we drive on the opposite side as in Jamaica. This didn’t concern me at all until I had to cross the street for the first time. Of course, the street I crossed was at a huge intersection and I got confused and stuck in the middle of traffic. It was very emberassing because people were honking at me from what seemed all directions. I guess I never realized how helpful the pedestrian signs are at crosswalks. Needless to say, however, that experience has taught me when to cross the street.
Something I really like about Jamaica is the way that people use their horns. You cannot walk down a street without hearing people honk at you (of course, this results in loud streets which sucks if you live on a busy one and you’re trying to sleep). There are four basic types of honks. There’s the one that we’re familiar with in America, where you lay on the horn and usually flip the bird. This honk is the result of someone doing something incredibly stupid or rude and you want to let them know that you’re not going to take it. In Jamaica we have another honk. It’s a couple of light taps. This roughly translates to "Hi!" and is followed by a smile and a big wave. This type of horn honk is only for people you are acquainted with. The next honk is the traditional "Beep! Beep!" and is usually followed by "Psssst! Hey Baby!" It’s the catcall honk. The final honk is the "I’m Here" honk, which is just one medium-length honk. In Jamaica people don’t have doorbells. Most people have large gates that fence in their front lawn, so you wouldn’t be able to ring the bell even if there was one. Instead, people honk their horns. I guess that horn honking doesn’t seem like such a big deal, but I can’t exaggerate how many honks I hear every day just walking to school.

Well, it’s really hot here right now. Today it was so hot that my feet started sweating even though I was wearing flipflops. It was so bad that when I got off the overcrowded, unairconditioned bus my feet made squeeking noises each time I took a step. Attractive, I know. But speaking of the bus, I have to say that the stereotype of French women not shaving their pits should actually be a Jamaican stereotype. A LOT OF WOMEN DON’T SHAVE THEIR PITS, and they have the guts to wear tank tops when they are holding onto the head-height bars in the busses, proudly displaying their culture of hair to everyone sitting below and standing next to them. I don’t know why this is, and I’m not about to adopt this part of the culture, but it is kind of funny.

An Outsider's Experiences

An Outsider’s Experiences
January 9, 2007
I have not made any great attempt to befriend locals yet. School started yesterday and it is obvious that the five (soon to be six) international students stick out. We are the only Caucasian students on the campus – literally. I do not feel afraid while I am at school, but obviously integration will take some effort and I haven’t even established strong friendships with the other students in my program yet. I’d rather have something I can fall back on in case relationships with locals fall through, etc. Maybe I’m just being defensive for not befriending locals yet. Anyway, so far I’ve only been hanging out with the other IPSL students – all from America. And while I am aware that this can prevent cultural immersion, it has allowed me to continue to perceive Jamaica in the mindset that I am familiar with. I plan to go to the Student Union on Monday when I have class again to sign up for an intramural soccer team and to join the Rastafarian Club on campus. I hope to meet locals that way.
My physical appearance has been playing a very large role in my experiences these past two days. I stand out a lot at school and other students always look strangely at us. I don’t know what they’re thinking, but you know that they’re thinking something because they can’t stop staring. Even outside of class, the importance of race is clear. When people try to get our attention, they yell "Whitey!" and other terms like that. It’s strange to be so distinguishable from locals. I feel really lost because I haven’t figured out if the slang used for white people should be offensive or not. So for now I just wave at whoever makes the comment because I figure it can’t do any harm, but not waving might come off as rude.
The most prominent experience that I’ve had thus far, however, occurred today on a bus in Papine. Papine is about a fifteen-minute walk from my house, and about a five-minute walk from my school. After school today one of the new IPSL students had to buy a cell phone. There is a phone store in Papine, so we walked there after class. After Papine we had planned on going to Liguanae to purchase books we need for class. Liguanae is about a forty-five minute walk from Papine so we decided to take the bus. We got on the bus and while we were waiting for it to load, a street vendor hopped on the bus and solicited people to buy fruits or beverages. He said, "Anyone can buy a drink – even white people!" This immediately caught my attention because I didn’t know if he had meant for the phrase to be offensive. As he made his way to the back of the bus he made eye contact with Rachael, one of the other IPSL students. He said, "Don’t look so innocent, white girl. I know that your great grandfather helped kill thousands of black people."
I don’t even know how to respond to this. I’m still perplexed by how I should feel about that comment. Part of me is furious that he would associate us with the same white people that enslaved Africans, especially when we are here doing 15 hours of community service a week. That same part of me is angry that he couldn’t make a distinction between generations of people and their different mindsets, and that he could make a comment like that when he has no idea about where my family background lies. That was the first emotional response that I had. Soon after though, a part of me felt sympathetic for him. After all, black people are not indigenous to Jamaica. The Spanish and the British brought them here as slaves. Today Jamaica is a third world country that experiences hardships that, living in the US, I never would have imagined, and are largely the result of slavery. I bounce back and forth between the two views but I have to say that I am more offended than understanding. I want to know if he felt passionate about what he said, or if he just said it. And I want to know if I am over reacting or if my offense taken is a result of my American culture…
Being on this side of the race issue is a completely new perspective for me, and it’s something that I anticipated but did not mentally prepare myself for. While I was on the bus several ideas flew through my mind. I thought about standing up for us and tell him that he has no ground to say things like that. I thought about lying and saying I was from Japan and that I had nothing to do with the slavery that he was referring to. I thought about getting off the bus and taking a new one to Liguanea. But most of all, I thought about what all the other people on the bus were thinking. In Jamaica, the busses are always packed. There were tons of people on the bus and they all witnessed the incident because he conveniently gained their attention at the beginning of his sales pitch. I don’t know what the people were thinking and that’s what bothered me most. I realized that I really don’t belong to this culture because I was not confident to stand up for what I was feeling at the time. If I was on a bus in San Mateo and someone made a comment like that to me, I’d feel comfortable standing up for myself because I know that the majority of people on the bus would feel the same as I do. In San Mateo, I wouldn’t be the only white person on a bus; in San Mateo I wouldn’t be the only one offended by a comment like that; in San Mateo I might even know other people on the bus who would support me; in San Mateo I’d have a more familiar environment so if things got out of hand I’d know where to go; in San Mateo I would be more confident of myself, my actions and my emotions; in San Mateo I’d feel safe. But I was not in San Mateo. I stayed quiet and he eventually walked past us and exited the bus before it took off for Liguanea.



Sunday, January 14, 2007
We went to the beach on Friday. I have never seen water bluer than what I saw that day. The water was warm and really salty (it was hard to avoid floating) and the sun was shining all day long. We went to a beach called Hellshire, which is one of the two beaches in Kingston parish. Hellshire is a beach known for its fish and carnival and the entire beach is lined with little shacks where you can buy food and drink. Although the locals can be a bit pushy, I found it very amusing that as we were walking through a restaurant to get to the beach, the owner reached into a cooler and pulled out an uncooked fish that was bigger than my head to entice us to eat there for lunch – as if that would be appetizing to a bunch of Americans whose favorite fish is frozen fish sticks.
We spent the entire day at the beach, but the most impressive event was when two boys hung out with us. They were brothers, one was 11 and the other was 12. We asked why they weren’t in school and they told us that they couldn’t afford the bus so instead of staying home alone they went to the beach. They said that they were hungry and thirsty so I bought them juices and they ate the leftover festival that we didn’t want. The boys followed me to the bar while I bought them juices but the bartender kicked them out immediately – not because they were underage, but because they were beggars. It seems like most people here frown upon poverty, which is ironic because it is so omnipresent. I don’t know if buying the children juices and giving them our leftovers was the right thing to do because it is not what is expected by Jamaican culture. I can’t help thinking that it’s not the children’s fault if their parents cannot afford transportation to school and that this lack of education will negatively affect their adult lives. I felt really bad for those boys, but I was amazed at how happy and carefree they seemed.
As an American, there are many things that I find inconvenient about Jamaica. The biggest problem that I’ve identified so far is the absence of hot water in my house. I have to admit that I like taking cold showers when it is hot outside - and it is very hot out here - but "cold" to me is more like room temperature. The water that comes out of my shower is FREEZING. My hygiene and my dislike of frigid water temperatures are in a constant battle. I keep telling myself that I’ll get used to the cold showers, but I haven’t yet, and I’m starting to think that I never will. Another inconvenience about Jamaica is their perception of time. It took a whole week to get to the office to get my student ID. Every time I went either the photographer had the day off or my paperwork hadn’t been sent. Pretty much every business has lunch hours, so I can’t do anything productive during my break between classes (which is conveniently from 12 to 1) like going to the post office or bank. Once I finally got my student ID, I went to the computer lab to get set up for an account so that I could use the internet for free at school. They said that the system would have my information updated within an hour so I stayed on campus for an hour, just waiting to use the internet. Three hours later it was still not working. When I went back to ask them what was wrong, they said that it would be ready by tomorrow. So, I still don’t have a consistent or convenient way to check my email. Finally, customer service in Jamaica is horrible. No one cares about the customer. Employees don’t even talk loud enough for you to hear them or look at you while you’re checking out. When you go to a restaurant there’s no "enjoy your meal" and when you go to the supermarket no one says, "have a nice day" as you check out. No one is willing to help you find something you need. They say that it’s not their problem if you can’t find something and go back to their business stocking the shelves. It’s annoying.
Anyway, I’m realizing a lot of the things that we take for granted as Americans. I’m also realizing that studying abroad is going to be a long and difficult learning experience for me. I have a whole 18 weeks of cold showers, no air conditioning (it’s 85* now but it will only get hotter for the rest of my stay), cockroaches, lizards, mosquitoes and birds that won’t shut up at night.
Some people have been emailing me about what kind of food they have in Jamaica. Lots of fruit and lots of fish. Juice is really big here and fish is the main meat. I tried curried goat a few days ago (I ate it but I probably wouldn’t get it again). I pretty much eat fish for lunch and dinner every day, with chicken about once a week. Beef is non-existent, except in patties, and I have yet to try oxtail. A lot of the foods here are not appealing to me. I had pickeled fish a few days ago with pumpkin and yam, and I didn’t like any of it. I’m having a hard time adjusting to the foods here because they are so different and I’m not used to any of them. My favorite juice is cherry, but cucumber is a close second. Kyle likes fish a lot so I’m sure that he’ll like the food when he gets here, but I think that I’m a little pickier than him. I REALLY MISS MEXICAN FOOD!!! Other things I’ve noticed – Coke is non existent on this island. Pepsi rules Jamaica. Also, no McDonalds – only Wendy’s and Burger King. Finally, the official king of fast food in is Kentucky Fried Chicken. I’m sure that if Dave Chappelle knew this, he would have a field day. There are no Starbucks, but there are so many KFC’s that they make up for it.

Reflections on my experience thus far.....

I don’t think that many people in America realize what a sad state Jamaica is in right now. Most of the people that I talk to have considered immigrating off of the island but for one reason or another they decide that they cannot (usually because of the intimidating process of paperwork that’s involved and the idea that maybe the US won’t want them because they have nothing to offer or they’re too old). Yesterday we took a bus around Kingston and saw many areas that you would never see in America. In America’s ghettos, people live in houses that have overgrown front lawns and are in need of a new paint job. In Jamaica’s ghettos, people live in abandoned houses without roofs or they build their own houses out of metal and wood scraps. They have no running water, no electricity, no heat or A/C, no locks on their doors, no beds, no protection from mosquitoes or the malaria outbreak that is troubling Kingston right now. It’s hard to imagine that anyone would have to live like that, especially when you look to the mountains and see huge mansions.

On the tour, I found out that there are colors associated with the political parties. Green and orange represent the two parties and because some residential areas are completely associated with one party, if you wear the opposing party’s color you could be attacked and even killed. The politics here are so crazy and it’s an election year, so there’s a lot of tension already. We drove through an area called the Tivoli Gardens. This area is strongly associated with the opposing party so wearing colors is dangerous. However, if you go to visit Tivoli Gardens it is extremely safe. People that live there don’t lock their doors at night. Even tourists are not in danger because the community is so tight that if anything happens to someone, the perpetrator will be killed. It’s so strange that violence is such a strong force in this country. It’s ironic that violence is used to keep peace within Tivoli Gardens.

Last night I took a cab home from Liguanea. Liguanea is where two other students in the IPSL program live and Cliff and I were down there at a pharmacy getting bug bites checked out (we can’t tell if they’re mosquitoes or not because they don’t itch). Anyway, the cab driver on the way home was very interesting until he got us lost. He picked us up and started driving us home to Mona. While we were driving, he asked us if we’d tried the Jamaican white rum yet. We said that we hadn’t and he asked if we had tried the Jamaican herb yet. Again we said no, and he started telling us that he smoked it but his wife always told the preacher at church that he smoked. I’ve been here five days and this is the first time that anyone mentioned marijuana in a positive way. For the most part, in Jamaica, marijuana is associated with delinquents and is a source of violence. America has this perception, though, that Jamaica is all about marijuana and that you can’t go anywhere without having it offered to you. While this might be true in tourist areas like Montego Bay, it is completely wrong and ignorant to associate ganga with the entire island. I am not in a tourist area and no one talks about ganga in a positive manner. It’s a sad stereotype that Americans hold about this nation that has much more to its culture than drugs.
Right now I’m listening to the radio, station 94.7, and all they are playing is ska! It’s like heaven for me. The neighbors are listening to the same station.

Patois is a beautiful but it is so different than English. For example, instead of saying child, they say pickney. And instead of saying children, they say pickney dem. So if you want to say that the children are coming, patois would be "pickney dem a com". This is a really easy phrase, but if you listen to people talking on the street, it is literally impossible to understand. It’s like they’re speaking a completely different language. I hope that I can begin to understand it before I have to come home because it is so pretty.

Yesterday we went to Port Royal, which was where the Spanish originally settled in Jamaica. In 1862 there was a natural disaster (I can’t remember if it was a hurricane or an earthquake), and Port Royal was destroyed and it now sits at the bottom of the ocean. We visited it yesterday and went to a famous fish restaurant called Glorias. I ordered my fish, but when it arrived it came with the entire fish – fins, tail, head, EYES…THE ENTIRE FISH!!! It was not what I had expected and I couldn’t eat it. Just the idea of eating something that was looking right at me was not appealing. I don’t think I’m going to be eating much fish out here if they all come like that. I guess I’m just super American but I can’t help it… Jamaica is also a very religious country and regardless of your religious beliefs, whenever you eat or whenever you go on a trip, you have to say a prayer. I think it’s very nice.

More pics

Pictures!!

an average road in Kingston

Mr. Witter, our bus driver

hotel w/the other students

the other students

this is the view from my bedroom

this is my bedroom.

First Impressions

Day 1

Before I get into the good stuff, I have to brag about taking the same plane as Sean Paul to Jamaica. I had a long layover in Miami so I sat down by the gate and fell asleep. I woke up what seemed like five minutes later to some rambunctious Jamaican guys who were being really loud and obnoxious. Because they were drawing so much attention to themselves, I couldn’t help notice the Sean Paul All Access 2006 tags that they were all wearing. Soon enough, Sean Paul himself walks up to the guys.

…. Jamaica, however, is amazing. Upon arrival there are so many things to notice. Flying over the island (I was coming from the north and landing in the south) was enlightening because it showed me how much of Jamaica was truly undeveloped, consisting of only the color green. I swear, the entire island, with the exception of a few small commercial areas, is just completely green. It is beautiful. On the plane, I was sitting next to a local who was returning from New York. He pointed out rivers, the Blue Mountains and a new freeway. When I stepped off of the plane, I was immediately hit by a warm and humid breeze that did not nearly resemble paradise, as I had expected. Rather, the heat was so intense that I swear I started sweating before I even got into the airport, which doesn’t even mean anything because it wasn’t air-conditioned anyway. Twenty minutes of customs and baggage and I was officially in Jamaica.

The first thing I noticed after hitting the road was that Jamaica is absolutely beautiful. You look to one side and you see a bright blue ocean detailed with whitewash. You look to the other side and you see deep green forest covering a gigantic mountain range. As we drove further north, I became aware of several driving signs. One read, “Stay Alive, Don’t Drink and Drive,” another “Good Drivers Stop At Red Lights. Are You A Good Driver?” I soon found out that there were no traffic laws in Jamaica until about five years ago (and I wonder still if they enforce the laws because I didn’t see a single cop car and everyone drives like a maniac). You could drive yourself to the bar, get wasted, and drive yourself home. The newest cars are from the early ‘90’s. I was driving in a van that was from the ‘80’s, and much later in the evening I rode in cab whose speedometer didn’t even work. Continuing northward, I was informed that with every new development sprouts a ghetto. It’s clear that this is true because blocks are drastically different from one another. One block will have large, freshly painted houses with lots of plants decorating a spacious front yard. The next will be literally shacks built from scraps of wood and metal with its residents sitting nearby playing dominoes.

Another thing I noticed is that the language is more difficult to decipher than I thought it would be. I was under the impression that Jamaicans spoke Patois as well as English, so I figured that people could eliminate their “slang” and speak to me more clearly. While it is true that they can speak in English, it is with a very thick patois accent and I have trouble understanding it. Another thing I thought was a stereotype was the ‘ya, mon.’ I didn’t think that people actually said this a lot, but I was completely wrong! Another interesting phrase is “fatty.” In America, if someone called you “fatty,” it would be extremely offensive. However, in Jamaica, men prefer their women to be thicker (I’m wondering if this is a sign of financial stability or because of the natural build of Africans with the larger hips?), so when they try to pick up ladies, they say, “psssssssst, fatty!” That’s another thing I didn’t know about Jamaica: catcalls are not offensive. Rather, they are the norm and it’s considered rude if you don’t wave back at them because you make yourself look too good for them.

Finally, I noticed that the people of this island truly are all black. I have not seen a white person that wasn’t a tourist since I arrived here. I guess that when I saw the demographic on paper, 85% black, that there would be a whole 15% white population as well. I realize now, however, that the white population is probably completely located near Montego Bay or in the huge mansions that you see lining the Blue Mountains. I think there is a possibility that me and the other student I’m living with are the only white people in Kingston. This is a very strange phenomenon because in America, I’ve always been a part of the majority. I have not encountered problems with this yet, but I’m sure they will arrive eventually.

I’m staying in a middle-class home. From the outside it looks nice, but upon entering I noticed several things that I am not accustomed to. First of all, the house has really old, worn out furniture (except for the patio which is filled with whicker chairs and tables and lots of potted tropical plants that house lizards and tree frogs…I think I’ll be spending a lot of time out there). Next, there are dogs all over the neighborhood that do not stop barking. Of course, the barking dogs wouldn’t be such an annoyance if there was glass on the windows. Yes, the windows are just holes in the wall with metal bars (probably to prevent theft) and wooden blinds that you can adjust to let in more or less air from outside. So, I’m left with barking dogs that you can’t close the window on – don’t worry mom, I’m in a neighborhood that is completely safe. Another inconvenience: I was taking a shower and realized very quickly that it does not have hot water. The hot water faucet doesn’t even turn. When I went to wash my face this morning, I noticed that the sink was the same. So, no hot water for me while I’m here…I’m sure my razor-burned legs won’t mind, but I’m not sure what Kyle will think (haha). Something I thought was cool at first, the distant sound of reggae music emanating from the hillside, DOES NOT END!!!! There’s no TV, no internet, no air conditioning and no screens on the windows. This is definitely not America.

My homestay mother is Ms. Olive Ford. She is a wonderful lady. Unfortunately, however, no one notified her that the IPSL students were arriving today. I am housed in my own room, but there is one more student staying in the same house as me. His name is Cliff. Anyway, Ms. Ford is very generous and has been participating in IPSL for 17 years (with at least two semesters a year)! Even though she didn’t know we were coming today, she quickly made us lunch and put our rooms together (the former students moved out a week ago). Her tuna was delicious (Dad should try adding spices and onion to his recipe) and on toast – just the way I like it. She also squeezed some orange juice for us, and it was by far the best orange juice that I have had in my entire life. It was sweet, thin with little pulp and delicious. I drank a lot of that.

I definitely didn’t think that a middle class neighborhood in a third world country would be this bad. I didn’t think that my experience would include no hot water in the entire house or difficulty sleeping at night. Jamaica is much poorer than I imagined. I thought that the shanty towns would be located far from the nicer middleclass neighborhoods, but in actuality they are just further down the block. While I know that it will be uncomfortable and less ideal than I am used to, I am still excited because it is clear that many Jamaicans don’t mind sacrificing higher standards of living for Blue Mountains, the Caribbean Sea and the physical and cultural beauty of the island they are proud to be inhabitants of. Hopefully I will learn this love as well.

Mom and Kyle, I already miss you and can’t wait for you to visit me. They say that the best time to do this is for Easter because we have a holiday break from school. I don’t think that either of you will like it very much here because it is so hot and humid and most places don’t have air conditioning. I actually like it a lot right now, but it’s winter and it’s 85 degrees so I don’t know how it will be in the summer.





Day 2

I slept in really late today…around 12. I got up and no one seemed to be home or awake so I read David Sedaris. When Ms. Ford came home she brought beef and chicken patties for Cliff and I. They were really good. Patties are basically pastries with a meat filling. They cost about 50 American cents here and they are very filling. After eating, Cliff and I went to a center to buy some necessities like toothpaste. Ms. Ford gave us directions and explained how to get on the bus and which bus to take. We shopped around for a couple of hours until it got dark and we returned home because it’s not safe to be out when it’s dark if you don’t know the area well.

While we were shopping I saw a lot of Jamaicans. I have to admit that I was kind of afraid to walk around even though I was with Cliff. The two of us must have stood out because for the two hours we were out, I saw only one white man (but he was shopping in a mall and was clearly a tourist), and one Asian man. I guess I’ve read so much about how Jamaica, especially Kingston, is filled with crime, and I’ve brainwashed myself to be paranoid of going out. I know that you can’t be too careful, but at the same time I feel like I’m overly afraid. This is probably because it was my first time going out and I haven’t even been to school yet. I’m sure I will become more comfortable with the vibe that shopping centers give off. Anyway, Ms. Ford said that we should be okay because we look “rude”. For those that don’t know, the term is used to describe young men or women who are hip…ever hear of rude boys? In other words, she said that we should fit in. She also added that by having dreads, no one would think I’m a tourist at first. This pleased me a lot because I was afraid that dreads would be offensive to the culture here. She explained that dreads are not offensive anymore in Jamaica, but they are highly associated with the Rastafarian movement.

We stopped in a record store today, and there was not one cd that was less than $2000! In America, that’s $33!! I’m wondering if it was because of the store or if Jamaicans have to import cds or if cd players are rare or something. Obviously, I didn’t drop any money there today. Another thing, I have not been in any tourist areas yet, so I haven’t been able to pick up postcards or paper or anything to write home with. I’m trying to understand the money conversions but it’s harder than I thought it would be.

For dinner today Ms. Ford cooked us breadfruit, plantain, two kinds of rotisserie chicken, mashed potatoes and salad. Breadfruit is similar to potatoes but stringy and plantain is like a banana but sweeter with more of a citrus twist to it. Both were fried. I have heard of breadfruit before, but I had never tried it. When you look at it, it looks like a fruit that might be juicy. I tried the plantain first and expected the breadfruit to be similar. I took a big bite of breadfruit and I could barely even swallow it because it was much drier than I had expected. It soaked up all of my saliva and I could barely chew anymore. It was very embarrassing but I don’t think anyone noticed.



Day 4

Today we had to get up early to enroll as students and tour the campus. Once we were finished, a student advisor took us to Papine. Papine is a middle-class shopping center just down the street from the university. It was really run down, exactly like you see in movies. There are bars on all of the counters to protect the cashiers, people loitering outside trying to sell half-full bottles of rum and homeless people begging for change. We went to Papine to get cell phones for two students that don’t live with me. Once they got their phones we decided to go to Devon House.

We decided to take a cab there and our driver happened to be a rasta. He told us about the cool places to go in Kingston and gave us his number for future cab rides. Instead of putting his name though, he put “rasta”. Devon House is the former residence of a millionaire. It’s since been restored. We didn’t go inside, but we did eat lunch at a Jamaican place nearby. I had bammi (dense and bread-like), carnival (yellow and bread-like), pork, chicken and fish. We shopped around a little and I picked up some postcards. I hope to send them out by Monday because the only post office within walking distance is on campus, and it’s not open until Monday. I don’t know how to get stamps and stuff so they’ll have to explain it to me.

From Devon House, we walked through New Kingston and visited Emancipation Park. Emancipation park is a really nice open space with lots of grass, water decorations, benches, an amphitheatre and a huge statue titled “Redemption Song”. The statue depicts two slaves, one male and one female, gazing up to the heavens. It’s a very controversial statue because the slaves are naked. In Jamaica, homosexuality is not tolerated at all. It’s so bad that men are not supposed to be depicted in the nude. The statue has gotten a lot of slack from these people.

We spent the whole day in Kingston, from Devon House to New Kingston, and the whole time, people were yelling things at me. I think that because of my dreads I’ve become more approachable. People driving on the street yell things like, “Hey Rasta!” or “Be irie, Empress!” I’m assuming that, because male rastas are called Emperors, like Emperor Haile Selassie I, women are referred to as empresses. It was so bad that one man, while I was walking in New Kingston, walked next to me and asked me to hold his hand. This was really scary and I didn’t know what to do…I didn’t know if he wanted to rob me or get in my pants. But I smiled at him and said, “thank you very much but I’m married.” He was totally fine with that response and told me to be irie. I’m glad I didn’t overreact because I think that it might have had something to do with either Jamaican or Rasta culture. He didn’t seem like he was homeless or crazy or anything so I’m assuming that maybe it was a cultural thing. The other students I was with all thought it was weird and creepy which kind of made me feel awkward because I interpreted it differently than them. Regardless, the situation didn’t get out of hand, so I guess the way I handled it was okay.

Out of all the food I’ve eaten so far, the best has been the juice. Jamaica has amazing fruit and they make lots of juices from it. TruJuice is Jamaica’s home brand of juice, and it’s made from 100% natural fruits picked from Jamaican fields. I had some limeade today and it was not what I expected at all, but it was amazing! I also had mango-pineapple juice today and my homestay mother bought TruJuice Pineapple and TruJuice Fruit Punch for us to drink throughout the day.

I got a likkle (patois for little) tan today, but we’re going to the beach tomorrow. I’m going to introduce my dreads to the ocean for the first time. I’m super excited.