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.