Finally, it rained yesterday. I mean really rained. As in close to three hours and not the 10-minute kiss that’s normal in the Caribbean. Yeeaaahhhh. There’s certainly a lot of danger in having too much rain but when there’s none you really treasure what you have. For about seven months Jamaica has been experiencing a serious drought. Parts of the island have received sprinkling of rain but nothing to quench the thirst of the people, animals and earth.The national papers and a news program have published stories of communities praying for rain; members of the clergy saying the drought is a result of the country’s sinful ways; people stealing water from school tanks over the weekend when the schools are closed; schools closed because there’s no water and government officials pleading with the citizens to be careful in clearing land by fire because there’s no water to stop a potential blaze. I’ve seen people carrying buckets of water on dollies away from areas where there’s a standing pipe; more fire trucks than I’ve ever seen before in Jamaica and sections of the hills in St. Andrew (surrounding Kingston) ablaze for over 12 hours. Residents no longer complain about ‘water shut off’ in the morning and at night. Friends and family have taken to sleeping at others home because they have no water to cook or bath. So when water flows through the pipes in the morning, people wash all the clothes they can and fill every tub, bottle and jar for the expected ‘shut off.’ It was a good rain shower. Water tanks on the top of the buildings were filled; the soot of burning garbage was cleared away; the city smells cleaned and the plants and grass glisten as emeralds. Sunday was truly a reverent day, the prayers went up and the blessings came down in the most vital natural resource -- rain.
SOLDIERS
The best part of driving across Jamaica is stopping for food. Sure the views of the mountains and ocean are breathtaking but I always perk up when I see someone positioned with a basket of Ackee, Otaheite Apple or fish, flashing the car as it speeds by.
A few days ago, my mother, a cousin and I drove half way across the country. While we were driving a truck passed us with three army soldiers in the front cabin and a pine coffin in the back. We didn’t know the circumstance but it’s rare to see a coffin being driven outside of a hearse so thought it interesting. Well, a few miles later we stopped to get some patties. We wanted something hot in our stomachs.
But as we entered the restaurant, about 20 soldiers stormed the doors. When in the presence of that many military personnel there truly is a feeling of safety. The average age of the group might have been around 22 years old. Young men -- strong and mighty in battle -- but innocent and clearly still Momma’s boys. The soldiers could only stop for a short time so they were in a hurry to place their orders for the patties then swallow them down while still on line. A good Jamaican patty just hits the spot.
I tried talking to a few of the soldiers but proper family training and the discipline they were receiving in the military only made them reply to my questions with, “yes ma’am,’ & amp; ‘no ma’am,’ not the answers I needed to be nosy about their stop. But one young man did speak to me. Really, he was trying to rap to me but I figured he was on a time limit so what harm could be done. At some point I told him that although I travel to Jamaica several times a year my primary residence is in America. However, he said that was okay because he has a visa to travel to America. My cousin and the man behind us on the line started laughing -- Green Card alert. But with that I continued because I wanted to know the purpose of the group.
The solider wore drumsticks in a sling around his body and said the group of young men were preparing for a funeral ceremony. A solider of 25 years old had died in a car accident. Immediately, I became somber. I couldn’t help but think that the pine coffin my family and I saw earlier on the road was for this solider. Although I graciously entertained the young man’s flirtatiousness I felt sad for him and his fellow soldiers. They’re not in battle in the Middle East but they’re constantly in the presence of death. Everyday they have to be prepared and ready to make the ultimate sacrifice. The young man and I continued laughing as he persisted in delivering the best lines he could in a short time period, but I wished him only the best. Truly I hope he only continues to attend such ceremonies.
JUNGLE YOUTH
Eventually we reached our destination. We were examining the construction work being done on a land owned by another cousin abroad. The building was proceeding in its normal fashion so I roamed off. The last time I came to the land I trekked off with some of the construction men to a spring that is known by locals. Only when we were returning did we notice a Rastafarian, living off the small path, in a thatch house. Shelter might be the more appropriate word as it's dried leaves from a tree that are put together to provide covering. Unless someone was looking for the house they would never know it was there.
So on this trip I was curious to see if the Rasta was still there. To my surprise he was. I asked my cousin to accompany me and we called out to the man. He said his name was Richard Gray but he was also known as Jungle Youth and Bongo Youth and that he used to play the guitar. Jungle Youth was clearly a man who had a very linear life. He immediately told us of his former occupation without us ever asking. Somehow he felt that it was important to report to us his previous status in the world. He said my cousin looked familiar. My cousin said he used to live in the adjacent parish when he was younger. Then the Rastafarian left the tales of the structured life he once lived and spoke of his present one. He said that lately he has been disturbed a lot. We assumed he meant the owners of the empty land are starting to build their homes and making noise around him. He was slightly annoyed at this and said he was living on his mother’s land. At first I thought he might have been living on his birth mother’s land, then thought he might be not be mentally well only to conclude that to him the earth is his mother. It became clear that Jungle Youth's living circumstance was his own making. There might be more factors into why he would choose to live under some tree branches in the country but they didn't matter because he was at peace with where he was. He then went off into poetry so sweet and fast I mourned that I didn’t have pen and paper or my tape recorder. Any interruption would have shut him down. When he finished my cousin asked him if I could take a picture. I wanted a simple picture but he posed three times until he was comfortable with the lighting on his image. Now we have a friend by the construction site. Next time we visit I’ll bring a print out of the image to Jungle Youth.
NO PEACE AT THE BEACH
As I finished washing my hands another female navigated through the other women in the bathroom to the nearest stall. Although the other women were talking I heard this new woman say to her friend, ‘here, hold this fi mi,’ only to look down and see her give her friend a handgun. One of the other woman yelled out jokingly, ‘FIRE, FIRE.’ Faster than Usain Bolt could ever think of running the 100 meter I flew out of the bathroom. I forgot about drying my hands. Oh my God, I thought, then started to breath. What. You mean you can’t even go to the bathroom in Jamaica without a pistol on display. I was freaked out by the sight of the gun and its potential release but instantly knew the woman had to be a cop. Somehow I wanted to believe a sinister criminal just wouldn’t be that brave. I tried walking back to the car calmly but all the beauty of the water and kids having fun was erased. The only image I had in my mind was the heavy black handgun. Sure enough there was a police car parked close to ours. I didn’t notice it when we entered the beach.
No more adventure for me. I would sit quietly in the car and admire the beautiful mountains and oceans of the country.
--Connie Aitcheson
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