This is a broad generalization, but I’m going to say it
anyhow: Jamaicans are eternally 25.
After extensive research* I have concluded that people in this country
mature (physically and emotionally) very quickly and thereafter remain
suspended in a state of agelessness created in no small part by good skin. Therefore, one can be 11 or 50 and appear to
be about 25. Seemingly, before 11 they
do look a bit like children and after 50 they sometimes start to age ever so
slightly, but one still can’t be sure.
*Extensive research refers to nearly 4 months of mental
documentation of all of the cases I’ve encountered that support my theory (the
technical term for this kind of research is “very scientific”).
This revelation doesn’t help me much in knowing how to address
people (other than to err on the side of caution in all cases), but it did shed
some light on the day when the students were trying to guess my age. They started at 40 and went up. I considered being offended for a moment, and
then I remembered that they grew up in a place where accurately guessing one’s
age is about as likely as getting goat cheese in a country that has goats
roaming through the streets at all times P.S. I know that sounds really likely,
but there is very little goat cheese in this country despite the surly
bastards’ ever constant presence. P.P.S.
The goat cheese that is sold here is imported.
Speaking of the livestock, I recently bared witness to a hog
being slaughtered, and it was kind of amazing.
I’ll spare you the gruesome details since most people whom I forced to
listen to the entire tale grimaced with disgust throughout, but feel free to
call me if you want the blow by blow. The
part I can’t leave out is when di ag di
die (the hog died). My eyes welled
up with tears when he opened his eyes for the last time, twisted his head back
in an unnatural position and finally let out his final breath. But then I considered the fact that whether I
was watching or not, he would die and his body would be used in total as the
food chain dictates. He was transformed
from this smelly, hairy animal covered in red dirt to a pink baby-like creature
in a matter of minutes.
It took me back to when my best friend and I raised chickens
in a dog-loo in our back yard in Los Alamos, New Mexico. Well, to be honest, she did all the work-even
when slaughtering day came and only 1 of the 6 animals remained. Although they had been reared in the best way
a chicken could hope to live, the strongest of lot had killed off the others
simply because he was a jerk (haha- that puts a new spin on jerk chicken). We were vegan at the time, and the only way
we could fathom eating an animal was if we could be assured it wasn’t pumped
full of hormones and mistreated its whole life.
The irony is that they still weren’t happy animals and in the end the
meat tasted like ash in my mouth. I’ve
since changed my mind about what is ok to eat, and the hog helped remind me of
what I stand for. He lived his life in
my back yard with his family until it was time for him to become part of
something bigger: me. The only thing
that made me sad about the chickens was that I saw the horrible little lives
they led and watched the violent end unfold before my eyes. I like to think I’m more experienced and
wiser now, but my instinct still told me to cry for the hog. I guess deep down there is still a bleeding
heart vegan in me.
On that note, I’d like to say a few words about ants. I used to think that ants were not my
friends, and I would spend much effort and money to keep them out of my
house. Now, I routinely rinse them off
my clean dishes, watch them perform amazing feats on a daily basis, and thank
them for cleaning up the dead bug bodies in my house. Here are a few photos to further explain what
I mean:
The ants carrying a dead cockroach up the wall in my living room...
...and out the window.
Obviously, I have a little too much time on my hands. The summer is almost over, and I
think the main lesson I’ve learned from all this idle time is that it’s not
good for me. Although I have reports to
do for Peace Corps and a classroom to set up, all this remains barely
touched. I am really looking forward to
the structured schedule of the school year, which starts September 3rd. I did, however, have a chance to make the
schedule of which students I will see when with the help of my principal and
other teachers—which was a huge undertaking.
Other than that, I have spent most of my time with my only real Jamaican
friend who happens to be an 11 year old student at my school. I would say this is kind of sad, but to be
honest she is totally awesome. She reminds
me everyday to be more appreciative of what I have. That’s one thing I have noticed about
Jamaicans in general: they accept their lot in life with stride instead of
complaining about it. In fact, more
often than not they see the benefits of whatever situation life has to throw at
them. What a breath of fresh air!
Me and my 11 year old bestie
Speaking of fresh air, there has been a lot of it around
here with the threat of tropical storms looming near our little island. Even in the heart of summer, the weather has
been quite breezy and cool here in the hills of St. Ann. Luckily, Ernesto moved right past us and
brought only rains that jeopardized the island wide 50th year
Independence Day celebrations on August 6th.
We came out of it unscathed, and below is a shot of many of my towns
people posing for a very black, green, and gold splashed picture to commemorate
the milestone.
As you can see, try as I might to fit in here with language,
mannerisms, and a righteous tan I’m just not quite there yet. I’m working on it thoughJ. Fifty years of
independence coupled with all the Olympic medals Jamaica has earned in the last
week have made for a nation full of pride.
I even found myself rooting for my new home team instead of America. I’m calling that growth.
I’ll end this discourse there, but not without yet another
list.
Funny T-shirts I’ve seen:
·
“I make milk, what’s your superpower?”- So true.
Men do not have superpowers.
·
“Don’t bro me if you don’t know me”- It’s
catchy, but I have never heard anyone say bro in Jamaica. Ever.
·
“All the good ones are gay”- The shirt wouldn’t
say married, of course, because most people don’t care if you’re married. But it’s funny to me considering this is the
most homophobic nation in the world (I’m pretty sure that’s still true, but if
you have reliable internet and want to check me on it, do let me know the
verdict).
