At the time, I was living in Toronto, Canada, working with a great Chef named Emerson. We called him Junior. Junior's parents were Jamaican immigrants. He was a great guy, and we developed a great friendship. I could only describe Junior as having a likeness to one of the 1990s pop duo Milli Vanilli and very popular with the ladies.
After enduring the Canadian winter, an opportunity presented to travel to Jamaica with Junior and stay with his aunt and uncle. Before I left, I would need to let go of my rented apartment. I distinctly remember my landlord saying, "Jamaica is not like in the brochures, you know; most of it is still a third-world country". To me that just went in one ear and out the other, I was just looking for another travel adventure.
Landing in Montego Bay, Jamaica, was an experience in itself; you can read about that landing HERE. My first impression outside the airport was from the back seat of a taxi, where we were approached multiple times by locals offering to sell us 'Ganja' (Marijuana). Then, less than a kilometre from the airport, I see a local urinating on the road. Not hiding, just standing there in full view, surrounded by mounds of rubbish. My mind immediately flashed back to what my previous landlord had said.
I would immediately call home to Australia to my mother, reverse charge, of course, excited to let her know where I was.
We would stay with Junior's family in the town of Lucea (Pronounced Lucy). The family was lovely and very well respected in the community. They lived in a very basic two-story house, which was considered luxury in this area. Many lived in chanty shacks, and it was clear how poor the community really was. Even in the house, we only had running water for a few hours a day, so we'd fill buckets of water to flush the toilet during the day.
Rastafarian Encounters
From the balcony of the bedroom, I could look down the gravel road that led into town. About halfway down this road, I saw a Jamaican Rastafarian with massive dreadlocks. He lived basically under a tree and would often sit and rest on one of the branches, chewing sugar cane and watching people walk by. He was a scary-looking dude, and I really wanted to get a photo of this guy. One morning, I would see him walking past the house. I grabbed my camera and put the zoom lens on as he was walking away from me about 50m. As I zoomed in and focused on his dreadlocks, he paused momentarily and turned and looked directly at the camera. He raised a finger and waved it as to say no, no, no. This is probably one of the most freaky things I've ever experienced in my life. They often talk about voodoo and black magic in Jamaica. I'm not a believer, but this was simply weird. How he knew I was taking a photo is beyond me. Now, I was in a position where I had to walk past him every time I wanted to go into town. I was now shit scared.
The next day, I would walk with Junior to town. As we approached the scary Rastifaian dude, I was shaking. He stood up and started walking towards us. I almost pissed my pants. He simply said, " Ya Mun, you no photos of Tony, yeah" I remember saying, hey, my name is Tony too, followed by profusely apologising about taking his photo. He said, "Where ya from, mun". Once I said Australia, he gave me a simple approving nod and said, good cricket players. From that point on, every time I passed him, he'd give me a slight nod but no words, and I'd always say hello as I passed him. He was a man of very few words but not so scary-dude any longer. I never did get a photo, and I certainly didn't want to ask or try again. For some perspective, the above photo of the sugar cane vendor was also taken from the house balcony, which is about the same location he was standing when I attempted to take the photo.
I discovered that most Jamaicans were not too fond of Americans, but Australians shared a common national interest: cricket. So, everywhere I went, they'd want to ask about cricket in some form.
Jamaica was a very poor third-world country indeed, and the vast majority of resorts were all-inclusive, meaning you wouldn't leave the resorts. I am glad I got to see and meet the locals. I'll admit there were times I felt a little uncomfortable in some environments. I shook hands with a local who tried to remove my ring in the process, and I can not count how many times I was approached to buy cannabis. You could also always know the Jamicians who enjoyed the sugar cane sold from street push carts, as their teeth were all rotten and black from the sugar.
An outrageously funny moment
Junior didn't travel light. He carried a separate bag for his hair care products. As I said, with long black hair, he was a splitting image of the Milli Vanilli members. He prided himself on his looks, which was very different from the local Lucea community. We visited a corner store that his Aunt ran. On this day, a small group of school children came in, maybe 6-7 years old. Laughing and smiling like most of the kids in the area. I remember a small schoolgirl looking at me a little apprehensive, a bit wary of the only white guy around. I smiled politely, and she smiled back before she looked straight at Junior with this most curious and inquisitive look.
Junior, too, looked down at her and smiled. She then said out loud, "Are you a man or a woman?" Well, I just lost it in laughter. I'd go outside and couldn't contain myself. I don't think Junior was too impressed and certainly didn't see the funny side, but I couldn't stop laughing. Junior's long, lush hair, in fact, would end up saving his life.
(Rick's Cafe Negril, Jamaica)
You're not leaving Jamaica!
It was time to say goodbye to Lucea and Jamaica. I'd enjoyed my time and the people i'd met. We visited the world-famous Rick's Cafe in Negril, where we jumped from the cliff into the crystal blue waters. Rick's Cafe is at the westernmost point of Jamaica, which has the most stunning sunsets. It is famous for Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, who were filmed here in the classic movie Casablanca. We also visited Hedonism II Resort for the day. Pure luxury at the time, now it is an adults-only, clothing-optional style resort.
We'd said our goodbyes to family and made our way through the airport to immigration. All seemed normal. I had my passport stamped, and then Jamician Immigration looked at Junior and said, " Where are you going?" to his reply, " Home to Toronto."
This is where it got seriously intense. You see, Junior was travelling on a Jamaican passport as his mother had landed immigrant status in Canada. Jamaican residents can not just leave the country without a return ticket back to Jamaica. To escape poverty, many Jamaicans would try to leave by any means. I found out that many Jamaican girls were interested in meeting foreigners in hopes that they would take them away from poverty. Fortunately, I had no problem because I had no money. However, for Junior, Jamaican immigration required proof of his immigration to Canada. Otherwise, to them, he was just another Jamician trying to escape poverty.
Our time at immigration and discussions would be comprehensive, and the time to catch the flight was ticking by. Junior just could not prove his permanent residence in Canada. At one point, I said to Junior, "I think I should go so I don't miss the flight, and I can help sort it out back in Canada with your mother" We both pleaded to let him through one the last time. I even said to the immigration officer, Look at his hair; does he look local?" He certainly didn't.
Immigration would eventually allow Junior on the flight, but they required his mother to attend the airport on arrival with proof of immigration; if not, he would have been on the next flight back to Jamaica at his own cost. They would fax details to Canadian authorities at Pearson International Airport. Fortunately, Junior's mother managed to attend the airport, to his sigh of relief. I always wondered why they couldn't see we both originated from Toronto weeks earlier, but immigration was strict about him producing his immigration papers on a Jamaican passport.
About the Author
The author of this blog, unless otherwise noted, has no affiliation with any property or business linked in this article. Unless otherwise noted, there is no free accommodation or payment from any businesses. The information contained in this blog is strictly the views of the author and not professional advice. The author of this BookDirect blog is a travel and tourism professional with over 30 years of experience in international hotel management, global travel, short-term rental management and a tourism awards judge specialising in accommodation and attractions.
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