Its been awhile since I’ve written on here, and the guilt is building up. Sorry to those who are loyally checking the site, I’m surprised that anyone still is actually -my bad. By the time I get to an internet cafe for my one hour at the end of the week, what I want to say somehow always escapes me. I wish that I could paint you a complete picture of my life here so that you could see everything I see. But I know this is impossible, and as each day passes, the larger, more daunting and more impossible the task becomes. But I will at least try and provide you with a glimpse into my experiences here. Thanks for the comments and emails- keep ‘em coming! I love hearing from you.
It’s still rainy season. A long long rainy season. Ron and Gus, my country reps say they haven’t seen a rainy season like this for the 10 years they’ve been here. I’ve been here for about 2 1/2 months now – a relatively short time. The weeks fly by, but at the same time I feel like I’ve been here forever. I think I’m gradually losing my foreign eye. Less and less things stick out to me and strike me as odd. However, today I was once again jolted when driving downtown I spotted a huge pig taking a leak in the middle of the crammed road.
One thing I have gotten used to is standing out. I am a very visible minority. I often forget the degree to which I stick out here- which is good. It means I’ve gotten over the initial feeling upon arrival of overly self-conscious angst, looking around the airport and realizing that we were the only white people.
Something I still haven’t grown completely accustomed to, a huge part of living in Jamaica, is dealing with what it’s like to be a white ‘girl’ here. How to even describe the constant attention.. overwhelming, comic, nonstop, tiresome, disheartening. Being a female here, especially a white female, is apparently an open invitation for all males to vocalize the first thing that pops into their head in an attempt to get your attention.
“white gyal!”
“sexy gyal”
“I like you”
“when will I see you again?”
“looks like its going to be a white Christmas”
“gyal! wha yuh name?”
“you look like an angel dat fell from di skyiy”
Holding hands up in the air, “I see di light!”
Or I’ll be walking along and just here random shouts guessing my origin.. “French!”, “English!”
Although most comments are of a complimentary nature, do not be fooled. They are impossible to escape or ignore and can become very frustrating. My coping strategy – laugh about it. I try not to take anything too seriously, try to see the humour, go home and exchange the most hilarious, ridiculous stories with April. Some days its easy to laugh, some days I just want to go about my business harassment free, and scowling comes more naturally. I’ve thus far resisted the temptation to respond in a more crude manner which would probably only escalate the problem.
In any case, never does a boring day go by.
At the market, a ‘rastaman’ waves me over to his stand.
“Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Uh, I don’t think so”
“Where are you from”
“Canada”
“Ahh.. see?”
“You know me from Canada?”
“Yeah mon!”
I buy some watermelon from him.
Waiting for a taxi to go to a school, a guy stops me
“Do you have a husband?”
“Yes”
“Black or white?”
“What?”
“Is he black or white?”
“Uh…white” – wrong answer apparently, should have seen it coming…
“Do you want a black one?”
It seems that staring is not rude here. Everyone stares. I’m spotted easily even within a moving vehicle. Vendors walk along the traffic jammed roads selling water, nuts (nootsa! nootsa!), donuts, bag-juice. Spicy shrimp on a platter. Driving home with Meg one day, we’re stopped at a light. “Wata, Wata!” a vendor yells walking by. He spots me and April. Stops, smiles and shoves his hand in Meg’s window, “Wata, Wata!” he yells more desperately. Meg starts to drive, he starts to run, hand still in window. “Hey pretty ladies, what’s yuh name?” Meg speeds off.
Everyday is something new, something comic, something frustrating and I’m enjoying myself here quite a lot. I hope it doesn’t sound like I am complaining too much, or making too many generalizations. Of course not all Jamaican men feel the need to comment, leer, hiss in my direction. Many have been very kind and polite – i don’t know how many people have stopped to make sure I’m alright - and I actually do feel fairly safe in Mobay.
Suzy, I am glad to see that the rainy season in your blog is finally over. It’s not that I don’t like your writing. Just the opposite. I was starting to get hungry for more, and I kept checking your blog and seeing that darn “rainy season” again. Write on!
Much of what you describe in “white gyal” sounds quite unsettling. It’s good that you can have a sense of humour about some of this stuff. I think the hissing would really drive me nuts.
LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I love this entry…..I can just picture you!!!! The rain is unusual and wicked this year….I would like to know if they (Jamaicans) think it has to do with the whole climate change idea…..or is that just a North American phenomenon?
Also very weird to be a foreigner eh? I think it took me three months to understand what the Brits were saying….Kyle and I wondered if they were really speaking English…and it took a while to get used to everyone listening so intently when we spoke….they were pretty much fascinated with our speech/sayings.
Hey Cuz!
I’ve just discovered this fabulous blog. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, wondering how you’re doing and dying to hear about your adventures. This hits the spot. I’m trying to work out getting to Mobay with my cousin Kim in Feb/Mar, as you may have heard. Hope you are up for a visit!
The work you’re doing with the kids sounds really interesting. They must love you. Sounds like your coping skills for dealing with random strangers sending you “fond” commentary as you stroll the city streets is serving you well. I, too, found it challenging…my only advice, aside from humour, is to make sure allow yourself to spend time in a safe space where you can let your guard down and turn your scowl upside down! I’ll be in touch soon.
Peace, Jess