A brief walk into New Kingston

This morning, Tatiana, Soraya and I set out on foot to New Kingston to run some errands. The main strip is about a fifteen minute walk from our house. I wanted them to come with me so that they wouldn’t be stuck to the TV all morning, and because I prefer to walk around Kingston with company, even if my company is 8-year old twin girls who complain about walking and the heat.

The sun was blazing, but we managed to go to the bank, the cell phone store and the bookstore before taking a break at Juici Patti. They have the most delicious conch soup – nice and spicy and full of flavor. They also have these cool fish tanks in between the booths that the girls like to look at. Tatiana got a beef patty; Soraya had red pea soup with coco bread, and I ate conch soup. After lunch, we only needed CD’s so I could burn my interview recordings onto them. We finally found them in the pharmacy and made our way home.

When we got home, I realized the cashier at the pharmacy had given me DVD-Roms instead of CD-Roms, and I don’t have a DVD writer. I was not looking forward to going back out into the hot sun. So, I took a nap first, and then set back out, alone this time.

I made it to the store, got my CD’s and a few other things. On the way back home, a man began trying to get my attention. I pretended not to hear him shout “Hey Baby!” After all, I am not a baby. When he was too close for me to ignore, I turned around and strategically flashed my wedding ring in his face. He said, “oh, but can we be friends?”I thanked him for the offer and kept on my way. That incident wasn’t that bad, but I still prefer the kind smiles of strangers directed at my children than the cat-calls directed at me. I am glad to have my family with me during this research trip. Being here in Kingston alone would not be the same.

Back at the house, a dip in the swimming pool was the perfect treat after walking in that heat. Tatiana and Soraya were still in the pool, and we did some laps together.

A Blue Mountains Adventure

From Kingston, you can see the Blue Mountains that encircle the city. Ever since Tatiana, my 8-year old daughter, saw the mountains, she has wanted to travel there. On Thursday, as I had finished my interviews, and did my writing early in the morning, we finally decided to take the girls to the Blue Mountains.

Our taxi driver, Ken, offered to take us to Mount Holywell Park for the day, but he charges nearly $100 for the trip. Figuring there must be another way, I did some Internet searching. I came upon a guest house, thirty minutes from Kingston, nestled in the Blue Mountains. I called the owner and asked if we could come up there, have lunch, and do some hiking. She said we could, and that we should take a route taxi from Papine. I called Ken and he gave us a lift to Papine for JA $500 – around US$6.00. He chuckled when I told him our plan, and told us to be safe when we got out of the car.

At the taxi depot in Papine, I spotted a woman who looked as though she was in charge of the taxis. I asked her where I could get a route taxi to Newcastle. She shook her head, and a driver near her told us we needed to charter a taxi. Not wanting to take no for an answer, I explained that I had spoken with someone who told me I could get a route taxi to her place. She suggested I call her. As I was looking in my bag for my cell phone, I explained that we weren't going all of the way to Newcastle. Where we were going is two miles past Red Light.

“Oh, Red Light,” she said, and took us to a combi and asked the driver if he went that far. He said he did, and we piled into the combi. People kept getting into the combi as we waited for the driver to leave. When we finally took off, there were 21 people piled into this vehicle the size of a small VW van.

After a squished, bumpy ride up the mountain, we finally made it to Mount Edge, the guest house I had contacted. We paid the driver JA $600, and got out of the combi. We found Mabel, whom I had spoken to, sweeping and packing basil. I asked her what they had for lunch. She replied that there wasn't any lunch. I was a bit taken aback, as I had told her over the phone that we planned to eat there.

It was 1:30pm, but the kids had munched on chips in the combi on the way up there, so I figured we could hold out a bit. I asked Mabel where we could get something to eat. She said there is a place about 30 minutes up the road, and we could walk there. I figured with the girls walking slowly, we might make it in an hour, so we set out on our hike up the road.

As I suspected, the girls stopped at every stream and small waterfall that we passed. It was a breathtaking hike – the dark green mountains, the clear blue skies, the babbling stream that we kept passing. At one of the waterfalls, the girls ventured up the stream a bit while I sat down and swatted mosquitoes.

After walking for about an hour, we reached a small wooden house that looked somewhat promising. We asked the owner if he served lunch. He shook his head, and said that he only sold chips, sodas, and beer. Tatiana and Soraya got some Pringles, Nando got a beer, and Raymi and I drank the water we had brought with us. We asked the guys at that store where we could find a restaurant. They said it was three miles up the road.

Three miles! Surely Mabel didn't think we could walk over three miles in 30 minutes! We decided to press on and keep walking up the mountain. We figured eventually we would find something to eat. Fortunately, Nando had some cashews and a couple of bottles of water.

After walking and walking, we were almost ready to give up when Nando saw a sign that said “Welcome to Newcastle.” Next to that sign, was “Gap Cafe – Two miles.” The Gap Cafe was still two miles away, but surely there would be a restaurant in Newcastle. When we arrived at Newcastle, we realized it was a military base. Still no restaurant. We decided we would hitch a ride in the first car willing to take us - whether it was up or down the mountain.

The girls were complaining about all of the walking, and I was beginning to get tired and hungry for some real food. We kept on walking, hoping a car would pass by. Finally, a car did, with two young men. We asked if we could ride in their back seat, and they let us pile in. Lucky for us, they were going to the Gap Cafe.

When we finally reached the Gap Cafe, it was 5pm! When I got out of the car, I asked the hostess if they still had lunch. She said, “Sorry, we are closed for a private function.” What were we going to do? The girls were tired and hungry. She looked at us, and then said that she could fix us some food, but that it would have to be to go. I said that was no problem and asked what they had to eat.

We chose two plates – fish in coconut sauce and oxtail. They were a bit pricey, but we had to eat! The hostess allowed us to eat on their patio, which had a very scenic view of the Blue Mountains. The food was scrumptious! Tatiana and Soraya, who generally don't like fish, practically licked the Styrofoam container of the fish in coconut sauce. And, Raymi ate every bit of her oxtail. It was a wonderful meal, in a beautiful setting.

After eating, we didn't have a ride. But, we were full, and now we only had to walk down the mountain. It was only 21 miles to Kingston, after all! We walked for about 30 minutes, and a combi rolled by. We flagged him down, and he said he was going to Strawberry Hill, about halfway down the mountain. We asked if we could ride along, and he agreed to let us.

From Strawberry Hill, we quickly flagged down a car. This one was a squeeze, though. It was a four passenger vehicle, with three people already in it. The girls got in the trunk area, and Nando and I sat in one of the seats. At first, the girls thought it was fun, but they soon began to complain about sitting on metal benches.

Nevertheless, we made it safely to Papine, where we got a taxi back to New Kingston. On the way home, we ate patties and coco bread at Juici Patti, and arrived home tired from a long day. Now that we know where we are going, next time we will go straight to Mount Holywell park and walk down the mountain on the way back!

A trip to National Heroes Park

June 9, 2009

The other day I said I had trouble reading class status in Jamaica. That is not exactly true. Today, I realized I could recognize poverty when I saw it. This afternoon, we went to National Heroes Park, because I had heard they have built a new playground there, and thought it would be a good place to take the children.

The children at National Heroes Park were noticeably different from the children we saw on Sunday at Devon Park. At Devon Park, the children were dressed up in clean, quality clothing, had on shoes, and were with their parents. At National Heroes Park, some of the children were barely clothed. One had on an old pair of gym shorts, nothing else. Another was wearing stained, old, unmatching clothes. Granted, these were play clothes, but they were raggedy even for play clothes.

The playground at National Heroes Park is ordinary by US standards, but impressive compared to other play areas I have seen in Kingston. It is made of blue, yellow, and red plastic, with five different slides, plus has a wide variety of climbing equipment. And, it is in a relatively poor area of Kingston.

I should have thought of that when the children insisted on bringing their Fur Real pets – a cat, a dog and a baby panda that move when you touch them. These toys caused quite an uproar among the children, who gathered around our table to play with these toys. As Soraya pointed out, it was nice that the children got to play with the toys. However, it meant that I had to keep an eye on the children and the toys the whole time.

I didn’t have to worry about Raymi, though. Raymi had brought her Groovy Girls backpack with her, which had lollypops hidden in one of the pockets. When Raymi found them, she decided to offer one to one of the girls. Then, several children began to stick their hands in Raymi’s bag. Raymi shouted “Don’t grab!” and put all of the suckers back in her bag. I was hoping she would give away the candy, but was pleased to see she could hold her own. The children pulled back, but followed Raymi around until she finally offered them the lollypops again.

There weren’t enough to go around. There were over a dozen children at the playground, most of whom did not seem to be attached to any adults. Well, there was one small child, about 15 months old, who was with her daddy. Her daddy was sitting on the playground equipment smoking ganja. The other children, the same ages as my kids, it seems, had come to the playground by themselves.

When it was time to leave, we walked out onto the street. As I was trying to determine which way to go, a young woman approached us and asked if we were okay. I asked her where we could get a bus to New Kingston. She said we needed to take the number 76, on the other side of the park. She was going that way, and offered to take us. As we were walking across the park, she let me know that, after a certain hour, this place was not safe.

Unlike Emancipation Park, National Heroes Park is not crawling with security guards. In fact, the kids could freely jump on the picnic tables and the big kids could climb up on top of the monkey bars without anyone telling them to get down.

We made it across the park to the bus stop, and to our luck, the number 76 pulled right up. When we got on the bus, Tatiana wanted to sit by herself. A few minutes later, I looked back, and she was sleeping on her bench. Fortunately, the bus was not very crowded, and she could sleep the whole time. The park is only a couple of miles from our house, but there was stop and go traffic, so the bus ride took nearly a half an hour. On the way home, I saw a public library, which looks like a possibly good next destination.

Fieldwork in Kingston with the children is working out pretty well. This outing today got me a bit more familiar with Kingston. Although I could have gone to National Heroes Park by myself, having the children with me allowed me to sit in the playground and get more of a feeling for the place. It would have been a bit odd for a single woman to sit in the playground alone, and likely would have been cause for people to question my presence.

When I am with Nando and the children, people seem less likely to bother me or question my presence. For example, today, on the way home, Nando walked ahead of me when I stopped in the cell phone store. Thus, I walked the last couple of blocks by myself. A young man said “Cinderella” to me as I walked by. Perhaps I look like a chambermaid. Or, maybe that was the only blonde Disney character he could think of. I ignored him, but this is an example of something that wouldn’t have happened if I were with Nando, and likely not if I were with the children.

Emancipation Park and Fieldwork with the Kids

June 8, 2009

This morning, I called Evelyn, a deportee, to ask her when we might be able to meet up to talk about her deportee resettlement agency, “Land of my Birth.” She let me know that she couldn’t meet today, but that I should call her tomorrow to set something up. My plans to start my fieldwork foiled, I spent the morning working on a book review.

After lunch, we decided to walk over to Emancipation Park, which is just under twenty minutes walking from where we live in Uptown Kingston. Emancipation Park is reminiscent of a plaza in a Latin American city. It has a large fountain in the middle, with several brick paths leading away from it. Each path is lined with some sort of vegetation – palm trees, flower bushes, or these interesting, warped trees. From these well-maintained gardens, you can see the high rise hotels that predominate the skyline in New Kingston as well as the Blue Mountains that encircle the city.

I stayed at the park with my daughters, and Nando went downtown to the market to buy some vegetables. The veggies are outrageously expensive at the supermarket. I saw a cauliflower for about US $6.00. Vegetables are a bit more reasonable at the market downtown. We agreed to meet Nando at the apartment later on.

There are about half a dozen security guards at Emancipation Park, and they are pretty hard-core. I wasn’t surprised that they asked Tatiana not to climb up the light post, but when they asked me to take my bare foot off of the bench where I had perched it, I thought that a bit extreme. A few minutes later, the guard came back to warn Raymi to take her bare feet off the bench. Raymi had bent her knees to rest her book on her legs, but that was against the rules.

As usual, Tatiana, Soraya, and Raymi quickly made friends. They found two girls about their age, and set about playing like they were in summer camp. Running around barefoot, Raymi scraped her foot and her toe began to bleed. I took her to the bathroom to rinse it off. She continued to fuss about it for a while. An elderly Chinese woman sitting next to us told Raymi she should spit on it to make it feel better. Raymi decided against taking that advice.

It was a relatively cool afternoon, and there were quite a few people walking around the track they have set up around Emancipation Park. It made me want to join in on the exercising. But, I wanted to keep an eye on the kids. And, I hadn’t brought my running shoes. Maybe one of these days.

I feel like having the children in some ways enhances my personal safety. It certainly gave me a reason to be in Emancipation Park and appeared to ward off any potentially unwelcome advances. People seem to be less likely to bother a mother than they would an otherwise unattached female. Taking the kids to the park is part of my fieldwork. If I were alone, I would have to go to the park by myself, and sit there with a notebook, taking notes. That might look a bit odd.

After the park, we went to Juici Patti to get some food. I really wanted some of their conch soup, which is delicious. But, they were out. So, we just got patties, and then ice cream for Raymi and Soraya and carrot cake for Tatiana. On the way home, Raymi spilled her ice cream on the floor, but didn’t make a fuss of it.

Ice Cream and Friends at Devon House

Sunday, June 7, 2009

After a lazy morning at the house, I convinced the girls to turn off the Internet and TV and venture out to Devon House, an old mansion with gorgeous grounds. They sell delicious ice cream there, and it is just four blocks from our house.

Sunday afternoons at Devon House are very popular among Jamaicans; the place was full of families sitting on the grass, enjoying the relatively cool afternoon. After eating ice cream, we went over to the small playground they have there. They charge JA $50 to enter – less than one US dollar, but probably enough to deter some families from entering.

I have not yet developed the ability to read class status among Jamaicans. Some people are obviously upper class, and others obviously impoverished. But, I can't read all of the signs of class status like I can in other societies I am more familiar with. So, I can't say whether Devon House is mostly frequented by well-to-do families or not. But, the parking lot was full of cars, many of them quite nice. I heard a few American accents, indicating many people may be visiting from the states.

After paying the entrance fees to the playground, I found a bench to sit on and watch the children play on one of the four pieces of playground equipment made from metal – a see-saw, a set of monkey bars, a swing set, and a slide. My kids had just as much fun as they normally do at fancier playgrounds. Tatiana and Soraya befriended a girl a couple of years older than them, and they took turns on the see-saw. Raymi played with her younger sister. It so happens I was sitting next to the mother of their new friends, so we began to chat.

I asked the woman if there were any other playgrounds around. She said that there weren't. Close by, there is Hope Gardens and Emancipation Park. Both have ample lawns, but no playground equipment. She pointed out that there are playgrounds in some schools, but they close those after school – even to children that attend those schools. She said that she has suggested at PTA meetings that they open the playgrounds, but that the school has not agreed to do so. It made me think of how many playgrounds there are in the US, and how we often take it for granted that there will be a high-quality playground nearby. Actually, when we lived in Little Village in Chicago the playground was a bit far away, so the kids would squeeze under the gate to go to the church playground. But, there was a great playground in Douglas Park, just six blocks from our house.

Back at the playground in Kingston, when it was time for the girls' new friends to leave, I asked the mother, Nicky, if we could exchange numbers. She agreed, and we took down each others' numbers. So, I may have a new friend! It would be nice to get to know people here, to be a bit more sociable.

There are a few families with children in our apartment complex. But, we only see them in passing. Perhaps when the swimming pool is fixed, we might meet more people. They have been working on the pool. Last week, they chipped off the entire floor, and put a new layer of cement on it. So, progress is being made.

After Nicky and her three children left, we stayed for a bit in the playground area. Tatiana and Soraya organized a sort of race for the children. Each child ran to the other side of the playground, did ten push-ups, and then ran back. They changed the rules each time, but the other children didn't seem to mind. They all seemed to be having a blast. At one point, they all ran out of the playground. I used that as an opportunity to steer the children away from the playground area and towards the gates. It was nearly 6pm, and would be getting dark soon.

As we approached the gate, the girls asked if they could play in the grassy lawn area. I agreed that they could, and they set about playing with some of the children they had met at the playground.

It is amazing how easy it is for children to make friends. Tatiana, Soraya, and Raymi played with the kids at the park as if they had known them for years. It was a lovely Sunday afternoon at Devon House.

Day 3 – Conferencing with the kids in Kingston

I got in my morning exercise by walking the 15 minutes from my apartment to the hotel, picking up my friend's daughter, taking her back to our apartment, and walking back again to the conference. Forty-five minutes walking in the hot sun.

On the way to the conference hotel, I stopped in a pharmacy to pick up some lotion. This is one of the things I didn't pack and am just now buying, on day 6 of my trip. This is because my husband, Nando, has been doing the shopping so far, and I didn't want to entrust that purchase to him. As a result, my feet have been consistently getting drier and more cracked. Once I got my lotion, I couldn't resist putting it on right away. I have on sandals, and didn't want to walk around anymore with my feet “jacked up,” as one of my Facebook friends put it.

When I got to the hotel, I went over to the jacuzzi by the pool and put my feet in the warm water to soften them up a bit. After a brief soak and some lotion, my heels became a bit more passable. I figured it was okay to put lotion on my feet poolside, as it could easily be suntan lotion, right? Plus, I don't thinkanyone noticed.

I ran into my friend in the restaurant, where she was having breakfast with her daughter. I offered to take her daughter to our apartment, and her daughter was happy to go and play with my kids, even though she is a couple of years older than the twins. I suppose playing with them beats hanging around the conference, which is not always endurable, even for adults. I barely got through some of the talks myself today.

I arrived a bit late at the first talk, but heard a fascinating paper that got me thinking about racial dynamics in the US versus the rest of the Americas. In the US, historically, there has been a one-drop rule. This is the idea that a person with one black ancestor is considered to be black. Many scholars have contested the extent to which this “one-drop rule” has ever actually existed. To the extent that it has been in place, it is clearly in decline. People with black ancestry in the US, such as Cubans or Dominicans, do not always self-identify as black, and can be identified as Latino, not black, in some cases. There are also some people with black ancestry who consider themselves to be bi-racial, not black.

In some Latin American and Caribbean countries, there has historically been an intermediary category between black and white – often called mulatto, which has allowed some people of African descent to not identify as black. This is a group of people who does not face as much racial discrimination as blacks, yet does not fully benefit from white privilege. The first paper in this panel was on Jamaicans of mixed ancestry who did not see themselves as “black” in Jamaica, yet who were, in some cases racialized as “black” when the went to the US. The presenter argued that these people experienced color privilege in Jamaica, but not in the US.

Because of the stigma of blackness in the US, many of the people interviewed were not keen on self-identifying as black. The speaker argued that people of mixed race do not experience the same privilege in the US as they do in Jamaica. This is key – the privilege is relative. Mixed-race, light-skinned Jamaicans experience a relative, not a complete, loss of privilege when they move to the US. In some cases, they can avoid the stigma associated with blackness, because of their light skin. Yet, their otherness prevents them from being fully identified as white. This is interesting, because it raises the question of whether or not the US has an intermediary category. Is there a group between blacks and whites in the US? Sociologist Eduardo Bonilla-Silva argues that this group of “honorary whites” is emerging in the US.

Her paper also raised the question of the extent to which mixed-race Jamaican immigrants who do not self-identify as black are disidentifying with blackness or aspiring for whiteness – two different phenomena. A rejection of blackness is not necessarily an identification with whiteness. This also points to the idea that there might be an intermediary group in the US, a group that allows you to be neither black nor white.

The next session bordered on disaster at the beginning. The A/C was blowing hot air. There were not enough seats to accompany the participants. The organizer and two of the panelists showed up late. The other two didn't show up at all. The first speaker gave her presentation in Spanish, with an interpreter. I understand the need to share across borders,linguistic and otherwise, but I would have greatly preferred that the monolingual participants simply had not understood the paper. The practice of the speaker saying one sentence and the interpreter repeating a longer version of the sentence in English resulted in an excruciating experience for me, at least. And, by the bored looks of those in the room, I think my view was shared. Fortunately, the intervention was interesting, and it did get better over time. It helped that someone came in to fix the A/C midway through the talk. The talk went on for 45 minutes! That was a bit excessive in my view.

Once I managed to escape from that room, I went home to eat vegetable curry with rice that Nando had prepared. Then, I came back to the hotel with the children. We casually walked into the hotel, and set ourselves up by the pool again. I sat with Nando and my friend for a while, and then went to a panel that turned out to be people who had not actually done any research, but who were planning to. The first speaker reflected on his high school experience, the second outlined a proposal for research, and the third exposed her own racial identity. This particular combination was not something I found profoundly inspiring. However, it took guts on the part of the presenters, especially the one who went on about herself. Public self-exposure is never easy. I left that panel as soon as it was appropriate to do so and went back to join my family by the pool.

After chillin at the pool with my kids, I brought my friend and her daughter over for dinner for some good eats, wine, and conversation. Another good day has come to an end.