A Blue Mountains Adventure

Note: This is a re-post from June 2009

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!

Cover your shoulders!

Sunday afternoon, Nando, the girls, and I set out for an outdoor festival, hosted by one of the Wailers (as in Bob Marley and the Wailers). It was a Rasta community event, with free food and drink, a sound system, and a variety of Rasta items for sale. Nando set up his jewelry table next to a table full of Rasta flags and paraphernalia. There was a waterslide for the kids, and plenty of ganja for adults who wished to indulge.

The food was delightful vegetarian fare – spicy vegetable soup to start with, followed by a plate of rice and beans with tofu stew. Raymi ate all of her soup, and asked for some chicken. This being a Rasta event, she had to settle for tofu. In addition to the vegetarian-only fare, long dreads, and pictures of Emperor Haile Selassie, apparently, women are supposed to cover up.

I found out the hard way. I was sitting next to Nando’s jewelry table when one of the guys with a security badge asked me if I had something to cover myself with. I told him I did not. He said it was okay this time, but I should know that, for the future, I needed to cover my shoulders.



Me in my "scandalous" tank top and shorts

I noticed that, although the women had on long flowing dresses and T-shirts, some of the men had on tank tops and shorts, some a lot skimpier than mine. One man was wearing a mesh tank-top that was completely see-through. I suppose the standards are different for men and women.

There also were a lot more men than women at this event. At the beginning, there were about 100 people, and no more than ten of them were women. The absence of women is something I have noticed in Rasta communities in Kingston. Each time I point this out, however, it is met with denial. So either the women tend to stay home, or the Rasta community is predominately male and people don’t like to talk about it.

As the afternoon progressed, more women showed up. Perhaps they were cooking the delicious food, or attending to their own household duties. At one point, the festival was up to about 20% women. Some of them had bare shoulders too, making me feel less out-of-place. The Rasta women with bare shoulders, however, did pull out shawls as they got closer to the prayer tent. However, there were two non-Rasta women who sat down near me who were wearing tank-tops that showed a lot more cleavage than me. As you can imagine, it is very hot in Kingston, so people don’t tend to cover up very much here.

The central focus of this event was a sermon, carried out by various individuals, mostly men. It began with a prayer song, and then people took the microphones to talk about community issues. They began with a discussion of a family who lost their home to a fire, and other families who lost their youth to gun violence. Others talked about community development, especially agricultural export. Perhaps most interesting was the juxtaposition of how Rastafarians are stigmatized for smoking ganja, yet utilized by the Jamaican Tourist Board as an example of Jamaicans’ cultural vivacity. One of the speakers argued that Rastafarians should have intellectual property rights over the use of Rastafarian symbols. One of the main reasons for this is the abuse of these symbols by tourist venues in places like Montego Bay and Ocho Rios. Another argued for the legalization of ganja. Since it is illegal, anyone with dreadlocks is presumed by the police to have marijuana. Therefore, the police frequently stop them to search their cars for ganja.

After a while, the kids got bored of the long sermon. So, we decided to head out to our friend, Kenny’s house. Kenny is a Rastafarian, and he had invited us to the event in the. Kenny has a small pool in his yard. As the waterslide had been shut down for the duration of the sermon, the kids were happy to leave to cool off in Kenny’s pool. They had a blast there, jumping around in Kenny’s pool.



Soraya cooling off in Kenny's pool

Kenny’s wife offered us some food – this time with chicken. It was a stew with chicken, bammy, coconut milk, and some herbs and spices. It was so good! Overall, it was a great Sunday in Kingston.

Another day in Kingston

This morning, I got the girls ready for camp while Nando fixed breakfast. Tatiana, Soraya, and Raymi are really enjoying their summer program at Edna Manley College for the Visual Arts. Each afternoon, I ask them what they did at camp. They say it was fun, but don't really want to give out any more info. I am just pleased they haven't started complaining about going yet. Probably a month in the house with us was a good antidote for those complaints.


Tatiana and Soraya on the way to camp

After camp, Nando took the girls down to the waterfront, with his friend, Ska. I thought about joining them. But, I also thought about the opportunity to get a lot of work done. I decided to stay in and get working on my book manuscript. It looks like I might have a contract for my book manuscript on immigration policy, so I took the afternoon to check my citations and footnotes, after spending the morning working on the conclusion.

It looks like Nando and the girls had fun at the waterfront. I had a somewhat relaxing day working from home.

Raymi at the waterfront

Soraya down by the water

A trip to the swimming hole in Gordon Town

This Sunday, the family took a trip to a swimming hole in Gordon Town. Although we were just outside of Kingston, it felt like a trip to the countryside.

I have been a bit of a recluse lately, which is quite unlike me, actually. I barely left the apartment complex this week, apart from taking the kids to summer camp on Monday and a lunch date with Nando at this fabulous Indian restaurant, Akbar, on Wednesday. On Saturday, the kids and I just hung out at our pool and lazed around all day, while Nando went to Papine to play music with a Rasta community. Nando, of course, has been getting all around Kingston. So, today, I decided I needed to get out of the house as well.

We called Ken, our taxi driver, and asked him to take us to a swimming hole in Gordon Town that Nando found on one of his trips to visit the Rasta communities in the Blue Mountains. It is about a twenty minute drive from our house, just past Papine. Ken dropped us off near the entrance, a precipitous climb down the hillside that leads past a few houses and to the river.

When we got to the swimming hole, there were a couple of dozen local kids jumping off of the rocks into the hole. Tatiana and Soraya were fascinated, and rushed to change into their swimsuits. Several people asked if they could swim, and we assured them that they know how to swim.

Before I could tell the kids not to go into the swimming hole until I could take a closer look, Tatiana and Soraya had already gone to the edge of the rocks and jumped in. Not too long afterwards, Nando dove in and Raymi joined him. I, on the other hand, was not ready to strip down and jump in the water. Not yet, anyway.

I wasn’t sure about getting into my swimming gear. Most of the people in the water were much younger than me, and nearly all were males. More importantly, I was a bit worried about jumping off of the rock, the only way to get into the swimming hole. I can be a bit of a chicken when it comes to scaling rocks and crossing rivers. So, I sat on top and enjoyed listening to the waterfall, looking at the green hills, and taking in the lovely Sunday afternoon. A very nice change from the urban scenery of Kingston. Tatiana and Soraya quickly made friends and were having a ball in the water. Raymi came out after a bit, and sat next to me on the big rock.

A couple of young men asked me if I was getting in, but I told them I wasn’t sure. Eventually, the sun got very hot, and I became tempted. I put on my bathing suit and put my feet in the water. But, I still wasn’t ready to jump in. I had realized that not only do you have to jump ten feet off of a big rock to get in; you also have to climb up some rocks to get back out. I wasn’t sure which worried me more, falling on the way in or falling on the way out. So, I stayed on the big rock.

A young man sat next to me and asked where I was from. I told him I was from Washington, DC. He told me his mother has been in the US for five years, and he would love to join her. She doesn’t have here papers straight, so she can’t bring him up there herself. He mentioned that he has some soursop and limes that grow in his yard, and that he’d like to give me some, that his spirit was telling him he should give me something. As we were talking, I realized that, just a few minutes outside of Kingston, we were in the countryside. The people at the watering hole seemed a lot more like country folk than Kingstonians, especially with this talk of giving me limes. Well, I suppose some Kingstonians have offered us mangoes.

Anyway, eventually I decided to overcome my fears and jump into the water. It did look quite refreshing, and I was getting hot sitting on that rock. So, I asked Nando to show me again how he jumped in and then climbed out. He did. It looked hard, but do-able. So, I inched a bit closer to the rock. I put away my glasses, as I was sure they would fall off if I jumped in with them. I watched a few more people jump off the rock. I told Nando I was going to do it; I just was trying to get up the courage.

Nando helped me get even closer to the ledge. He even put his foot where I was supposed to put mine to show me just how to do it. He is so sweet! Finally, I decided to take the plunge. I got to the edge of the rock, held my nose, and jumped right into the water. Ahhh, so refreshing! I swam around until I cooled off a bit, and then it was time to get out. Another challenge. Thoughts danced in my head of me never getting out.

I swam over to one of the ways out. You have to swim against the current to get to these rocks that lead out of the water. Then, you have to scale these large boulders to get back up to the path. I am not sure how Tatiana and Soraya did it so effortlessly. The twins got out of the water with a little help from Nando. Then, again, Nando came all the way down to help me up. With a lot of directions and some pulling, I got myself out of the watering hole. I sat on the rock to relax while I watched the kids continue to jump in and jump around until it was time to leave.

On the way home, we picked up some jerk chicken at Chelsea’s. Delicious! As I enjoyed my scrumptious chicken, I thought about how different my trip to Kingston is because I am with my family. Nando, because of the type of person he is, and the fact that he is a man, is able to get around Kingston easily and get to know people. I would have never found this swimming hole on my own. Even if I did, it would be really weird for me to go there by myself. Going with Nando and the girls, however, made it a bit less unusual. I am sure most of the people there know each other, and thought it a bit strange for us to come to their local spot. However, they were very welcoming to us, and helped the girls get in and out of the water whenever they needed to.

It was a great day. This week, I’ll try and get out of the house more often! That shouldn’t be too hard. I have some interviews scheduled in St. Thomas for Tuesday.

Our apartment in Kingston

In Kingston, we have been very lucky to find a fully furnished condo to rent that has lovely gardens in addition to a swimming pool.




The place also has wireless Internet access, so I can work out on the patio. I am digging my new office...

Getting to (and from) Edna Manley

My three daughters, Tatiana (8), Soraya (8), and Raymi (5), are finally in summer camp! We arrived in Jamaica on May 28, and the Jamaican children were still in school. So, we had to wait until now to get them enrolled in camp. We were lucky to find out about the Kaleidoscope summer program at the Edna Manley College for the Visual Arts.

The question for the first day was how to get them to camp. The campus is about a 30 minute walk from our house, and thus a bit too far for the girls, especially in this heat. My first idea was to take the easy route and call the taxi driver we have been using. However, as can be expected, he already has a morning run.

Figuring there must be some form of public transportation, Nando, the girls and I set out yesterday morning at 8:00am, towards Knutsford Blvd, which is about four blocks from our house. As we were approaching the boulevard, I saw a bus leaving from the bus stop. I tried to flag it down, but realized that it was a company charter bus. Then, I noticed a taxi driver calling us over. There was a woman in the front seat of the car, meaning that this was a route taxi. I told the driver we were going to Edna Manley College, and he said he could let us off nearby. We squeezed into the back seat, and it turns out he was kind enough to drop us right at the door, for JA $150 (US$2) for the five of us.

Once inside the camp, we had to wait in line for registration and then listen to orientation. We finally were able to leave at 10:30. Nando and I decided to walk home, to get some exercise. Once home, I stayed in to get some work done, and Nando went out to the market to buy some vegetables.

Around 2pm, I set out again towards the camp to pick the girls up. I decided I would walk. It’s easier to walk sometimes than to figure out how to take a bus or route taxi. Plus, I need to get as much exercise in as possible. I arrived, hot and sweaty, and the kids seemed as though they had enjoyed their day.

As we were leaving, several girls told Tatiana they like her hair. Tatiana told me one girl had asked her if her hair was real or fake. I am not sure how to explain to Tatiana why her long, straight, brown hair draws attention. On the one hand, it is nice that she develops a positive self-image. On the other hand, she also should learn that all hair is beautiful.

Soraya asked if she could invite a friend over. I told her to get the girl’s phone number and I would talk to her mother. Overall, it seems as though the first day of camp was a success. Now, we just had to figure out how to get home.

It took about ten minutes to walk from the campus to the street. So, by the time we were on the main street, Raymi was already complaining. However, we still had to cross the street and walk another block to the bus stop. I firmly told her that we were almost there, and she just had to keep on walking.

When we finally made it to the bus stop, the kids sat down on a ledge and a route taxi pulled up. One woman got inside. I asked the driver if he was going up Knutsford Boulevard. He was, so we piled into the back seat. It was very hot, so I was surprised the girls didn’t complain. Instead, they played with the cold water bottles I had brought with me.

Turns out this route taxi goes all the way to the corner of our house. He told us this is a regular route, and that we should be able to find a taxi right on the corner every morning. This was great news. We paid him JA $100 for the four of us, and made our way home. After a hot walk and taxi ride, I was more than ready for a refreshing dip in the pool. It also felt good to have figured out how to take the public transport to and from camp with the girls.

An evening walk to Putt n Play

I spent Sunday doing laundry, cleaning up, and playing with the kids in the pool. In the afternoon, as promised, I took the girls to the Putt n Play near Emancipation Park in New Kingston.

Putt n Play is about a fifteen minute walk from our house, just past the Hilton. I know the route well, as I walked it each day I went to the Hilton for the Caribbean Studies Association Conference.

We left the house around 6pm, too early for the prostitutes who hang out on the corner to be out. It was still light out, so I was not too nervous walking past the sewer line where the crackheads live. Nevertheless, I was relieved to arrive at the Strip, where the lights from the Digicell lighted billboard illuminate the street. From there, it is a well-lit route to the Putt n Play.

My husband, Nando, met us there. He had spent the day with a friend at Hellshire Beach. His friend is from Trenchtown, and never leaves the garrison. This was the first time he had been to Hellshire Beach. He has never been to New Kingston. One day, he'll come visit us here.

At the ticket gate, I told the girls they could each have two tickets. Raymi chose two rides, and Tatiana and Soraya chose one ride and one game of mini-golf each. After the rides, Soraya and I shared a jerk sausage, and Raymi and Tatiana got ice cream sandwiches.

It was 8pm, and time to go home. As it wasn't too late, we opted to walk back. We hoped to tire the girls out some more, and to get some exercise ourselves. When we came upon the street with the crackheads, I got just a bit nervous.

A couple of weeks ago, Nando was accosted on this street. Two men asked him for money and stuck their hands in his pockets. He didn't have any money in his pockets. Fortunately, they left without harming him. That was much later at night. Nando said it wasn't a big deal. But, it bothers me. And, I am glad it didn't happen to me, as that would freak me out.

We made it past that street and the one with the prostitutes without incident.

When I got home, I had an email from the transcriptionist with my first transcribed interview. Perfect timing. Tomorrow, the girls will be at summer camp, and I will have all day to go over the interview and double-check it.

I am also thinking of popular venues where I can begin to submit some of my work in progress. I sent queries to The Nation and ColorLines. We'll see if either is interested.

Race, Class, and the “Ice Age”: A trip to the cinema at the Sovereign in Kingston

My children have been anxious to see “Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs” ever since they saw the advertisements on television for the movie. In general, it has been a challenge for us to get used to having cable television. Back in the US, we don’t have cable, and only allow the children to watch DVDs from the library and the free ones in the children’s section of Family Video. The advantage of this, besides saving money, is that there are no commercials to speak of on DVDs.

A constant diet of cable television and thus commercials, has sparked a desire in my children for all sorts of toys and other consumer items of which they had previously been unaware. The system I have developed is that whenever they ask for “Bendaroos” or “Chixso girls,” I tell them to put it on a list so that when Christmas comes around, they will have some ideas for a list for Santa. This seems to be working so far. “Ice Age,” however couldn’t exactly go on a Christmas list. So, I decided that it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to let them go to the movies.

I found a friend also interested in taking her kids to the movies, and she had the brilliant idea of dropping them off at the movie theatre. So, we dropped them off with a large bucket of popcorn, and I instructed the girls not to leave the movie theatre under any circumstances. Lucky for me, downstairs, there was a lovely coffee shop also in Sovereign Mall – The Blue Café.
I parked myself at a table, and ordered a “blueccino,” a sweet, delicious frozen coffee drink. Just the inspiration I needed to finish the final revisions of my article. About two weeks ago, I received notice that an article I wrote on race and color classifications in Peru has been conditionally accepted by a top Sociology journal. I have been working on the revisions this week. And, with the extra time I had this afternoon at the café, I was able to send it off to the Editor! That is a relief!

I don’t have access to a printer, and that would be the first time I have submitted an article for publication without printing it out and going over it with a fine-tooth comb. Well, except for the book review I submitted a few days ago. Anyway, I had closely edited it before sending it out, and I am being more ecological this way. My normal practice had been to print out each version as I revise.

At any rate, it’s off, and I am glad about that! Once I sent it off, I had the opportunity to observe my surroundings here in Sovereign Mall, an upscale shopping center in New Kingston.

The first thing I must admit is that I can’t get over the fact that there really are white Jamaicans. I mean, I knew that there were some, but it is still surprising. I have to really try hard not to stare when I hear white people speaking with a noticeable Jamaican accent. And, in this upscale coffee shop, it seems as though I have seen more white Jamaicans in the past hour than I have in my entire time in Kingston! In addition to white Jamaicans, there are also a remarkable number of foreigners passing through the coffee shop. Overall, the demographics at this mall look a lot more like what I saw at the Hilton than any other place I’ve seen in Kingston.

I suppose any city has remarkable inequalities. And, Kingston shares with most cities a sharp divide between the rich and the poor. Sitting in hardwood chair with a white leather seat cover, typing away on my laptop, it is hard to believe the poverty that lies just a few kilometers away.

Well, enough musing, I’d best get back to the cinema to make sure the children don’t decide to roam around the mall in search of all of those toys they have seen on television!

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.

A Blustery Day at Fort Clarence Beach, Kingston

Sunday, May 31, 2009

A Blustery Day at Fort Clarence Beach, Kingston

A year abroad is the perfect time for new beginnings. So, there are a couple of things we decided to change for this year. The first was to leave behind Raymi’s sippy cup. I mean, she’s five, and doesn’t really need a sippy cup. By leaving it behind, we can begin a new phase in her life, right? The other thing we decided to do was to institute a family budget. Last night, Nando and I agreed on how much we would spend in each category, and committed to reporting our expenses to each other.

Yesterday, I went to the bank, and took out half of our budgeted money for this week, and gave Nando his portion of the cash. Nando is in charge of entertainment expenses, since he will be in charge of entertaining the kids most days while I am out doing my research. (Yes, I will be starting that any day now!)

This morning, we decided that we would take the bus to Hellshire Beach. I looked up the schedules, and found that there is a bus that leaves from near our house at 11:36am. Nando asked if he had time to go to the grocery store beforehand. It was 9:10am, so I agreed, although I suspected he might take longer than he expected, since that is his normal M.O. But, I wasn’t worried about it, because Nando is in charge of entertainment expenses. Nevertheless, I got the girls ready and straightened things up around the house.

Nando rolled up at the house at 11:10am, and we put away the groceries. By then, it was 11:20, and Nando asked if we still had time to catch the bus. We didn’t so he suggested we take a taxi. Again, I am cool with that, because we have a set amount, and once it’s gone, it’s gone.

To my surprise, Nando negotiates with the taxi driver and he agrees to take us to Hellshire Beach, which is 40 minutes away for 1500 Jamaican dollars, about US $20. On the way, we agree to go to Fort Clarence Beach instead. Fort Clarence is a National Park, and I have heard that it is cleaner and safer than Hellshire Beach. So, the taxi drops us there.

Once we arrived at the beach, I was so glad I decided to come. I really love the beach! The girls ran straight in and swam in the water. As can be expected, the water was not exactly crystal clear, but it was as warm as bath water and suitable for swimming. The only problem really is that it is very windy at the beach. This certainly helps cool things off, but, makes it a bit hard to just chill. I did manage to get a chapter read of a book I am supposed to be writing a review of, though.

After a bit, Tatiana, Soraya, Raymi, and I decided to walk down the beach to see what was there. Turns out not much. The beach to the left was strewn with trash, and completely devoid of any shade. After about ten minutes of walking, I asked the girls if we could turn around. I remembered I hadn’t put suntan lotion on their backs and thought we should go back and get lotioned up. Of course, they didn’t want to go back. We lingered for a bit. Then, I pointed to a yellow piece of trash in the distance and said: “I think I see a sand bucket.”

They bolted towards it, and it turned out to be a broken yellow sand bucket, but at least we were on the way back to our place on the beach. When we were almost back to where Nando was, Soraya was lagging behind, and Raymi and Tatiana had gone ahead. I yelled to Soraya to catch up, and went to direct Raymi and Tatiana to where the suntan lotion was. When I turned around, Soraya wasn’t behind me. I asked Nando to go back for her.

Next thing I knew, he was way down the beach and there was no sign of Soraya. I panicked and yelled for Nando to come back, as surely she had gone the other way. I asked a couple we had passed by if they had seen her. The guy told me a girl with a stick had passed by. So, I began running in the other direction, and told Tatiana and Raymi to stay put. Then, a woman came up to me and pointed at Soraya walking towards us from the far right end of the beach. When Soraya got to me, she began crying and said she hated getting lost. Fortunately, that was just a scare, and Nando came back and all the kids got their suntan lotion lathered on. Me too, even though I was in the shade most of the time.

At Fort Clarence Beach, there is a place called Tianna’s shack, where the owner roasts up delicious fresh fish. Nando ordered a plate of roasted fish and festival – a sort of delicious fried corn bread. Mmmm, mmm, delicious.

Nando had brought some of his jewelry with him to the beach, and set out to sell his wares while we waited for the fish to roast. He came back 30 minutes later, and had made a few sales. After eating, he went back out for another 20 minutes, and sold some more. In less than an hour, he made back the round trip taxi fare, the money for the fish, and then some. Not bad, eh?

After lunch and jewelry-selling, the girls were tired and ready to go back. We set back out on the road, and the security guards at the beach offered us a ride out to the main road. So, we hopped on the back of their pick up and came out to the main road. They then hailed a taxi for us. Actually, they yelled at a driver to come back for us, even though he was headed in the other direction. They told him to just let us ride with his other fare and then take us where we need to go. The driver explained that he has been driving for 24 years, and is the most trustworthy driver there is, and that is why they wanted him to take us. Nice to know someone is watching out for us.

We arrived back at the house without incident. Nando decided he wanted to venture out to Trenchtown, so the taxi took him back downtown after dropping us off. I came inside with the girls to relax after a long day.

Conversations at the Kingston YMCA

May 30, 2009

This morning, I woke up and had my breakfast on our lovely patio, which overlooks a nice garden and a swimming pool, which is, unfortunately, bereft of water.

After breakfast, I began writing my methodological statement. As a first step, I read an interesting article by KU professor, Thomas Skrtic, where he describes an elaborate application of naturalistic inquiry to a multi-sited project. It gave me some ideas for my own project.

Skrtic (1985) points out that you can begin a research project with theories already in mind, or you can use grounded theory. In my research on deportation, I am using a combination of grounded and a priori theories (Skrtic 1985: 190; 193). We already know a lot about immigration generally, so I am curious as to the extent to which current understandings of transnationalism and immigrant incorporation work in the context of deportation. On the other hand, I am also open to the possibility that thinking of deportation could fundamentally change how we think about immigration and globalization more generally. Thus, I have a set of questions related to transnationalism and immigrant incorporation. At the same time, I will remain open to exploring other emergent themes as I talk to deportees.

After my morning writing and thinking, I was ready to go on another adventure with my family. Yesterday, the people at the YMCA told us that the swimming pool is open from noon to 3pm on Saturdays, so we made plans to go there today. As soon as we left the house, Tatiana began to complain about walking in the sun. I told her that it is not very far. Yesterday, we walked at least 30 blocks, and today we only were going to have to walk four blocks to get to the swimming pool. Luckily you can see the pool after about two and a half blocks, and Tatiana stopped fussing as soon as she saw that (sort of clear) blue water.

Once inside the pool gates, the twins looked around. Soraya asked me if everyone in Jamaica was brown. Tatiana corrected her and told her everyone is black. I told them that most people in Jamaica are black. I haven’t quite figured out exactly how best to approach issues of race with the twins. They are eight years old, and I am not always sure what they can and can’t understand. I suppose I could take a color-blind approach and tell them that color doesn’t matter. But, that would be less than true, since color matters so much in our society and others. I could tell them that I like black people, but that is too much of a blanket statement. So far, I have told them that I have friends that are black, white, and brown, and that there are nice and mean people, and that you can’t tell whether people are nice or mean just by looking at their skin color. Nevertheless, the kids really notice color, especially in Jamaica. When we were walking back home, a car with Latinos rolled by, and Soraya told me that she saw some white people pass by.

Back at the pool, Raymi, Tatiana and Soraya jumped in the water and eventually made friends with a few kids who also were brave enough to be in the deep end. And, Nando and I took a spot in the shade near to the life guards.

Nando is always making sure I am making progress with my research. So, he began talking to the lifeguard and asked him if he knew people who had been deported from the US. When Nando began to explain my project to the lifeguard, I interrupted to explain that I was in Jamaica looking for people who had been deported who would be willing to tell me their story. The lifeguard suggested I put an ad in the paper. He then went on to explain that he also thought the US and Jamaican governments should do something about all the deportees, and that they should help them reincorporate into society. I mentioned that deportees might have a hard time getting a job. He agreed wholeheartedly, and said they have to work in the informal economy, since they can’t get jobs in the formal economy. He told me he thought that at least 80 percent of deportees would like to have a job and conform to society, and leave behind their criminal ways, but that it is difficult for them in Jamaica, since they often don’t have relatives here, and many times have been out of the country for years.

Most people I have talked to seem to think deportees are dangerous criminals, so it was interesting to notice that this guy did not have the same set of assumptions about deportees as others do. He did think that they would be in need of rehabilitation, but seemed to think that rehabilitation would be possible. Perhaps deportees in Jamaica are not viewed as negatively as I thought.

The Kingston Sun

May 29, 2009

We arrived at our lovely apartment in Kingston, and everything was just dandy, except … the swimming pool was out of commission! Now, the swimming pool was the primary reason I chose this apartment complex. And, it is very hot in the summertime in Jamaica.

On our first full day in Kingston, after lunch at home, we decided to set out for the YMCA, as we had heard they had a swimming pool there. I thought perhaps we could sign up for the pool, and if we were very lucky, there would even be an exercise facility. So, Nando, Tatiana, Soraya, Raymi and I left the house around 1:30pm, in search of some respite from the Kingston sun.

Looking at Google maps, I could see that the swimming pool at the YMCA was just a few blocks from our apartment, so we decided to walk. I asked the guard at the gate how to get there, she told me to keep straight down the road we live on, and we’d get there. After about a block of walking in the sun, Raymi began to complain. I asked her if she’d rather stay behind with the security guard, and she decided she’d prefer to go with us.

As we were walking, Tatiana told me she thought she knew why most people in Jamaica are brown – because there is so much sun. Then, she asked me if I would get brown if I stayed in the sun too long. I appreciated her logic – after all, Jean-Baptiste Lamarck (1744 –1829) thought that Europeans would eventually get dark if they lived in the tropics for too long. Anyway, I digress, as Tatiana was not that interested in the topic and kept on walking.

After about four blocks, I asked another person, and he didn’t know where the YMCA was. So, we kept on. I asked another person, and he told us we were headed in the wrong direction. We turned back, and stopped in a Scotiabank to take advantage of their air conditioning for a few minutes. They also had a water jug, and we helped ourselves to cold water.

When we finally got to the YMCA, the receptionist told me that swimming is only on Saturdays from 12 noon to 3pm (!!!). Apparently, they are booked up with swimming lessons for the rest of the time. Since it was Friday, we decided we could come back the following day for the recreational swim.

From the YMCA, we needed to go to the Edna Manley School of Performing Arts to enroll the children in summer camp. Now, I didn’t want to take a taxi, since we are trying to budget our funds. So, I asked the swimming instructor how to get there by bus. He directed us to the bus park, which, according to him, was just down the road. So, we set out again, on foot.

On the way, a young man with a thick New York accent asked us if we could help him out with some money to buy his son some Pedialyte. Clearly, if his son was dehydrated, walking in the sun to ask for money to buy Pedialyte was not a good move. However, I never believe people when they ask me for money on the street, so it’s not like he needed a believable reason. I also thought this guy might be a deportee because of his accent and his financial situation, but did not think I should just ask him. Perhaps next time I see him asking for Pedialyte money. Anyway, Nando did give him a few coins.

Turns out the bus park was at least six blocks away, and the sun showed no sign of relenting. Nevertheless, we made it and found out that there was a bus that went in the direction we needed. After waiting about a half an hour for the bus, we finally got on. We were among the last to get on, since we didn’t know where to stand in line. So, we were squished into the standing only area of the bus. For the duration of the ride, the girls found it funny to play a pushing and poking game. Not surprisingly, all of the Jamaican children, both the school children without their parents and the pre-schoolers with their parents were very nicely behaved and looked on in awe at my misbehaving children.

We disembarked from the bus at the National Stadium, and a lady told us that the College was at the end of the road. It turned out to be a very long road, and we walked another 30 minutes in the sun to the end of the road. By that time, it was 4:30, and the registration office was closed. Luckily, the lady gave me some registration forms to fill out and bring back.

We had made it this far without getting a cab, so I asked the guard at the college how to get to Emancipation Park, which is relatively close to our house. He told us we could walk there. And, we did. Another 20 minutes in the sun. The kids complained the whole way. And, as soon as we got to the park, the children, who allegedly could not bear to take another step, immediately proceeded to run around the park. By 6pm, when we left the park, it had cooled down considerably, and it was pleasant to walk around. There is a track around Emancipation Park, so perhaps I’ll come back to do some jogging or at least speed walking.

On the way home, we picked up some delicious patties. We finally walked in the door of our apartment at 7:30pm, after about 6 hours of walking around. I am hoping the girls are as tired as I am and will go to sleep early.

We’ll see how long we can continue to survive in Kingston on public transportation and by foot. It seems so extravagant to rent a car. Plus, I am not sure about driving on the wrong side of the road.

A rough start to a long trip

Thursday, May 28, 2009
Our flight this morning was at 6:55am. So, I asked Mark, our generous friend who offered us a ride to the airport, if he wouldn't mind picking us up at 5:30am, or actually 5:45, as the Kansas City airport is never crowded, or so I thought. After finally getting my bags packed at 1am the night before, I set my alarm for 5:00am, and went to sleep. I woke up, and took a nice hot shower. Then, around 5:25 am, Nando, my husband, said to me: What time did you say the plane is? I said 6:55, so Mark will be here at 5:45, and, “Oh, sh#$, that is wrong. I fuc$#ed up!!” We need to be at the airport at 6:00am, so we should have left at 5:00am....

I called Mark, and, luckily, he was ready and came right over. We made a mad rush out of the house and, by 5:40, am, me, Nando, and the three kids were packed into Mark's minivan and ready to go. I told Nando, who was driving, that we have to make the one hour drive in 45 minutes, because if we are not there by 6:25 am, we are not going to be able to get on the plane with checked bags.

On the way, I checked the flight on my Blackberry, and, to my chagrin, it was on time. We made it to the airport at 6:27am, and the SkyCap guy tells us it's too late. Resigned to the consequences of my miscalculation, we go inside, and wait in line to talk to an agent. A few minutes later, I was able to talk to an agent, and told her: “We're on the 6:55 flight to Miami.”

“Do you have bags?”

“Yes, four.”

“Okay, you need to hurry, you are late.”

And, can you believe she began to tag our bags! Every one of our four suitcases was a couple of pounds over, so we had to take a few things out. One of the things I took out was Nando's power drill. That was mistake number two, as that didn't make it onto the plane. But, we did! We made it on board despite an unusually long line at the security gate, ten carry-on bags of varying sizes, and the power drill. We were that family who got on last that everyone had to wait for. But, we got on!

We boarded the plane and headed to our row of seats, row 45, all the way at the back of the plane. Two of our assigned seats were taken by a woman with a small boy. She had moved because they were seated apart. I asked the lady if she would prefer to move or sit next to my kids. She told me she didn't mind sitting by my children, so Nando and I went up to rows 36 and 31, and went to sleep while our kids entertained themselves and the nearby passengers for the duration of the flight to Atlanta.

I was glad our layover was in Atlanta, because they have a play area. Play areas are one of the best ideas airports have had! An indoor playground while you are waiting for your flight – fabulous idea. Unfortunately, someone decided to close the play area at ATL. I noticed they didn't close the smoking lounge! Now we know where their priorities are.

Despite the lack of a designated play area, the children managed to entertain themselves with the two carry-on suitcases full of toys that we brought with us while we waited for our 1:30 pm flight to Miami. Tatiana and Soraya's favorite item turned out to be these Pokemon books that explain all of the characteristics of each of the Pokemons. I was hesitant to buy this book in Border's yesterday, but the girls insisted they would actually be interested in reading them. I suppose they were right.

The flight from Atlanta to Miami was fairly uneventful. Except, there was an older gentleman seated in front of Raymi. She dug her feet into his seat, and he asked me to ask her not to kick his seat. Thereafter, each time she used the seat to dig her feet into, I told her not to, and even prevented her from doing it a couple of times. But, she's five, so she kept forgetting. So, the woman seated next to the man, perhaps his daughter, turns around and tells me to tell her to stop. I told the woman that I was watching her, but she's five and sometimes forgets. She told me: “You need to control your daughter,” to which I replied:

“Don't you talk to me like that! Now, I was being nice...”

I guess my tone of voice did it and she kept her thoughts to herself. Now, I do try to limit the extent to which my children inconvenience others, but when we are going to be traveling from 5am to 10pm, I do let some things slide. And, I'm not that bad. In fact, as I was getting off of the plane, the man behind me told me he thought I was doing a great job of controlling my children!

After that plane ride, we made our way over to the international terminal, checked in for our flight to Kingston, and I spotted the famous Miami Airport restaurant: Carreta Cubana. We had some delicous empanadas, a Cuban sandwich, and a chocolate croissant. After that meal, fatigue began to set in – I should have had a cafe cubano as well. Fortunately, security was bearable, and we made it to the departure lounge, to find out that our 6:55pm flight had been delayed an hour.

We parked ourselves by the windows and I looked for things to entertain the children. Tatiana played on my laptop; Soraya watched a movie on the ipod, and Raymi found a woman to ask a million questions to. I sat down to relax and Raymi came over. She began to talk to a couple sitting near me, and told them we were going to be in Jamaica for 60 days. They asked me what I was going to do. I told them I was going to do research on people who have been deported from the US. The man told me that was brave.

It seems as if whenever I mention to Jamaicans the subject of my research they think that deportees are a dangerous lot, even though the vast majority are deported for non-violent crimes, and some are deported simply for being undocumented.

We made it to Kingston with a fairly uneventful plane ride. Tatiana and Soraya kept watching the ipod, and Raymi fell asleep. Not without kicking the chair of the woman in front of her, though. This woman, however, took it upon herself to ask Raymi not to do that.

Upon landing in Kingston, we got a taxi to our new apartment, and the woman who is renting to us was here to help us settle in. Finally, around 11pm, I was able to get to sleep.