Jamaica A Different World

During that period, I resided in Toronto, Canada, collaborating with an excellent Chef named Emerson, whom we affectionately referred to as Junior. Junior's parents were Jamaican immigrants. He was a wonderful person, and we formed a strong friendship. I would liken Junior to one of the members of the 1990s pop duo Milli Vanilli, and he was quite popular with the ladies.

After getting through the Canadian winter, I had the chance to travel to Jamaica with Junior and stay with his aunt and uncle. Before departing, I needed to give up my rented apartment. I clearly recall my landlord mentioning, "Jamaica is not like in the brochures, you know; most of it is still a third-world country." To me, that comment went in one ear and out the other, as I was simply seeking another travel adventure.

Arriving in Montego Bay, Jamaica, was an experience in itself; you can read about that arrival HERE. My initial impression outside the airport came from the back seat of a taxi, where we were repeatedly approached by locals trying to sell us 'Ganja' (Marijuana). Then, less than a kilometre from the airport, I noticed a local urinating openly on the road, not hiding, just standing there in plain sight, surrounded by piles of rubbish. My mind instantly recalled what my former landlord had mentioned.

I would immediately call home to Australia to my mother, reverse charge, of course, excited to let her know where I was.

We stayed with Junior's family in Lucea (pronounced Lucy). The family was wonderful and highly respected within the community. They resided in a modest two-story house, which was seen as a luxury in this region. Many people lived in makeshift shacks, highlighting the community's poverty. Even in the house, running water was available for just a few hours daily, so we filled buckets with water to flush the toilet throughout the day.

Rastafarian Encounters

From the bedroom balcony, I could see the gravel road leading into town. About halfway along this road, I noticed a Jamaican Rastafarian with large dreadlocks. He essentially lived under a tree, often sitting on one of its branches, chewing sugar cane and observing passersby. He had an intimidating appearance, and I was eager to capture a photo of him. One morning, I saw him walking past the house. I grabbed my camera and attached the zoom lens as he was about 50 meters away. As I zoomed in and focused on his dreadlocks, he suddenly paused, turned, and looked directly at the camera. He raised a finger and waved it as if to say no, no, no. This was probably one of the most unsettling experiences I've ever had. People often talk about voodoo and black magic in Jamaica. I'm not a believer, but this was simply strange. How he knew I was taking a photo is beyond me. Now, I had to pass by him every time I wanted to go into town, and I was genuinely scared.

Sugar Cane Vendor - Lucea, Jamaica

The following day, I walked with Junior to town. As we neared the intimidating Rastafarian man, I was trembling. He stood up and began walking toward us, and I was terrified. He simply said, "Ya Mun, you no photos of Tony, yeah." I recall responding that my name was Tony too, followed by a series of apologies for taking his photo. He asked, "Where ya from, mun?" When I mentioned Australia, he gave a simple nod of approval and commented on the good cricket players. From then on, each time I passed him, he'd give me a slight nod without speaking, and I'd always greet him as I walked by. He was a man of few words, but he no longer seemed so intimidating. I never did get a photo, and I certainly didn't want to ask or attempt it again. For context, the photo of the sugar cane vendor was also taken from the house balcony, which is about the same spot where he was standing when I tried to take the picture.

I found that most Jamaicans weren't particularly fond of Americans, but Australians and Jamaicans shared a mutual national interest: cricket. As a result, wherever I went, people were eager to discuss cricket in some way.

Jamaica was undeniably a very poor third-world country, and most resorts were all-inclusive, meaning visitors typically stayed within the resort premises. I'm grateful I had the opportunity to meet and interact with the locals. I must admit there were moments when I felt somewhat uneasy in certain settings. I once shook hands with a local who attempted to remove my ring, and I lost count of how many times I was offered cannabis. It was easy to identify Jamaicans who enjoyed sugar cane from street vendors, as their teeth were often decayed and blackened by the sugar.

An outrageously funny moment

Junior wasn't one to travel light. He had a separate bag just for his hair care products. As I mentioned, with his long black hair, he was the spitting image of the Milli Vanilli members. He took pride in his appearance, which set him apart from the local Lucea community. We stopped by a corner store. That day, a small group of schoolchildren, around 6-7 years old, came in, laughing and smiling like most kids in the area. I recall a petite schoolgirl looking at me with some apprehension, a bit cautious of the only white person around. I smiled politely, and she returned the smile before turning her attention to Junior with an inquisitive look. Junior also looked down at her and smiled. She then asked aloud, "Are you a man or a woman?" At that point, I burst into laughter. I had to step outside because I couldn't hold it in. I don't think Junior was very amused and definitely didn't find it funny, but I just couldn't stop laughing. Interestingly, Junior's long, lush hair would eventually save his life.

(Rick's Cafe Negril, Jamaica)

You're not leaving Jamaica!

It was time to bid farewell to Lucea and Jamaica. I had enjoyed my stay and the people I encountered. We visited the renowned Rick's Cafe in Negril, where we leaped off the cliff into the crystal-clear waters. Located at the westernmost point of Jamaica, Rick's Cafe is known for its breathtaking sunsets. It gained fame from Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, who were filmed here in the classic movie Casablanca. We also spent a day at Hedonism II Resort, which was the epitome of luxury at the time and is now an adults-only, clothing-optional resort.

We had bid farewell to family and proceeded through the airport to immigration. Everything appeared usual. I had my passport stamped, and then the Jamaican Immigration officer looked at Junior and asked, "Where are you going?" to which he responded, "Home to Toronto."

This is where things got really intense. Junior was traveling on a Jamaican passport because his mother had landed immigrant status in Canada. Jamaican residents cannot leave the country without a return ticket to Jamaica. To escape poverty, many Jamaicans try to leave by any means possible. I discovered that many Jamaican girls were interested in meeting foreigners, hoping they would help them escape poverty. Luckily, I had no issues because I had no money. However, for Junior, Jamaican immigration needed proof of his immigration to Canada. Otherwise, they saw him as just another Jamaican trying to escape poverty.

Our time spent at immigration and in discussions was extensive, and the clock was ticking to catch the flight. Junior was unable to prove his permanent residency in Canada. At one point, I told Junior, "I think I should go so I don't miss the flight, and I can help resolve this with your mother back in Canada." We both pleaded one last time to let him pass. I even told the immigration officer, "Look at his hair; does he look like a local?" He definitely didn't.

Immigration eventually permitted Junior to board the flight, but they insisted that his mother be present at the airport upon his arrival with proof of immigration; otherwise, he would have been sent back to Jamaica on the next flight at his own expense. They planned to fax the details to Canadian authorities at Pearson International Airport. Fortunately, Junior's mother was able to be there, much to his relief. I always questioned why they couldn't recognise that we both had departed from Toronto weeks earlier, but immigration was adamant about his presenting his immigration documents with a Jamaican passport.

#travel #Jamaica

About the Author

The author of this blog, unless otherwise noted, has no affiliation with any property or business linked in this article. Unless otherwise noted, there is no free accommodation or payment from any businesses. The information contained in this blog is strictly the views of the author and not professional advice. The author of this BookDirect blog is a travel and tourism professional with over 30 years of experience in international hotel management, global travel, short-term rental management and a tourism awards judge specialising in accommodation and attractions.