The Other Side of the Brochure in Jamaica

« Return to Jamaica

It’s easy to meet Jamaicans outside the tourist zone. For over forty years, the Jamaica Tourist Board has been offering a programme called Meet the People. Playing matchmaker between locals and tourists, they will “happily introduce you to Jamaicans who share the same interests as you.” Free of charge, for adults or children, the Tourist Board will make all the arrangements, ensuring a friendly, safe, and authentic environment to connect you with locals. I’ve come across a similar private service in Amsterdam, where you pay a fee for the matchmaking, but this little known, under-utilized service begged further investigation. My mandate was simple: I want to meet real Jamaicans in an interesting environment, unplugged from the tourism and service industry.

For a start, I’d head towards the south coast, not so much off the beaten track as under the radar. No traveller can claim to see everything unless they stop travelling, and there’s no doubt I’d miss the superb beaches and postcard views of Jamaica up north. But I’ve had my island paradises, bless me, and given its history and national spirit, I wanted something more out of Jamaica.

From Kingston, we drive under the 6 Mile Bridge along a toll road, and soon enough the highway is replaced by tangled ball of concrete string. This season’s hurricanes have taken their toll, washing out roads, felling trees and houses, and the clean-up crews are still at work. Two structures dominate over any others - churches, and pubs. Roadside shacks selling overproof rum lead us towards Mandeville, where I meet Diana McIntyre-Pike, a pioneer of community-based tourism in Jamaica. I’m not sure if its because of our visit or her birthday, but we are greeted by a singalong, and treated to a performance of local musicians, including a five year old boy on the drums. Julia and sit and smile, coaxed into singing Marley’s One Love, sure, lets get together and be alright! We are taken into the very capable hands of Honey and his wife Angel, a descendant of Jamaican national hero, Nanny of the Maroons. The maroons were freed or escaped slaves who held their own against the British using guerrilla warfare in the mountains. We are joyously swept up into their world of countryside Jamaica, through a local outreach programme called Countrystyle. Angel takes us to a roadside vegetable seller, the house she grew up in, introduces us to her mother, a Rastafarian who doesn’t smoke pot (why would you burn something that is holy?) At a roadside shack, it takes hours to prepare a traditional meal of starches - yams, sweet potato, cornmeal dumplings, pumpkin. Since our arrival in the county, in which it took us over an hour to clear customs, we have learned that things move forward in Jamaica according to the slow hand watch of island time. What is the rush, mon?
Rain comes, rain goes, old drunk men stagger about yelling “one love”, the kids have fun with the Frisbee. You might ask if this is preferable to chilling out on a beach, and to be honest, that depends what you’re looking for from your experience. Personally, getting my hands dirty washing yams gives more of an understanding about Jamaica’s way of life than ordering another pina colada. Although I do love my pina coladas, and why should I be denied?

Jakes is a boutique hotel located on the south coast’s Treasure Beach. Owned and operated by the same guys who own a several glitzy high profile resorts, it has the personal interest of company president Jason Henzell since his mom started a small restaurant here in the 1990’s and he just kind of ran with it. “Goldeneye [one of his six resorts] is for the famous people, Jakes is for people on their way up,” he tells me over breakfast. Funky cabins and rooms face the beach, I swim under the stars in the warm Caribbean, paradise to myself. Jakes holds a literary festival, a triathlon, and is a keystone in a community outreach project known as Breds. Supporting the local fishing community with hurricane relief, medical and educational projects, I used one of the Breds (slang for brethren) programs to connect with a local fisherman, Captain Ted. Sunrise is just breaking the horizon when I meet the burly surefooted Captain Ted, and his quiet son Kallis, on board a wooden boat powered with an onboard motor. Like most of the people I’ve met so far, he’s all-smiles with an infectious laugh. “Every day is a fishing day Robin Hood, but not every day is a catching day,” he booms, as we take off into the calm Caribbean to look for some traps. A few plastic bottles indicate a trap, and I use a sharp hook on the end of a stick to snag it. Pulling it up is hard work, heaving as the slippery rope cuts into my hand. “It’s hard work mon, every day, sometimes up to 60 traps mon. No fish, no food on the plate.” Finally the mesh trap emerges, and inside, a solitary angelfish. Released into the boat, it flops about on the wood as we throw the trap overboard, and head off to find the next one. This time, the rope is mottled with grime and sea slime, and a jellyfish manages to sting my elbow as we tug up the line. A snapper snaps about, big enough to satisfy one person’s hungry soul, but not much of a catch considering the massive kingfish, tuna and jacks that swim beneath us. A coast guard boat appears, machine guns at the fore, and I’m not fluent in patois to know what went down, but they only left us when Captain Ted handed them the two fish. Tough life, this fishing business.
By the third trap, the sun is beginning to bake, my elbow is swollen red and my hands hurt. Captain Ted, commending me on my sea legs (probably because my director Jordan was throwing up in the shadowing crew boat), breaks out in a riddy, some impromptu ragga riffing:
“Holy Blessed from Above,
Robin Hood, Kallis and Me, fishing in the sea,
No fish in the traps, oh mercy me
The policeman come, and take away ma fish
Now we left with empty dish
Oh mercy, in St Elizabeth Parish…”
…and we float back towards Calabash Bay, along a watery catwalk of sunlight.

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