Born in 1801 in St. James, Samuel Sharpe was a deacon in the Baptist church. Although he was a slave, he
Statue of Sam Sharpe, Sam Sharpe Square, Montego Bay
was also an educated man. Since religious meetings were the only forms of organized activities permissible for the slaves, Sharpe travelled widely teaching other slaves about Christianity and encouraging discussions about the fight for freedom. Sharpe became a highly regarded of the native Baptists in Montego Bay and was widely known as “Daddy” Sharpe.
He devised a plan of passive resistance – the slaves would refuse to work on Christmas Day of 1831 and after, unless their grievances regarding better treatment and their consideration of freedom were accepted by the owners.
Sharpe explained his plan to chosen supporters after his religious meetings and had them kiss the Bible to show their loyalty. They, in turn, took the plan to other parishes. Unfortunately, word reached the owners and troops, with guns drawn, were sent to Montego Bay and Black River in St. Elizabeth.
On December 27, 1831, the Kensington Great House in St. James was set on fire as a signal that the Slave Rebellion had begun. Soon after, a series of other fires broke out in the area and it was clear that the plan of non-violent resistance, which Sharpe had created was no longer possible.
Sam Sharpe Mural, Sam Sharpe Square, Montego Bay
By the first week of January, the Rebellion was put down. More than 500 slaves and 14 whites lost their lives. Sharpe, who had vowed that he “would rather die upon yonder gallows than live in slavery” was hanged on May 23, 1832 at Parade in Montego Bay. It was renamed Sam Sharpe Square in his honor.
In 1834, the British Parliament passed the Abolition Bill that ended slavery in 1838.
Sharpe was named a National Hero in 1975. His likeness can also be found on the $50 note.
As I write about Desmond Dekker, a Gregory Isaacs song (Love is Overdue) is coming to me from across the way. I’m thrilled to see that the music popularized by artists such as Dekker, Isaacs, Marley, Dennis Brown, etc., is holding its own against dancehall.
Desmond Dekker, photo from the Internet
Desmond Dekker and his backup band, the Aces, won the Jamaica Festival Song Competition in 1968 with Music Like Dirt and had a string of hits that year, including A It Mek and Poor Mi Israelite. Israelite topped the charts in the UK and made Dekker the first Jamaican artist to have a UK hit. The success of Israelite paved the way for other Jamaican artists who made up the ska/reggae “invasion” of the UK that went on to influence punk music there.
Dekker was born Desmond Dacres in St. Andrew on July 16, 1945. He died in the UK on May 25, 2006. Please listen to Poor Mi Israelite and another hit, 007 Shanty Town.
For some people, it’s almost easier to give up a body part than have to deal with the bureaucracy of government. I’m one of them.
Before I left the U.S., I had shipped some personal items that I wanted to have when I arrived. The day after I was notified of their arrival, I went to the shipping company then to the customs department to pick them up.
At the shipping company, I picked up the shipping forms, paid them a handling fee and headed to the customs department. That took no more than 10-15 minutes. I was smiling until my cousin said the fun was about to begin.
We arrived at the customs office and joined a group of about 20 people who were sitting around casually. I tried to read their expressions to see who were the veterans and who were first-timers, like me but each wore the same look of resignation their eyes becoming alert only when their names were called.
Within thirty minutes, though, a customs officer was asking those who had just arrived to bring their shipping forms, passports and other identification to him. He noted our names and led us into another room where another person recorded our details in a log and gave us a customs identification badge. Since I was the addressee, I was allowed in. My cousin, who was with me, was not.
When it was his turn, each person in the group I was with walked up to a window, handed over his form to an officer and was told the amount to be paid. After paying, there was another office (downstairs) and another line to join. This time, however, there was no fee. (I still haven’t figured out why we couldn’t have completed both steps in that one office.)
Before I left the second office, I was told to wait in a designated area to be called. At this point, I went to get my cousin. (Looking back now, I can see why a second person wasn’t allowed in. There was just enough room for one person per consignment in both of the offices.)
About 15 minutes after we took our seats, I heard my name. I was shown into a cavernous warehouse, which was packed to the rafters with packages of all shapes and sizes.
Barrels being collected from the Customs Dept., Jamaica Gleaner photo
It buzzed with activity. Workers wheeling boxes and containers, talking at the top of their voices, people unpacking boxes and barrels for inspection and the beep, beep, beep of small front-end loaders as they drove a path through the crowd with barrels and packages and stuff. A set of floor to ceiling windows separated the warehouse from an open plan office where shippers, carrying sheaves of forms were being directed.
Once we unpacked everything I had in my barrel, a customs officer came to inspect them. This is where they determine the value of the goods I’m importing into the country and assess the tax to be levied. Since my items were used, I was charged a nominal amount. I paid a cashier who took my forms and gave me back a receipt and another form and directed me to a validating clerk.
The clerk, who was seated in a cubbyhole of an office a few steps from the warehouse area, stamped them, sent me to collect a gate pass and told me to return to him. When I did, he took the forms, stapled them and sent me back to the customs agent.
The agent pointed me to a security guard and said I should take the forms to him. The guard simply stamped the forms and sent me back to the customs agent who took them and said I could go. Hallelujah! All I needed now was someone to move the barrel from the warehouse to the loading dock and put it in the car.
I looked at my watch as we pulled out. It was a little past 3:00 p.m., three hours from start to finish. My cousin thought it was much quicker than the previous time she was there but to my mind, it could have been shorter. But honestly, I was just glad to get my things and be out of there.
Each morning I wake up, a new flower has bloomed or a fruit tree has put out blossoms. The colors are bold, the combinations delightfully unexpected. Take a look and see what I mean.
Name unknown
At first, this did not appear to be a flowering plant. The leaves alone were beautiful enough. I was surprised when I noticed that a bud had appeared and even more surprised when I saw the color. I never would have expected lilac. Unfortunately, I have no idea what its name is but I’ll be asking around.
Holly
I wouldn’t have expected to see holly in Jamaica since I associate it with colder climates and the carol, The Holly and the Ivy / When they a both full grown / Of all the trees that are in the woods /The holly wears the crown.
Pink Hibicus
Red rather was more popular when I was younger than pink. But there’s more gradation of color on the pink than on the red.
Pink Lusitania
Most flowers are known by their local rather than their botanical names. Either way, I just love these red and pink Lusitania. That yellow in the middle was totally unexpected.
Red LusitaniaRice & Peas
We used to have a Rice & Peas plant when I was younger but the flowers were much smaller and pink and burgundy in color. And it really looked like the dish, Rice & Peas (red kidney beans), a Sunday staple. I wish I knew the botanical name.
I’d forgotten how proud Jamaican women are about their gardens and how zealously they tend them. I remember my grandmother, wherever she went, if there was a flower she didn’t have that she loved, she’d ask for a “cutting.” Usually, no one refuses – it’s the way things are. Whole conversations would start and continue over flowers, how to grow and care for them, what pests to watch out for, etc.
Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit my grandmother’s green thumb but I love flowers and love even more to be surrounded by so much beauty.
During the thirty-odd years that I lived abroad, I returned once, sometimes twice a year, to Jamaica so I never considered myself a stranger to how things worked. I realize now that those fleeting visits really never prepared me for the reality of everyday living.
One of the things I knew would take a period of adjustment is driving. As a former British colony, Jamaica drives on the left. I had just started driving my mom’s car – from the house to the gate and occasionally to church – when I left here in the 70s. I matured as a driver in the US and was always too nervous that I’d end up on the ‘wrong’ side to drive during trips home. I still haven’t driven yet, but I feel as if my mind has re-adjusted sufficiently.
Walking, however, is a different matter. I attempted to cross the street recently, not at a traffic light, and instead of looking left, I looked right. Thankfully, the street was clear. Before I cross the street now, I find myself repeating a little ditty we learned in primary school, Look left, look right, look left again before crossing the street.
Jamaican money
In Jamaica, the currency is the dollar. It’s easy enough to identify the bills – each ($50, $100, $500, $1,000, $5,000) is a different color. It’s the coins that confuse me. The $10 coin is silver and about the same size as the U.S. quarter, except that the edges are rippled and it feels lighter. Somehow, though, my mind thinks it should be a quarter. So a few days ago when I needed a $10 to pay for a purchase, I fumbled in my purse looking for one – I had several but couldn’t figure out which it was without pouring everything out on the counter so I gave the a $50 bill instead.
For each US dollar I convert, I get about J$86 and I find myself always doing a quick conversion to see if the price I’m being charged is more or less than what I would have paid in the States.
There’s a 17.5% tax on purchases. Some places charge, some don’t. I suspect most of those who collect the taxes rarely pay it over to the government as that’s now on the table for reform.
Checking out prices and wages, I wonder how people survive. The minimum wage is J$5,500 (approximately US$65) weekly. A 10-year old used car can run J$1,000,000 (US$12,000), before insurance and licensing, and gas is about J$110 a gallon. In some areas, a modest 2-bedroom house can cost up to $7,000,000 (about US$80,000). Speaking with friends, they tell me they need to take home between J$200-300,000 a month to cover their expenses.
The complaint I hear most often is how unpredictable electricity costs are. Bills vary significantly from one month to the next even when usage remains constant.
The good thing though, is that now more and more people are looking into alternative energy. Several companies that sell solar water heater, solar panels, etc., have sprung up. And some banks have jumped on the bandwagon offering loans to homeowners who want to go solar.
Frankly, I believe farming is the way to go. Those who have the land space should plant what they need. When I was little, my grandmother always had a garden in her backyard with bananas, breadfruit, plantains, ackee, lime, coconut and pimento trees, and she always had pigs and chickens running around.
I’ve often wondered how people know that I’ve just arrived. One of my cousins, who lived abroad for about 50 years, related an incident that happened to her sometime ago. She was chatting with a taxi driver when he asked where she was from. She replied in her best Jamaican accent that she was Jamaican. No, he said, You’re a Jamerican (a Jamaican who lives in the US). I’m Jamaican, she insisted. No, he replied, look at your skin. Look how you’re sweating. Jamaicans don’t sweat like that! He’s right. Despite the heat, I don’t notice anyone sweating as much as I’ve been doing. Whenever I see anyone sweating (or glowing as one of my friend calls it), I smile. It’s the ice in us that’s melting, another friend tells me.
Listening to certain bands and singers take me back in time. Toots & the Maytals, or The Maytals, is one such band.
I remember one garden party that my church had, where we had a maypole – it was after Toots Hibbert, their frontman, who had been in jail – was released and his song, 54-46, That’s My Number, supposedly his prison identification number was played so often, it could have been the anthem of the party. I was quite young at the time but I do remember feeling disappointed, let down, when I heard he’d been arrested. It was as if it had happened to a close friend or family member.
The Maytals, Trojan Records photo
Now this band, this local boy have, through music, transformed themselves into a highly regarded international ska and reggae act, touring Europe, Australia, Japan, the US and now rarely play in Jamaica. It is precisely because of bands like The Maytals that reggae continues to enjoy such popularity abroad (Hibbert is credited for creating the word reggae); at home, the music continues to evolve and a new generation of performers takes their place.
As a reggae purists, I’m surprised that I have never seen The Maytals in concert. I realized that when I saw a clip of an interview Toots gave for the documentary, Made in Jamaica. I was shocked how youthful he still looked, how strong his voice still was. I searched right away for performance dates but they had already performed wrapped up their US tour.
Frederick “Toots” Hibbert, who was born in Clarendon, Jamaica in 1945 started out singing in church. He met Raleigh Gordon and Jerry Matthias in 1961 when he moved to Kingston and they formed The Maytals.
Toots Hibbert
They won the first Independence Festival Song Competition in 1966 with Bam Bam and again in 1969 with Sweet and Dandy and recorded hit after hit in the 60s and 70s. They were also featured in the soundtrack to the movie, The Harder They Come, which was named as one of Vanity Fair’s Top Ten soundtracks of all time.
The Maytals have recorded more than 40 albums and their music have been covered by performers such as Amy Winehouse (Monkey Man), and Robert Palmer, The Clash (Pressure Drop).
Last Saturday night, I went to what’s been called Old Hits Party night at the Ultimate Jerk Center & Rest Stop on Main Street in Discovery Bay, St. Ann, just opposite the Green Grotto Caves.
When we arrived around 12:30 a.m., several hundred cars had already filled the large empty space that serves as parking lot and the attendant pointed us to an empty space where he said we could create a new row.
As we exited the car, a wall of music blasted from several massive speakers that had been placed in designated areas around the Jerk Center.
The Ultimate Jerk Center
People were everywhere. Some clustered in groups of three or four, couples young and old held each other close as they moved to the music, young people danced by themselves – everyone, it seemed was there.
We moved through the crowd in search of the owner who my friend thought I should meet. We finally found him near the DJ and chatted with him and his wife a bit before moving on get something to eat.
Naturally, since I was at the Ultimate Jerk Center, I ordered jerk pork and festival and we sat under a tree as we ate.
I left my seat several times to dance. The music – a mix of R&B, reggae and calypso never stopped.
After telling my friend that I only wanted to spend an hour, I was surprised to see that it was near 3:30 when we left. Many people were on the dance floor and the parking lot was still quite full.
The Ultimate Jerk Center is the place to be on New Year’s Eve Night but it’s wall-to-wall people. Many people end the night here after attending balls and events at other places.
Old Hits night is held on the last Saturday every month at the Ultimate Jerk Center. No cover.
The Ultimate Jerk Center & Rest Stop is open Sunday -Thursday 8:30 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. and until 12:00 midnight on Friday and Saturday nights. 876-973-2054.
I’m constantly surprised at the variety of flowers that grow, some wild or without much coaxing, here in Jamaica. These I took in the garden at my cousin’s house.
Unknown plantOnion PlantUnknown flowerBell FlowerRose of SharonOrchidShrimp Flower
This is my submission to this week’s Budget Travelers Sandbox Travel Photo Thursday series. Be sure to check out other photo and story entries on their website!
Jamaica has long been known as The Land of Wood and Water. We’re surrounded by water. In addition, more than 60 rivers and tributaries crisscross the land.
But after waking up two mornings in a row, with no water coming from the taps, I’ve been forced to ask, Where’s the water?
Dunn's River Falls, photo from the Internet
Luckily for me, we also have a tank so we were able to switch it on and get water. But this is not a rural area – I’m less than a 15 minute drive outside of Montego Bay, which is known as Jamaica’s Second City. From where we are, I can hear the roar of the Montego River, several yards away.
Interestingly enough, it is also the rainy season. Almost every afternoon, torrential rains pelt the island, turning rivers into streams. Where does this water go? Why isn’t it being caught in reservoirs and catchment areas or harnessed by dams for use in shoring up the water supply? I am baffled.
In many rural areas, people depend on tanks and well water for their needs but in town, rows of locally produced and imported bottled water line supermarket shelves.
The situation in Kingston is probably even worse. For years now, the capital has been plagued with scheduled and unscheduled water lock-offs. Although the city continues to expand, no new reservoirs have been built since the Mona Reservoir began operating in 1959 neither has the storage capacity of the 80-some year old Hermitage Dam been increased from its 400-million gallon size.
Milk River, photo from the Internet
Jamaica needs potable water for agriculture, tourism, development and daily living. As we approach our 50th year of Independence, it is important that we re-think our attitude towards water and put measures in place so that we can truly claim that we are the Land of Wood and Water.
Getting real jerk pork is one of the things I look forward to when I’m in Jamaica.
What’s Jerk?
Jerk is a style of cooking that originated on the island back in the late 1950-60s. Traditionally, spices such as garlic, mace (the outer shell of the nutmeg), thyme, cinnamon, scallion and Scotch Bonnet pepper were mixed together and rubbed into pork that was then slow-cooked in a pit fire of pimento wood. The pimento gave it its signature flavor.
Jerk pork was very popular when I was a child. As I wrote in an earlier post, I remember the Jerk Man going door to door on his bicycle selling jerk pork – it was only pork then.
Perhaps because of the influence of the Rastafarians and the fact that cooking this way is a complicated and time-consuming process, it almost disappeared.
When it returned in the late 1970s, enterprising chefs had figured out how to approximate the flavor that is derived from the pimento wood. As a result, jerk went international. It also became widely and wildly interpreted. (I’ve even seen it served with ketchup!)
Since my arrival roughly three weeks ago, I’m been on a hunt for real jerk. So far, I’ve visited several establishments, each proudly advertising mostly pork and chicken, but only once have I not left disappointed. My biggest dissatisfaction was with Border Jerk, a little spot on the border of Westmoreland and Hanover, my favorite spot – their rendition is now severely compromised.
By far the worst I’ve had was at the Jerk Center in Ocho Rios – the pork didn’t even look cooked.
To their credit, all these places offer bottled pepper for people, like me, who want it hotter but even the pepper has been watered down.
When I complain, my friends tell me to get away from the North Coast and the places where visitors frequent. They are probably right.
I’m pleased to report that I did get some real jerk on Saturday night in a little joint near Runaway Bay in St. Ann. But by the time I found it, near 11 p.m., I was so hungry I forgot to take a photo of it.
In the meantime, my search for real jerk continues. I just hope they don’t start watering down my rum and coke!
