a peek inside the fishbowl

31 Jan, 2008

Jamaica: part three of many

Posted by andrea tomkins in: travel talk

With notes written Tuesday January 22

My after-breakfast swim was moderately interrupted by the setup for some event. I prayed they wouldn’t do away with my chaise lounge. What would I do without it?

This motivated me to move. I exchanged some USD for Jamaican funds at the front desk. The exchange rate was 1 USD for something like 72 JD. This screwed me up to no end. For the first time I had a whole lot of 100s, a couple 500s and some 1000s burning a hole in my wallet. And so, with that, I ventured forth into the outside world.

I turned down an unexplored road (see pic) and ended up in a small business district of strip malls and fast food.

As I walked I tried estimating how many times the local men catcalled or made “hey baby” comments directed at me. I could not come up with a fair number. I debated keeping a tally. It was also about this time that I realized I was being HISSED at. HISSING fer chrissakes.

The guidebooks weren’t exaggerating. Many men say pretty much whatever they want to women as they pass on the street here. The “hey pretty lady,” and the “hello beautifuls” were tiresome, and annoying.

I wondered what Jamaican women thought about this, and how they dealt with it. Later in the week I did ask someone. She said it was typical.

“But how does it make you feel?” I asked. “Some people would argue that you should take it as a compliment.”

She said she does. And ignores it.

I found that pretty interesting. In Canada, men will catcall and woohoo, but they are almost always in a group ie. construction workers hooting from the other side of the road. Very rarely would a Canadian man be bold enough to say something directly to my face. This wasn’t the case here in Jamaica.

I didn’t venture far into the strip malls, but it was almost lunchtime. I tracked back to Devon House to pick something up to eat. I’d read that the Jamaican patties were very good here. I found The Brick Oven (see pic) and ordered a chicken patty (see pic). I was not disappointed. It was so hot I could barely touch it. It was delicious.

I followed it up with some ice cream (see pic) from “I Scream,” which is said to be the best in Kingston. I ate, and wrote, and rested in the shade of a giant tree (see pic) in the pretty courtyard behind Devon House (see pic). I watched sleek little hummingbirds flit around, teeny lizards wrestle in the garden, and Jamaican pigeons clean up the flaky crumbs that fell under my bench.

I really liked this spot. There was an equal ratio of Jamaicans to tourists. Clearly the patties were a huge draw, and reasonably priced at $120.00!

I wondered why more of Kingston wasn’t like this. Clearly, this tranquil little space was appreciated. It was pretty to look at as well as useful. It gave food and shelter where it was needed. Why couldn’t every street be clean and free of garbage and potholes? Why couldn’t gardens of native plants be better tended? Why must there be any kind of ugly? (pic and pic and pic and pic … with bonus stray dog)

Problem is … I suppose there’s no money or will. I think beautiful neighbourhoods would make their residents proud to live there, and most would help protect it.  As I think about it now, I think the same could be said for every city, not just Kingston. Every street could be beautiful, but it isn’t.

Now, picture this: I was in a happy daze. I had just had a delicious lunch of spicy food followed by coconut ice cream. I had eaten it in a lovely tropical garden, watching all kinds of critters, human and non-.  At one I point I decided my laurels were fully rested and that I would wander the gardens of Devon House, slowly making my way home. The taste of the ice cream lingered in my mouth, as did the coolness. The food and the rest had done me good. I was a woman transformed!

I was walking along a seldom-used driveway (see pic), to the right was a flowerbed which contained some densely packed broad-leafed trees when suddenly I saw something flitter out of the corner of my eye. My first thought was that it was a bird but I quickly realized it was a bat. My camera happened to be turned on, so I snapped off one frame. (I would like to mention that I did not have my flash turned on. Several people have asked. But it wasn’t. Here’s that pic.)

Next thing I know, the freakin’ bat had attached itself to the bottom hem of my knee-length shorts. Let me repeat that last part. IT ATTACHED ITSELF TO MY SHORTS (the ones pictured here).

lt happened in the space of one breath, during which my internal dialogue went something like this:

“Hey! A bat! Cool! OHHHH SHIT SHIT SHIT.”

I shook my leg. I jumped up and down. I spun around. I screamed. IT WAS NOT GOING ANYWHERE.

I felt its leathery, furry warmth flapping against the skin of my exposed leg.

Warm.

Leathery.

Thing.

Clutching. On. To. My. Body.

It felt like an eternity, but it must have been 10 seconds, A LIFETIME OF SECONDS before it finally let go.

A couple of fellows who happened to be in the ice cream shop with me earlier heard the fuss and started to come over.

“Are you okay?” they shouted.
“THERE WAS A BAT ON MY Sh-Sh-SHORTS!” I think I may have been hyperventilating.
“Oh! [laughter] A bat! It’s just welcoming you to Jamaica!”

Ha frickin’ ha.

Mom, I swear I did nothing to provoke the wrath of this bat.

I walked back to the hotel in a stupor, replaying the whole thing in my mind. As I walked, my hand occasionally flew to my heart, which was still pounding loudly in my chest. I stepped into the shade, took a deep breath, and considered the possibilities. I looked at my leg. Surely I would have felt it if it had bitten me. Oh, the thought of it made me sick. What if it had bitten me? I would have had to go to a hospital and get treated for rabies. RABIES! In JAMAICA!

I couldn’t shake that creepy dry leathery feeling of that bat. It had not been a small bat. It was a healthy, well-fed, medium-sized brown bat. A brown, furry, rat with wings. *shiver*

I walked back to the hotel and inquired at the desk. The fellow told me that bats are relatively common, but aren’t known to affix themselves to people’s pant legs.

Suddenly, Jamaican fauna didn’t seem nearly so amiable, like the pretty little hummingbirds and the teeny little tree-climbing lizards (see pic).

Kristina told my bat story to her Jamaican colleague, who insisted it must have been a moth. He said there is a Jamaican moth that is a size of a bat, and they call a bat although it’s actually a moth. I looked it up later, and I think he was referring to this, but seriously folks, I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A BAT AND A MOTH. A moth doesn’t hang upside down by little feet. Nor does it have big wings that fold up. There was no mistaking the creature I met that day.

[tomorrow: slow banks, fast food, heat exhaustion and a big win at the casino]


9 Responses to "Jamaica: part three of many"

1 | Kristina

January 31st, 2008 at 9:49 pm

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That story gets funnier each time I hear it! Your writing has captured it as clearly as the day it happened. Andrea’s encounter with “the rat bat”. ;)

2 | Debby

January 31st, 2008 at 11:00 pm

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ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I’m doing the full-body shiver just thinking of it.

3 | porter

February 1st, 2008 at 12:30 am

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I’m laughing (again I hope with you and not at you). I don’t want to freak you out but I thought I heard once that you could be bitten by a bat and not even feel it…does anyone else know anything about this? You might want to double check….call telehealth? I’m being paranoid but I want you to inquire further!!! I’m serious.

4 | andrea

February 1st, 2008 at 8:32 am

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Porter – you got me Googling this morning. I have seen more bats than I care to see at this hour. :)

This is from the CDC website:

“People usually know when they have been bitten by a bat. However, because bats have small teeth which may leave marks that are not easily seen, there are situations in which you should seek medical advice even in the absence of an obvious bite wound. For example, if you awaken and find a bat in your room, see a bat in the room of an unattended child, or see a bat near a mentally impaired or intoxicated person, seek medical advice and have the bat tested.

People cannot get rabies just from seeing a bat in an attic, in a cave, or at a distance. In addition, people cannot get rabies from having contact with bat guano (feces), blood, or urine, or from touching a bat on its fur (even though bats should never be handled!).”

That’s enough for me. If I didn’t feel it, it didn’t bite me.

5 | Marla

February 1st, 2008 at 9:01 am

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I’m liking your posts about Jamaica, because, well – I live in Canada too, you know and have you looked outside?

But I want to challenge your assumptions that just because a place is not decorated to North American tourist or photo op standards, it’s not beautiful. The pictures given as examples show merely plain places – peeling posters maybe, but even those have their beauty. I like urban decay though, and thought a tree in Philadelphia last summer that was entirely covered in chewed up gum was beautiful. Perhaps our eyes are trained to only appreciate a certain kind of “done up” as beautiful. I think rather unadorned is refreshingly attractive. But it’s not like some of the places I’ve been, like a certain part of Philadelphia where I had to ask someone if a bomb had gone off, and if people could really live in buildings with broken windows and not one bit of green anywhere. There were the proverbial kids in underwear playing in an opened fire hydrant. There’s nothing derelict in what you pictured: it’s just not brochure-worthy or suited to our conventions. And why does it have to be?

While it’s a destination for others, it’s simply where people live otherwise. Without having a thorough understanding of the economy there, I’m going to bet that a lot of the money spent there as tourist dollars isn’t making anyone rich – it’s just giving them a (hopefully) living wage. It’s also not like Cuba, where tourist areas are strictly defined and regulated to the point where locals aren’t allowed to stay in tourist areas unless they’re employed there. And outside of those places, the poverty is shockingly extreme. So the spread of “everyday life” is more visible to tourists in Jamaica.

If you come to visit me, you’ll see that all of the charming little stores and some HOMES on and around Queen East have been tagged recently, and some of the windows scratched. Our planters, which the neighbourhood attempted to fill with green boughs by volunteer effort are filled with garbage, and it looks pretty trashy for an area where semi-detached homes have just hit half a million. It’s because our neighbourhood is still largely working class, and busy with surviving. The store I work in sold a whopping $40 worth of stuff yesterday. The coffee shop east of us only goes into the black on weekends. While Leslieville had been touted in magazines like Toronto Life lately, and we have some good “foodie” restos, it’s by no means polished and people who have come to “retro row” to shop are wondering why it gets so much attention, and all I can tell them is “it’s just a neighbourhood, not a postcard.”

I’m going to guess also that it’s a matter of priorities. What if having things look pretty isn’t as important as relaxing and spending time with family and friends – or practicing a religion, or resting, or eating. Lately, I’m wondering if maybe I spent less time dusting my tsotchkes, and more time picking up the phone and calling a friend, I’d be happier? If I could have the six or eight hours I spent sticking pine boughs in planters, only to get stuffed with crack paraphenalia and trade them for simply reading a book, or dinner with friends, I would now. The ones that were left plain have no garbage in them, because it’s visible and it gets removed.

And lastly, because I’m feeling ornery, I think once again, that the North American “feminist” ideal of men and women as equals that unasked for attention from men in the street is something to be disdained. Wouldn’t it be awful if they didn’t find you attractive enough to whistle at? In other cultures, it’s also epidemic. My grandfather would always compliment me when I dressed up by saying that if we lived in Italy, my bottom would get pinched. It’s stereotypical, but when my cousin did visit, it was found to be true. It’s not really threatening, or a foot in the door to rape or assault as my paranoid mother would have me believe, and again, my own neighbourhood has taught me to relax about it.

I think we, conditioned as we are to want to maintain some kind of bubble of privacy when we are out in public, should open our minds to maybe connecting with those around us. Sure the “hissing” isn’t the most welcoming invitation to communing with our neighbours in the world; but the hang-up of not replying is maybe part personality (introversion – it does take energy to interact and react) and part North American convention. Other cultures think us friendly and polite – but cold, so I’ve read and understand based on talks with some tourists. Maybe a smile back and a “hey” would seem hard at first, but I’ve found that in my experience with the toothless and rummy locals, it at least elevates them, and me as well – to fellow human status.

******

I’ll stop hijacking your comments now. Boy, I should really post in my own blog sometime. But before I sign off – BATS? I love bats. You should check out Nancy’s latest post at Blogpourri!

6 | andrea

February 1st, 2008 at 9:42 am

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I saw Nancy’s post (and yucky photo!) yesterday. I am still trying to erase it from my mind. :)

re: ugly v. beauty
The photos I chose to take and post here really don’t do the overall scene much justice. It’s far worse than peeling posters and potholes.

Of course there is massive poverty in Kingston. But is that enough reason to justify the garbage all over the streets? I don’t think you can compare it to where you live (and I’ve been to your ‘hood!) because this issue goes beyond spit and polish.

I do feel like a snob even dwelling on this issue. For the record, I don’t want my travel destinations to be sanitized and prettified like the town of Celebration in FLA. There is a lot ot be said for regional personality (which takes many forms). There are parts of Kingston that seem to be falling apart needlessly – and think, I didn’t really even venture into the “bad” parts of town.

re: the hissing and wolf whistling.
I will write more about this later, but my experience in Jamaica has changed my interaction with people here on my own turf. I think it’s a lot nicer to greet people with a great big smile and focused attention … no matter who that person is. And there were a lot of extremely friendly people in Jamaica.

BUT my issue here was the fact that Jamaican men’s behaviour made me feel like an Object For One Purpose Only, and not a person. There’s a difference between a guy passing near you on a narrow sidewalk and saying “do you want to come over to my place for a good time” and a grocery clerk saying “have a great day” after he’s helped you with your groceries. You know what I mean?

7 | Kristina

February 1st, 2008 at 11:10 am

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I agree with Marla’s point about priorities and values. One of the things I took away from our time in Jamaica was that, while many of the dwellings seemed sorely inadequate by our standards – perhaps it was just enough for theirs. After all, they don’t need to contend with harsh winters or extremes in temperature. As such, there was never a need to evolve their living conditions.

It would have been interesting to be invited into one of the many homes we saw. Who knows – maybe we’re judging a book by its cover?

8 | Marla

February 1st, 2008 at 6:02 pm

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I wish this book was handy, as I’m sure it would give me the insight I need.

http://www.mellenpress.com/mellenpress.cfm?bookid=4259&pc=9

But I took advantage of the lull at work due to the snow today to research a little, and found a few things might factor into what you witnessed:

In 2004 Hurricane Ivan hit Jamaica quite severely, and recovery is slow. I don’t imagine even an affluent society would have an easy time of recouping its beauty, and just as in the southern US Katrina’s damage was whopping – I’d bet the poorer parts of Kingston just aren’t prioritizing curb appeal.

As well, I found (forgot what source):

“Like other Caribbean countries, Jamaica was hard-hit by the 1981–1982 recession. Devaluation of the Jamaican dollar made Jamaican products more competitive on the world market, and the country achieved record growth in tourism and agriculture. While manufacturing also grew, food prices rose as much as 75% and thousands of Jamaicans fell deeper into poverty.”

Urban blight was covered wonderfully here:

http://64.233.167.104/search?q=cache:o-9uZQ3wYLMJ:www.nieuws.leidenuniv.nl/content_docs/Promoties_juni_2006/jaffe_summary.pdf+kingston+jamaica+cultural+norms&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=8&gl=ca&client=firefox-a

So in short, I’m going to still assert that Kingston is experiencing something we cannot imagine. Their priorities are a new unity, but more: a lack of violence. Corrupt and unstable governments affect their society more directly. But mainly, we’re just not living in a place that was formerly downright dangerous.

But most simply, this source: http://livinginbarbados.blogspot.com/2007/12/conundrum-of-violence-in-jamaica.html

…explained it brilliantly. It seems to me that what you noticed in terms of the lack of beauty is that it may be as simple in that it’s protection. If things were too beautiful, or too nice – it would attract attention, encourage more crime. Drabness as a means of crime prevention, so to speak.

********

I’ll agree that I find catcalls and come-ons disruptive, though I’m not disturbed or distressed by them. I guess I just consider the source. Not having walked in your shoes there, I don’t know how threatened one should feel in the sidewalk situation you described. I’d hope that it was annoying, but innocuous. But, comparatively, every day I walk past a bar whose inebriated patrons stand outside and smoke. I cannot pass without being spoken to, whether it’s a “Hey, you’re prettier when you smile” or a “Come on, have a drink with us” to “Wanna make it?” – sometimes made even more unwelcome by the fact that I’m with my child. Just slowing down to, as I said, “consider the source” will help me gauge my reply, be it the finger, saying or “Would your mother be proud of you right now?” to ignoring it and sometimes saying nicely “It isn’t polite to talk to people that way.” Again, not letting the immediate annoyance get the better of me helps – because sometimes it’s just someone who never learned better, or who is so full of himself that I can’t believe he’s serious. But it is a person there, and my recently found policy of remembering that everyone was somebody’s sweet baby once upon a time helps me get through. It’s just that there are more degenerates that one can shake a stick at, in part because society no longer holds even strangers to certain polite standards.

But then, I was looking at it through whitey white North American coloured glasses. Maybe you should have been even more apprehensive:

This article: http://www.jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20080121/lead/lead5.html

…wouldn’t fly here. I mean, isn’t North America all about women constantly seeking validation? Based on this, we could assume that those men were making those propositions because their wives were abusive and they needed your validation!

But I think it also speaks of a culture with differently defined gender stereotypes – this article on HIV/AIDS in Jamaica: http://www.hrw.org/reports/2004/jamaica1104/6.htm
…speaking of “the nasty act of homosexuality” which is illegal there, means that many men (and, of course, women) might feel they have to behave in a hyper-sexualized way toward the other sex.

This information: http://www.amnestyusa.org/document.php?lang=e&id=ENGAMR380022006
…also told me that sexual violence and discrimination against women is rarely prosecuted. So, without government support and awareness, well, it’s almost sanctioned. Imagine, if here in Canada, sexual assault victims are treated as such…oh wait, some are. But, comparatively?

“In Jamaica, entrenched discrimination against women means many individuals fail to appreciate that forced sex carried out by an acquaintance or family member is a serious crime.

The rate of sexual violence against women in Jamaica is very high, and is accompanied by spiralling levels of community violence and homicide throughout the island. In 2005, the number of homicides in Jamaica, already high, increased to 1,669. At 0.55 – 0.62 per thousand people, this is one of the highest rates in the world.

Sexual assault is the second-most-common cause of injury for women, after fights. Five per cent of all violent injuries seen in hospitals are caused by sexual assaults.”

*******

So, while I’m more enlightened after some poking around the internet, I’m still going to say – I think that it’s still culture shock that is what’s standing out in your posts more than anything. Jamaica isn’t the 51st state, it’s got huge, deep-rooted problems that are quite possibly, ineradicable. That and a lovely climate. And it also has different priorities – like non-violence, and economic stability. I read also that the need for economic migration means that the children there are/have been raised with an entirely different parenting strategy in their home lives, and so their emotional stability has been affected – generations who’ve grown up and are growing up without consistent parenting. The decades’ worth of gang violence and corrupt police and politicians is so far beyond our ken, that I don’t think I could go there now without realizing that I’m not just visiting another place, I’d be experiencing another world.

(and yes, I know about Tiny URL. I just didn’t do it.)

9 | Marla

February 1st, 2008 at 6:05 pm

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Oh jeebus… and sorry for hijacking again. Why do I think I’m not up to blogging any longer?

M

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