If You Only Look For Comfort And Luxury, Have You REALLY Travelled?
The ghetto is rough and raw but also beautifully hospitable.
A few days ago,
asked, “Why is it that journeys always seem to begin in the dark of night?” That question and his entire story are what inspired me to dig up this 24-hour expedition to the bitter side of beauty.My journey also began in the dark. Had it started in broad daylight, would I have been brave enough to stay at my final destination? I’ll never know.
Erik’s trip photos might be more epic than mine but I’m positive both our journeys were equally as epic and life-changing.
During my time as a travel writer, I’ll be the first to admit it was quite rewarding sitting in the lap of luxury among the affluent, reviewing how the upper crust travels.
But for me, that was just the “job” of the industry. Those were the articles I wrote for personal gain.
The ones I wrote for the love and intrigue were my day-to-day experiences which had nothing to do with affluence. In fact, my most popular articles of all time were about the extreme opposite.
When I published the following story on my former destination blog, the feedback was a real mixed bag. Most felt enlightened and grateful for a glimpse into this lifestyle, some felt it was extremely exploitative.
I’ll let you be the judge.
In 2009, I was fortunate to have met a couple of local Jamaicans in the popular resort town of Ocho Rios. It’s rare that locals living in tourist towns are actually from those towns. Many of them end up there for employment opportunities in the hospitality industry.
The locals I had met that day originally hailed from one of the roughest areas of the island — Spanish Town. Back then, it was dubbed as The Valley of Death, and consistently ranked as the most dangerous place to live.
After spending a few days getting to know these guys in Ocho Rios, they asked if I’d like to see where they really come from.
I agreed without hesitation and without any understanding of what I was in for.
A few days later we made the two-hour drive to their home in Spanish Town. Upon pulling up, one of them casually said, “Welcome to the ghetto.”
Arriving well after dark, I couldn’t fully grasp what it was like until the light of the next morning.
This was the family home and behind those walls was where nine of them lived.
The night we arrived, I was first shown to one of my host’s rooms. Each room in this home had separate, padlocked entrances.
His room was around the back of the house, which was pitch dark at night. I followed them through a narrow walkway using the flashlight on my cell phone to light the pathway.
The next morning I could see that this is what the walkway looked like. I felt like I was in a NatGeo documentary called, “How white women go missing and die when travelling abroad.” 😂
The first evening, the three brothers and I sat in one back room chatting for a while. Through the wall I could hear the sound of an infant child so naturally, I inquired. One brother told me it was his daughter in the next room and asked if I’d like to meet her.
He led me around the front of the house to a different door and inside I saw his girlfriend and 3 little girls, aged 8 years, 6 years and 6 months. The baby immediately smiled at me while the older two remained cautious.
I quickly scanned the room and noticed that this 20X20-ish space housed a double bed for the mom, dad and baby, and the other two girls slept in a single bed together. There was a TV on a shelf, a gas stove and a fridge along one wall, and that was pretty much it.
It instantly made me feel greedy for the way I lived in Canada.
As we sat around chatting some more, another brother showed up out of nowhere. He was a real live-wire compared to the others. He was kind of a hothead, but very cordial with me.
Fun fact: Many years after this visit, the live-wire brother became a Jamaican music celebrity, Tanto Blacks.
After introductions, he suggested we all go out to a street party in a garrison community nearby. I was hesitant but mildly amused at the thought so we got dressed and hit the streets.
I admit, I experienced a few moments walking through the dark streets of Spanish Town when my mind wandered to the laundry list of things that could go horribly wrong at any time.
My first thought was the intro line from Damian Marley’s song, Welcome To Jamrock:
“Out in the streets, they call it murder….”
Regardless, I said a little prayer for my safety and chose to enjoy the journey. My gut has fortuitously never steered me wrong.
The street party ended up being pretty tame, shutting down about an hour after we arrived. I felt a little disappointed but also impressed when the guys told me the police like to keep things quiet. The area was under police curfew at the time. Not what I was expecting.
So, there we were at 2:30 a.m. in the deserted streets of Spanish Town, trying to catch a taxi home.
This place isn’t like tourist towns where taxis are abundant at all hours of the night. We ended up catching a ride with a random car passing and I think he only stopped because he saw a white female in the group. I highly doubt a solo person driving at that hour would have picked up three unknown locals.
Reaching safely back to the house, the brothers offered me their mother’s bedroom for the night. She worked away from the home so there was an extra private bed for me. I humbly accepted.
Before turning in for the night one of the brothers told me he felt honored that I would accept the invitation to visit their home, and he felt like “somebody” because I came.
I couldn’t help it…..I choked up and told him the total reverse….that it was I who felt honored to be a part of their everyday lives.
The next morning I woke at 7:30 to the sweet sounds of the cooing baby again through the wall. The door to my room was open and everyone was already outside, busy about their day.
I went out and said good morning to everyone including the little girls I had met the night before.
Around lunchtime, they were gracious enough to ask what I would like to eat so they could go to the market and fetch it. I turned it around and said that I would like to take care of lunch. I wanted curry chicken and gave them $1000 JMD to buy what was needed.
$1000 JMD converted to about $15.00 USD at the time. My measly $15.00 fed ten people. Incredible!
Everyone voted one brother as the best cook and he took care of making lunch. It was prepared outside on this table and cooked inside on their gas stove. I was completely in my element here. It felt like camping!
While lunch was preparing, I took note of how things ran in this yard.
They had big barrels of rainwater all over the place and this was their drinking, cooking, and bathing water. They simply scooped water from the barrels into small tin cans and used it for whatever they needed.
There was no plumbing or toilets on the property, so each time I squatted behind the house one of them was always gracious enough to pour water over my hands afterwards.
My feelings after this experience?
I was in complete awe over how normally they all function with the bare minimum. They made it feel like the only reason they appear “poor” is because outsiders look in and say “Awwww those poor people.”
Everyone, right down to the 6-year-old had it completely together. The little girls took care of the baby while the dad cooked. They knew how to hang laundry. They knew what their chores were and did them without prodding, which put them miles ahead of most first-world kids.
This is the way they live every day and they don’t seem to be upset at all that they bathe from rain barrels.
Life is what we become accustomed to and we foreigners are disgustingly spoiled in comparison to the simpler life.
In my humble opinion, one can’t be a travel expert until they’ve delved into ALL sides of travel, not just the glitzy, touristy side.
This was by far one of my most treasured experiences in fifteen years spent travelling to and writing about Jamaica.
Footnote: I kept in touch with these guys for many years and returned to Spanish Town several times. I even brought my son back to this house with me in 2010, on our trip for his eighteenth birthday.
It was delightful to watch the little girls grow over the years. 😊
Okay! Now I need to know….aside from
and (whom I already KNOW have covered the road less travelled)….
In Mazatlan we walked into the public market, well behind the Motel row at the beachfront. I was 11 years old. I recall a gorgeous hot and stuffy riot of colors, aromas and textures in the covered winding warren of stalls. It seemed like everything in the world was for sale in intricate displays from floor to rafters. Flies and bees were everywhere. Emerging onto the sidewalk for some air, I nearly tripped over an upside down skinned cow head. Recoiling, I looked down the sidewalk at a row of six more of them with their eyeballs leering, flies buzzing, and a trickle of blood running into the curb drain. I was shocked to my core but managed to just be cool and turned back into the market. I never forgot about that especially when regarding the shrink-wrapped, chilled, labelled food in the meat cases of any American store. I was, and still am, puzzled by the seeming lack of sanitation but apparent survival of consumers at the public market scene!
Kristi, this is outstanding! I think the more sheltered parts of our society would be shocked at the potential risks and dangers you undertook in going here. But, wow, this is where we find the good stuff in life. We have to get out of our comfort zones, broaden our perspectives, and confront fears and uncertainty. Without doing that we cannot grow and we cannot learn, and our experience remains naiive and shallow.
Experiences like this one amaze me. I'm beginning to realize that it isn't necessarily the living conditions of these people that stand out, but my own pre-conceived ideas of how hard this life must be for them. But, that only comes from my own background of relative comfort and luxury. This is their normal and often times they are doing just fine, or better in life than I am. Hard or not? Who is better off? I have no answers, but man, this type of travel and experience is so valuable just for giving awareness to the contrasts!