Kingston, Jamaica (in the midst of a ‘murder wave’).

I love this place.

…but I was too lazy to take many pictures this time.

Fun Facts About Jamaica:
1. Jamaica’s per capita murder rate is #3 in the world (although I seriously lack the reliability of the data, because in countries like Haiti, #17, crimes are much less likely to be reported and reported murders are much more likely to be construed as accidental due to UN presence and reliance on foreign aid. Like, “deceased tripped and fell on a machete…several times.”)

2. In the month of May, ~190 Jamaicans were murdered; most of these killings took place in garrisons.

3. Karl took this video last year in Kevin’s neighborhood. You can hear him at the end saying, “I’m not taking pictures…I’m not taking pictures…” to the cops.

4. JCF (Jamaican Constabulary Force, more commonly referred to as “Babylon”) is more corrupt and inept than the NYPD.

5. I’m not a dancehall fan, but Black Chiney is amazing.

Jamaica on Thanksgiving (November 26, 2007).

Karl says I’m worse than the American media in my portrayal of an area, because I take pictures of the crappiest-looking crap and pawn them off as being the essence of the place I’m in. True story.

Kingston, Jamaica (June 4, 2007).

A few more pictures from Jamaica. We went back to Hellshire Beach yesterday, where the government had four tents set up to administer free HIV tests. They had another tent with a table featuring various pamphlets and dildos.

Portmore, Jamaica (June 3, 2007).

It was 8:00 am Jamaican time as I ran down the streets of Portmore yesterday. The sweet smell of weed already hung in the humid air. I navigated past the already-familiar landmarks and tried not to laugh as men called “white girl!” to me as I passed.

As I turned down Karl’s street, a teenage boy froze, slack-jawed, and eventually asked me in a single syllable if I was ok. “Yup,” I said, barely slowing. An old man told me good morning, paused, then asked, “Peace corps or mormon?”

“Neither!” I said, laughing.

The tension that fucked with me before I left New York is still present, though to a much lesser degree. Being here (as in other places in the Caribbean) seems to subdue my worries. I think it’s the heat and humidity…the sheen of sweat covering me is a constant, visceral reminder of where I am.

Kingston, Jamaica (November 27, 2006).

I figured that if the police (scattered and armed with automatic weapons) were cool with this, it’d probably be ok to post pictures of it.

Kingston, Jamaica (November 26, 2006).

Downtown Kingston.

Kingston, Jamaica (November 25, 2006).

Before last November, I’d never considered coming to Jamaica. I remember seeing a flyer for a spring break human rights-y trip through a student organization, and I got (a spam email that had been sent to the entire law school) a notice that the application deadline was 24 hours away, so I spent five minutes throwing together an uninspired, truly half-assed application. I didn’t think they’d pick me, and even if they did, the thought of coming seemed ludicrous.

The student organization interviewed me, and for whatever reason, they decided I was ideal for a two-person team going to a different organization in Jamaica…something about my extreme independence.

Almost every paramount, life-altering experience I have is a result of a random decision on my part. Certain opportunities grab my attention and I lightly pursue them. I follow through with the ones that pan out and see what happens.

I even didn’t know enough about Jamaica to have any misconceptions of it. I half-ass participated in the fundraising our group did before the trip. I didn’t know where we were going in the country or what we were going to be doing; I was winging it. But I went, met Karl, spent my time there avoiding the tourist-y shit, and fucking loved it. And there I was again. I’m inexplicably comfortable there; 0.2% of the country’s population is white, and the vast majority of them are in Ochi and Montego Bay.

And seriously, being in a country where Thanksgiving (my hands-down least favorite day of the year) doesn’t exist was fucking amazing. Businesses are open and I didn’t have to listen to everyone say the same bullshit about what they’re eating or how much it sucks to be around their families.

My flight to Kingston on Wednesday was delayed 30 minutes. The captain then spent 90 minutes taxi-ing around, waiting for an open runway. We took off, and when we were around Cuba, the captain announced that they, uh, didn’t really think they had enough fuel to make it to Kingston and were therefore diverting us to Miami.