SIGMA RUN 2017

I use the Sagicor SIGMA Run to gage my aging process each year. My time, how I feel when I'm running, how many young whippersnappers breeze past me ... All of these are the non-scientific indicators I use to determine whether or not my body is still up to the fitness challenge.

This year, I saw a proliferation of tiny primary schoolers whizzing past me, my calves were on fire, my stomach was churning bile, my breathing was very halted, and I felt like a very tired 50. Meanwhile, some little upstarts were just blazing past me with all their hype and energy, and I realised that my not-yet-30-year-old body was threatening to jump into the nearest AmbuCare ambulance and just stay put.

A thought occurred to me this year, though, that had me chuckling and crafting a poem in my head while I walk-ran. It was after seeing a madman standing on the side of the road watching the passers by, and the women in particular. He inspired this poem:

SIGMA 2017

Mad man standing at half mast

Eyes bump-a-bumping

To rhythmic rotund rumps

Jouncing down the street

Drumming time

To the patter of running feet

Fate of a Failed and Faithless State

There I was, late for church,  silently willing the chatterbox driver to go faster, and overhearing these two men talking about the driver's latest unfortunate run-in with the police (apparently he'd had several).

Then he made this statement: "Me nuh have no faith inna police nuh more. No rasta.  Police or pastor. Me nuh have NO faith inna dem." (Translated: I have no faith in the police anymore. Not at all. Pastor or police, I have no faith in any of them).

And it made me think of our entire nation, because I've heard similar sentiments expressed on many other occasions. Our society is so riddled with corruption and frustration-inspiring situations that Jamaican people seem to have lost faith in a LOT of things and people. So here's my list of things I think we have no faith in anymore.

7. Government/politicians

We let that ship slide a long time ago. So long, in fact, that people no longer make a distinction between politics and corruption.

6. 'Di system'

It's not just government and politics. It's this unnamed, intangible entity/force that drives all the major industries/sectors in our country. 'Di system' is this organised series of events, an unwritten list of requirements that naturally excludes the masses and imposes injustice on the people.

5. Police

A common cry among our people is that the police force has become the nation's machinery for mass victimisation, bending to the wishes of their heartless dictators, many Jamaicans see police as the enemy, as 'Babylon', the ones who make life difficult for everyone.

4. Pastors/religious leaders

If ever there was a people/state who have been grossly disappointed by the Church, it's Jamaicans. Usually a strong Christian society, over the years Jamaicans have become the world's best and biggest religious sceptics. They've seen it all: from sex in the pulpit to pastors with guns, and they are not impressed.

3. God

Well, if the people who represent him constantly fail you, why believe anything they say or look to any reference point they offer?

2. The future

'Boy, tings dread,' is a common sentiment. And if that was all, it wouldn't bother me. But our people have begun to develop a posture of resignation. Like the listless brood in Ayi Kwei Armah's The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born, they have become firm believers in a stagnant, unchanging, unchangeable society. The more things change, they say, the more they remain the same.

1. Themselves

And this is the part many of us don't realise. Our loss of faith in all these other things belies a deeper crisis. It's not just that we no longer believe in others or the system they work in, but it tells us - tells me - that we don't believe in ourselves. We no longer value our own capabilities and potential.

So that's my list. What do you think? Do you agree/disagree? What would you add? Minus? And are you one of the many Jamaicans/persons who have given up on this country? I hope not.

Jamaican Frustration 2

The second incident was far more tragic than the first.

I was walking by a vendor, peddling her wares on a wooden cart. She sat with her baby - the child could not have been more than a year old - on the edge of the cart.

A man passed by on the opposite side of the street. The child looked at the man.

Suddenly, whollop! The mother gave the child one big slap upside his head that sent him toppling like a doll.

"Mi seh nuh look over deh!" She yelled loudly at the child. The child righted himself on his seat and sat in stunned silence, looking down at the ground and rubbing the side of his head. He never shed a tear.

IN contrast, my own eyes were brimming with sympathy. I wondered what kind of frustration would cause an upset mother to unleash such unbridled anger on her child ... and if the child did not cry because he had become accustomed to it.

Jamaican Frustration

Like a pot full of steamy stew – way past ready – spitting bubbles, spewing heat that sears unsuspecting, naked flesh, there is a seething, boiling rage in our people ... a thinly-veiled, barely-buried hurt. They are fed up and frustrated.

This morning, I witnessed two vivid examples of the frustration that is rampant in Jamaicans.

The first happened while I was sitting in a bus on my way to work. A police officer pulled the bus over and asked to see the driver's documents. The driver's annoyance was instantaneous.

"Wha me do? " he loudly queried. "After me nuh do nutting. Boss, gimme a bly nuh man?"

The police officer calmly repeated his request to see the documents.

The driver begged. "Jus mek me drive outta di park nuh man?"

The policeman did not budge. He informed the driver that he had three children to take care of and would not be loosing his job because he gave one lousy, uncouth driver a 'bly'.

The bus driver cursed a string of profanities as he rummaged through an old bag for his papers. He gave them to the policeman, but refused to step out of the bus. The policeman refused to return the documents until he did.

The passengers entered the quarrel and began to curse – some at the driver for being so obstinate, some at the policeman for being part of the system of 'Babylon' – a system that had let them down all too many times. Some cursing at the ceiling and begged God to get them to work on time, others just cursed at no one in particular ... whatever the reason, everyone cursed.

Finally, the policeman turned the papers over to an inspector, who decided to give the driver the 'bly' he so desperately began to beg for.

After we drove out of the bus park, the cursing ceased - except for one bitter woman whose soul was full to overflowing with the atrocities of the "damn police", the injustices of "the system" ... she began to sympathise loudly with the bus driver, relating how her car was also in a state of disrepair because of the horrible conditions of the roads. She spoke at length about how difficult it was to even buy herself a pair of sneakers because of the high costs of insurance, electricity, water, rent, food, and, of course, the damned car repairs.

She was still unburdening herself - her complaints interspersed with the most colourful language - when I alighted from the bus, thinking to myself that it can't be healthy - or safe - for people to remain in such an extended state of frustration and tension. What happens when the strings of a woman's life have been drawn so tightly, pulled to such extremes, that she feels no remorse in unburdening her sorrows to a bus-full of strangers? When she can find no relief in her incessant cursing? What is this nightmare that our people live? What is the real definition for Jamaican frustration?

Blog-A-Day Challenge Review

After blogging (more or less) faithfully for the past month, I have discovered that:

1. I like reflection. Yes, there are splashes of humour, but mostly, I think deeply, heavily. About greatness, life, dreams and inspiration.

2. It was difficult to create long posts each day. I resorted to brevity, which, at first, was lazy. Then my posts developed depth and meaning. I said in a few sentences only those things that were most essential. The posts became shorter, more substantial.

3. I can do a post every day. It is possible. I have proven it.

4. This blog is, as I am, still becoming ...

PS Happy emancipation day to Jamaicans everywhere.
Let's keep the black, green, gold flying high.
Hardships there are (black),
But the people are resilient (green)
And the sun still shines (gold).
Jamaica land we love!

Only in Jamaica

1. From the STAR (newspaper)

"There is absolutely no truth to the fact that he was involved in anything alleged..." (Uh... what?Is this legalese for guilty?) This from a lawyer defending his client.

2. From the Telly

"Children are different from human beings..." this from a gentleman explaining why children should be treated differently from grown-ups...

3. Courtesy of my own circle of friends

From Lee: "A three baby mother me have, and mi nah cheat pon none a them!"

Gabs: "I was in my room with my sister JJ when my brother, Jude, came in laughing. He told us about this American woman he saw on TV. The quizmaster asked her how many Eiffel Towers were in the world, and she replied, "I think it's ten, but I'm leaning towards nine." Me and Jude broke up laughing. JJ joined in after about a minute, then she left the room. Me and Jude were in the room having ourselves a good cry-laugh when JJ came back in and asked, "so, really, how many are there?"

Brandy: "We were in class talking about which planet we would visit if we had the chance, and everybody was giving different answers. Then one guy stood up and said, "I would go to the sun." The class went silent. "What?" I asked. "Dude, you can't go to the sun! If we so far from the sun and it so hot, you can imagine if you GO to the sun? You would roast!" The whole class was laughing at him when another boy marched in and ordered us all quiet. "Oh shut up," he asserted. "Di whole a unnu a eediat. Di bes time to go to the sun is night." Class mash up.

Only in Jamaica...

This is Part 1 of what I have dubbed my "Only in Jamaica" series... where I will highlight little bits and snippets from everyday Jamaican life, and argue why these things can only happen in Jamaica (or to Jamaicans). This first episode can be considered the pilot. Thus, it will be short. Feedback would be greatly appreciated (like, should I do this in a new blog entirely called 'only in Jamaica'?)

In the Taxi
Male 1: 18 years, 18 years, 18 years then he found out it wasn't his
Rb: But it was his. By naturalisation.

*all the dudes in the taxi give Rb the look of death*

Rb: No... come on, what I mean is, he fathered the child for 18 years... after all that time, that child is definitely his! He was the real father!

*all the dudes in the car shake their heads vigorously*

Male 2: Nope. That child wasn't carrying his genes!
Male 1: Alright, look at it this way... how would you like your husband to come home with a kid and tell you that it's yours... *he leans closer to Rb* by naturalisation??
Rb: But that is not the same thing!

*dudes in the car laugh and shake their heads even more vigourously*

Male 2: But that's what it's like!
Rb: Well, for women, it's easier... we definitely know when a kid isn't ours!
Male 2 (somewhat sadly): I'm convinced that all women are tailors.
Rb (puzzled): What?
Male 2 (repeats): All women are tailors... they know how to sew good jackets!

P.S. This one is from a Rasta: Swine flu ting? Them always say pig fly. Now them flu!!