For those of you I haven't told, let me tell you a little story about the fun day at Ridge. A little setup on Ridge, its a little community in the mountains in Jamaica, where our friend Michelle happens to be living. Basically, Ridge is several houses scattered around, connected by a "road," for a lack of a better term. I know you have all been down country road
s, and know that they can be narrow. Now imagine an even more narrow road with a cliff on one side, and no guardrail mind you, and a mountain on the other side. Not a lot of passing room in that picture, see actual picture. Now, when coming over the top of a hill or around a corner, you can't see if anyone is coming. Luckily, the Jamaicans use their horn to warn people they are coming. (They also use it to say hello, how you doing) My assumption from my life in the states, is that a horn was only a warning that a finger would soon follow. I'm not sure I have ever used a horn without anger involved. Sure, maybe as a kid I used it to say hello to someone, but I wasn't actually driving in
traffic, so that doesn't really count. So, when the Jamaicans come to a corner that they can't see around, they give a little honk, nice. The good thing is, even if someone forgets to honk, you are only going 15mph because the roads have potholes the size of Volkswagen's. I use a Volkswagen as a size reference in a lot of things, you'll see it later when I talk about the cockroaches, no shit, I was afraid to fall asleep. Anyway, getting back to Ridge and the fun day, the community was using this day as a fund raiser for their community center that they are working on. It was held on the Monday we were there, and consisted of a bounce house for the kids (they call it a bounceabout), a bar, a dominos tournament, a cricket match, food (always my favorite), and a dance (always my least favorite). I went down to the cricket field which was interesting in itself. There are trees on the field. That seemed odd to me. I've been to a couple of Major League Baseball games and have yet to see a tree on the field. I've even seen a cricket match on TV, and, no tree
s. Not to mention that these are mango trees, so there is fruit on the ground. I just don't think the players, of any sport in the US, would tolerate food on the field. I see a Three Stodges skit with guys slipping on rotten mangos when I think about it. So I'm sitting on the ground watching this match, which I can't really follow even after Michelle and her friend Sharani taught me some. I've got the basics, but there were some things that confused me. Like when the pitcher, or bowler, threw the ball at the guy with the "bat" and actually hit him. Now if someone hit me I would complain, as would my team mates, but the team in the field complained when the batter got hit not the guy that just got plunked. I finally found out that the team in the field was complaining because they thought the batter was blocking the "plate" so as to not get his wickets hit (you're just going to have to trust me, it makes sense)(Oh, and wickets are not his balls, just to be clear). As I'm watching, I get a wiff of the old skunk weed, mary jane, you know WEED. Every concert I went to for the hairbands of the 80's, I ended up next to Joe Marijuana and his entire wasted family and it appears this is no different. I had always heard about Jamaica and its weed, but man oh man is it weird to see that many people doing it in the open. I'm watching the match and having my ankles treated like a chew toy for the ants, when it thundered so loud I nearly crapped myself. I guess I've never been in the mountains during a thunder storm, but since you are either closer to the clouds or in some cases in the clouds, it would stand to reason that it might be a tad bit louder. It rained a little bit but since most of the Jamaicans weren't in any hurry to get out of the weather, I just sat there and kept watching. The rain and or storms come out of know where, in fact, it rained several times with the sun shinning and not a cloud in the sky. It must suck to be a Jamaican weatherman, how do you predict rain when it isn't even cloudy? I enjoyed some fried chicken, ric
e and peas (peas are actually pinto beans, or at least that is what they looked like. (See picture at right and I have no idea why that one is so small), and some sort of
slaw that Marcy, Michelle and I actually made. The food was good, but I was interested in the other options of the day. They had curried goat, goat soup and fish, you know, the kind where they leave the head on and cook the whole thing. The problem I have with that, is I don't like my food looking at me. I'm all ready doing the most disrespectful thing, stabbing it and eating it, I don't need the guilt on top of it. You wouldn't eat a cow while it was looking at you, would you. Sorry Marcy, the visual probably has her gaging. The DJ showed up and set up these massive towers of speakers, which were of course pointed right at the windows o
f the house we were staying in. I asked Michelle how long these parties go and she said 3 or 4 in the morning, I was hoping it just wouldn't be Yanni music or some sort of country Reggae. It turns out, some of the music is American songs that they just kind of Reggae up, not bad. The only problem is, they never finish a song. The DJ always stops the song right when I'm getting into it. Have you ever been singing as loud as you can and either you go under a bridge or some how the music just cuts out, and there you are yelling a song with no real musical talent? That's me, only Reggaed up. The American songs were all love songs, so I wasn't able to sing many, but I knew what they were. Every now and then, an old Motown song would come on and I would think I was Smokey Robinson, but when the DJ changed the song in the middle, I was brought back to my William Hung self. (I hope that wasn't too obscure of a reference) The party went on into the night. I went by the dance after dark and everyone was standing around the outside of the dance like an 8th grade dance at school, only the boys and girls were mixed. The only people on the dance dirt (I said it was outside didn't I?) were two very wasted gentleman who were still partaking of the material that had wasted them. It seemed the whole day was a success and I was happy to witness and even help a little. We retired to the house to, well not sleep, not with three speaker towers pointed at my bedroom window, but at least a relaxing Reggae evening. So I'm laying in bed reading my book, which is "Can I keep my jersey" by Paul Shirley, an ex Iowa State basketball player (Hilarious!) when I hear "POP POP." Now I'm no expert, but that sounded like gunshots right outside my window, and it ain't hunting season. Well, I tried to seem brave as I scrambled to the other room to see if my thought was correct, which it was. Now I'm in a foreign country, probably the only white guy within a 100 miles and I hear gun shots outside my window, a tad unsettling to say the least. Like I said, the community had been nothing but kind and accepting to us, but once you get a few beers in even the Dahli-lama, all hell can break loose. Nobody seem to concerned about the shots and Sh
arani (this is her in the green tank top, she is awesome) came in and told us all was fine. I heard two stories regarding the reason for the shots, one which I think is true and one I think was to calm the white people. The first explanation was that the DJ had said something positive about one of the political parties, then, he said something positive about the other party. Problem was, Wyatt Earp didn't hear the second statement and thought his party had been dissed, so he let a few fly in the air. After witnessing and hearing about the political violence that occurs, this sounded reasonable. A woman would be shot just a few days later in the town of Junction, which is where we bought groceries and were there the same day as the shooting. The second reason we heard the next day was that people always shoot guns at parties in Jamaica. Well don't take me to any more parties where gun play is not only normal, but expected. Those bullets have to come down, you know. Well everything was fine and once I changed my pants and wiped the tears from my eyes, I went back to reading my book. I'm just glad someone didn't close a car door or something like that the rest of the night or I probably would have had to change the sheets and would have spent the rest of the night on the floor with the lizards and cock roaches. (Don't get me wrong, the house isn't dirty and the roaches are few, two in fact, but I swear they were 3 inches long and that is big enough that it should be mentioned) Well that is about the extent of the fun day. In all, I was extremely glad I was able to see the community of Ridge come out and have a good time. The laughter at the cricket match was awesome, except I couldn't understand what they were laughing about because they speak Patois (because I looked it up), now that I think about it, there did seem to be a lot of "whitey" in their conversations (joke). There were several occasions where people we drove past could be heard saying "white people." (that is no joke) Here is a picture of some of the kids we met at fun day. The girls are Celina and Rav, sisters. I'm not sure who the boy was, Michelle, is it CJ?
s, and know that they can be narrow. Now imagine an even more narrow road with a cliff on one side, and no guardrail mind you, and a mountain on the other side. Not a lot of passing room in that picture, see actual picture. Now, when coming over the top of a hill or around a corner, you can't see if anyone is coming. Luckily, the Jamaicans use their horn to warn people they are coming. (They also use it to say hello, how you doing) My assumption from my life in the states, is that a horn was only a warning that a finger would soon follow. I'm not sure I have ever used a horn without anger involved. Sure, maybe as a kid I used it to say hello to someone, but I wasn't actually driving in 
traffic, so that doesn't really count. So, when the Jamaicans come to a corner that they can't see around, they give a little honk, nice. The good thing is, even if someone forgets to honk, you are only going 15mph because the roads have potholes the size of Volkswagen's. I use a Volkswagen as a size reference in a lot of things, you'll see it later when I talk about the cockroaches, no shit, I was afraid to fall asleep. Anyway, getting back to Ridge and the fun day, the community was using this day as a fund raiser for their community center that they are working on. It was held on the Monday we were there, and consisted of a bounce house for the kids (they call it a bounceabout), a bar, a dominos tournament, a cricket match, food (always my favorite), and a dance (always my least favorite). I went down to the cricket field which was interesting in itself. There are trees on the field. That seemed odd to me. I've been to a couple of Major League Baseball games and have yet to see a tree on the field. I've even seen a cricket match on TV, and, no tree
s. Not to mention that these are mango trees, so there is fruit on the ground. I just don't think the players, of any sport in the US, would tolerate food on the field. I see a Three Stodges skit with guys slipping on rotten mangos when I think about it. So I'm sitting on the ground watching this match, which I can't really follow even after Michelle and her friend Sharani taught me some. I've got the basics, but there were some things that confused me. Like when the pitcher, or bowler, threw the ball at the guy with the "bat" and actually hit him. Now if someone hit me I would complain, as would my team mates, but the team in the field complained when the batter got hit not the guy that just got plunked. I finally found out that the team in the field was complaining because they thought the batter was blocking the "plate" so as to not get his wickets hit (you're just going to have to trust me, it makes sense)(Oh, and wickets are not his balls, just to be clear). As I'm watching, I get a wiff of the old skunk weed, mary jane, you know WEED. Every concert I went to for the hairbands of the 80's, I ended up next to Joe Marijuana and his entire wasted family and it appears this is no different. I had always heard about Jamaica and its weed, but man oh man is it weird to see that many people doing it in the open. I'm watching the match and having my ankles treated like a chew toy for the ants, when it thundered so loud I nearly crapped myself. I guess I've never been in the mountains during a thunder storm, but since you are either closer to the clouds or in some cases in the clouds, it would stand to reason that it might be a tad bit louder. It rained a little bit but since most of the Jamaicans weren't in any hurry to get out of the weather, I just sat there and kept watching. The rain and or storms come out of know where, in fact, it rained several times with the sun shinning and not a cloud in the sky. It must suck to be a Jamaican weatherman, how do you predict rain when it isn't even cloudy? I enjoyed some fried chicken, ric
e and peas (peas are actually pinto beans, or at least that is what they looked like. (See picture at right and I have no idea why that one is so small), and some sort of
slaw that Marcy, Michelle and I actually made. The food was good, but I was interested in the other options of the day. They had curried goat, goat soup and fish, you know, the kind where they leave the head on and cook the whole thing. The problem I have with that, is I don't like my food looking at me. I'm all ready doing the most disrespectful thing, stabbing it and eating it, I don't need the guilt on top of it. You wouldn't eat a cow while it was looking at you, would you. Sorry Marcy, the visual probably has her gaging. The DJ showed up and set up these massive towers of speakers, which were of course pointed right at the windows o
f the house we were staying in. I asked Michelle how long these parties go and she said 3 or 4 in the morning, I was hoping it just wouldn't be Yanni music or some sort of country Reggae. It turns out, some of the music is American songs that they just kind of Reggae up, not bad. The only problem is, they never finish a song. The DJ always stops the song right when I'm getting into it. Have you ever been singing as loud as you can and either you go under a bridge or some how the music just cuts out, and there you are yelling a song with no real musical talent? That's me, only Reggaed up. The American songs were all love songs, so I wasn't able to sing many, but I knew what they were. Every now and then, an old Motown song would come on and I would think I was Smokey Robinson, but when the DJ changed the song in the middle, I was brought back to my William Hung self. (I hope that wasn't too obscure of a reference) The party went on into the night. I went by the dance after dark and everyone was standing around the outside of the dance like an 8th grade dance at school, only the boys and girls were mixed. The only people on the dance dirt (I said it was outside didn't I?) were two very wasted gentleman who were still partaking of the material that had wasted them. It seemed the whole day was a success and I was happy to witness and even help a little. We retired to the house to, well not sleep, not with three speaker towers pointed at my bedroom window, but at least a relaxing Reggae evening. So I'm laying in bed reading my book, which is "Can I keep my jersey" by Paul Shirley, an ex Iowa State basketball player (Hilarious!) when I hear "POP POP." Now I'm no expert, but that sounded like gunshots right outside my window, and it ain't hunting season. Well, I tried to seem brave as I scrambled to the other room to see if my thought was correct, which it was. Now I'm in a foreign country, probably the only white guy within a 100 miles and I hear gun shots outside my window, a tad unsettling to say the least. Like I said, the community had been nothing but kind and accepting to us, but once you get a few beers in even the Dahli-lama, all hell can break loose. Nobody seem to concerned about the shots and Sh
arani (this is her in the green tank top, she is awesome) came in and told us all was fine. I heard two stories regarding the reason for the shots, one which I think is true and one I think was to calm the white people. The first explanation was that the DJ had said something positive about one of the political parties, then, he said something positive about the other party. Problem was, Wyatt Earp didn't hear the second statement and thought his party had been dissed, so he let a few fly in the air. After witnessing and hearing about the political violence that occurs, this sounded reasonable. A woman would be shot just a few days later in the town of Junction, which is where we bought groceries and were there the same day as the shooting. The second reason we heard the next day was that people always shoot guns at parties in Jamaica. Well don't take me to any more parties where gun play is not only normal, but expected. Those bullets have to come down, you know. Well everything was fine and once I changed my pants and wiped the tears from my eyes, I went back to reading my book. I'm just glad someone didn't close a car door or something like that the rest of the night or I probably would have had to change the sheets and would have spent the rest of the night on the floor with the lizards and cock roaches. (Don't get me wrong, the house isn't dirty and the roaches are few, two in fact, but I swear they were 3 inches long and that is big enough that it should be mentioned) Well that is about the extent of the fun day. In all, I was extremely glad I was able to see the community of Ridge come out and have a good time. The laughter at the cricket match was awesome, except I couldn't understand what they were laughing about because they speak Patois (because I looked it up), now that I think about it, there did seem to be a lot of "whitey" in their conversations (joke). There were several occasions where people we drove past could be heard saying "white people." (that is no joke) Here is a picture of some of the kids we met at fun day. The girls are Celina and Rav, sisters. I'm not sure who the boy was, Michelle, is it CJ?
No comments:
Post a Comment