April 26-30 Sam Newey and I ventured back to Jamaica. What a trip it was. Being there was both good and bad – good because I was able to renew acquatinces and see the island that I came to love so much as a missionary, but bad because of news of received.
Once CFNA was complete, Sam and I headed off from Miami to Jamaica. We arrived there on Wednesday, April 26, 2006 and arrived at 8:00. Like so many things in JA, getting the car and on our way took longer and was more of a hassle than what you would come to expect in the U.S. However, they have very little of the technology and infrastructure that we so readily take for granted, although the emergence of cellular technology has seemingly improved communications there.
We headed the first day to Ocho Rios to stay at a little hotel on the beach called Rooms on the Beach. Of course, we had to stop and get some Jerk Chicken at a little highway stop, and it was so very good. What a great dish that is. Right off the fire, coupled with a Ting soda, and complimented with a couple slices of Hard-do bread – it is hard to beat.
The next day we headed out to go to Port Antonio – right along the North Coast. Making the way is so time consuming – I totally forgot how hard it can be to drive there. In fact, the whole time we drove I was probably more uptight than I should’ve been. But seeing the country brought back some wonderful memories.
We picked up a couple of guests along the way. A little school girl on her way to school in Highgate and a lady who was doing flag man duty at one of the construction sites. The little girl was so cute – it made me think of how much I loved the children there. IN fact, Sam and I both got a kick every time we drove by a school and saw all of the school pickney outside playing. I asked the girl to teach me some Patios, to which she said she didn’t know any. Know it or not, she was definitely speaking Patios. The woman – Angela was her name – spoke with us about how difficult life is there for Jamaicans. It’s hard for me, or anyone really, to understand the plight of the Jamaican people. It’s a hard life that has very little in terms of consistency. It seems that a large percentage of the population scraps by mostly by the grace of God. How people make ends meet when they don’t have an education or steady employment is very hard to understand. I need to be more grateful than I’ve been because we have it so nice. I never wonder where my next meal will come from, and yet I still complain about my life.
The road to Port Antonio ended in a place called Annotto Bay. After 3 hours of driving, we simply couldn’t see ourselves making it there and back. On one little stretch alone, we got into a jam – I think it was construction related, and just sat there and waited. This happened on our way from Ocho Rios to Linstead as well. There is certainly a “no worries” attitude in the island which is refreshing if not alien to my current life. Everything for me is now, now, now. There, people move at a slower, more relaxed rate that means that we shouldn’t come with preconceived notions of how long something should take, cause it will always take more time than you think.
Sam and I journeyed out into town when we arrived back in Ocho Rios the first day. This time of year seemed very quiet – not many tourists. I was surprised how vulnerable I felt there – so conspicuous. I think that’s how I must’ve felt early in my mission, but soon afterwards really felt like I was Jamaican. Not this time. I think that impacted how I felt about interacting with the people. If I think back, I guess there was always a small sense of distrust in my mind when I was out in the open in Jamaica on my mission. But I had forgotten this, and was just a little surprised that both Sam and I weren’t more brave – or stupid – to wander out into the cities more. Evn places like Linstead, Bog Walk, and Kingston seemed so foreign to me.
The next day we checked out of our hotel and hit the road – this time to Kingston. We went through Bog Walk and Linstead, but they looked so different. I knew I had lived there, but couldn’t remember details. Things came so quickly too – I would recognize bits and pieces, but only on a small scale. I was surprised by this. And disappointed too. When I lived in Jamaica, I tried to take mental snap shots so I would never forget. But forget I have. Still, it was nice to see the Linstead chapel where I was impacted so much. The town seemed so very busy, though it was Friday. The chapel looked thrashed – the one in Kingston did as well. When we lived there they were very well kept – but now seem a shadow of what they were. People occupying their halls makes a difference, but time had aged them, no question.
From Linstead we headed through Spanish Town to Kingston. We were fortunate enough to arrive during a zone conference. It was funny to meet missionies and see them, They looked so young – and I’m sure I looked so old. We spoke to the Mission President, older couples, and many of the missonaries about our friends – the people we taught. WE were even able to locate President Brown, the distraict president. He gave me news that broke me.
I asked him about Deolores and her family. He didn’t really even know who I was talking about until I mentioned Delores hand. Then the bad new. He told me that sweet little Kerry Ann who I loved so much had been murdered 1 ½ years ago by some evil people. I didn’t really even hear any more. My Kerry Ann. Memories flooded my mind of us, as a family, gathered around their small little home in Grants Pen, with nothing more than candles, scriptures, and each other.
I loved Kerry Ann – she really took to the Gospel, and was only matched by Delores in faith. Erica and Marshare were along, but Kerry Ann was young enough, uncorrupted enough, to really believe and follow. The only news that bore me up in the moment was knowing that she died true to the faith. That she had been going to seminary, had graduated, and was beginning institute. That she had stayed true to the faith was the only news of that day that meant anything. I was so proud of her, yet so broken to learn what had happened. Plus, the details of how it had occurred…that kind of heartless, evil should not happen to such a sweet person. Kerry Ann must’ve been 19-20 when she was murdered. I prayed for her that day, and will continue to do so. I will also do her temple word soon, so she can enjoy the blessings that she has earned.
Though she is gone, I still remember her. I see in my mind flouring her on her birthday, and hearing her say “Hi Elder Kennedy”. I hope to never, ever lose those memories.
While in Kingston I had the privledge to see Kava Grant. He’s turned out so well – he’s in the district presidency, and is married. His wife has a baby from a previous engagement. He is a courier in Kingston and rents in Portmore. He looked so good – much like he did when he was younger. I cannt tell you how wonderful it was to see him. It made me feel that maybe, just maybe, my being there helped someone. He seemed to be on the right path. I hope to continue correspondence with him. I will also do his mother’s temple work, somoething I have neglected to do. I’m ashamed by that. He lost half of his foot in an accident, but fortunately he looked like he was managing thorugh.
Jamaicans are interesting. The live with such suffering and hardships. Because they live so close to these, they are not nearly impacted as I might be. It’s almost expected, and as a result, not surprising when it happens. I think this is one of the reasons they stay so close to God, in nothing else, in their hearts. Because they need that hope – cuase it comes from no where else. No one is there for them, no one is there ready to help them if they fall. It’s sad, but maybe that kind of humilty is what I and so many others need. The fall though, is great there. So much hardship and pain. I sort of understand it, but have only ever seen it. I’ve seen how hard some have to work, how difficult lives can be. But I’ve never felt it, and I hope never to.
Kingston is being overrun with gangs. Ruthless gangs who are organized and who fight in ways that exceed the violence I heard about.
We left Kingston and headed to Old Harbour. I only saw the town, and couldn’t find where Valcian, Angela, and Keisha lived. It just didn’t seem familiar to me. But there is a branch in Old Harbour, and I beilieve they told me that Valcian is the relief society president. I’m thrilled by that too, because she has stayed true to the faith in spite of difficulties and problems. I’m happy for her, and wish she would write me.
Sam had a good time in May Pen – I never lived there, but I remember it well. It hadn’t changed much. We stopped and had some Juici Beef patties and coco bread – what is that meat in there? I was a little intimidated running into Juici Beef on my own, but no harm came to me.
We traveled all that day, arriving in Negril at 7:00 PM, just in time to see the sunset. It was beautiful, no question. Our hotel was small, quaint, and it felt very much like a missionary apartment. No TV, hotter, etc. But it was nice in it’s own way because there weren’t all of the distractions.
I loved the beach there…I could just sit, and sit, and sit. The water was the most beautiful color, and the whole environment combined equaled paradise. I did one little excursion – went snorkeling by myself with Captain Mike. The water was so comfortable, and I was able to see many fish, spiky sea creatures, and some jelly fish. I was, of course, a little nervous, but I was so bouytany in the sea that I didn’t even need a jacket to float – one of the nice advanteges of being Mumpy.
Negril was nice – I felt relaxed at the end, and was happy to have seen it finally.
Jamaica is different than I remember it. Like most things, it has changed with time. Some of the changes are probably good – many are not. I was a lot more critical of the people – sad at the choices that they make. I didn’t like having that reaction but I did. I couldn’t help it.
And I’ve changed too. I have a family, a comfortable life, responsibilities. The people I love there are somewhere – I’m not sure exactly what they’re doing now. In some cases they’re gone – Kerry Ann, Cutie, Miss Mary, others?
I’m happy to have gone. I knew that going back would open the door to my mind, make me question the glamorization of the mission. It was hard, things weren’t easy, people were mean, there was hate. But I do know, and still feel, that though the island is hard, the lives difficult, the decisions bad, that Jamaicans are some of the most loving, compassionate, giving, and friendly people there. The one thing I couldn’t do this trip – that I will likely never be able to do again – is build those loving relationships. That ship has sailed. So I must be content with the memories of what was, and the feelings that someday I might be worthy to see those people, enjoy their company again, and renew the relationships. I guess I went back to relive the mission, and ended up seeing an island.
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