After a post like last night’s, I’m sure alot of readers were like, sooooo why, exactly, does this girl stay?
I’ll tell you why: My community.
Today, Good Friday, was a big deal. We had a kite festival during the afternoon, with entertainment during the night. I made it out for the evening portion, emboldened by my recent progress with the girls my age in Coultart (and my host mom’s son was there, so I had a life raft, so to speak). I didn’t see a single one of the girls, just (pretty much) every guy I know in Claremont.
A year ago, this would have been something like the 4th circle of hell. The white girl, not by herself, persay, but close enough to be fair game.
Instead, I found myself completely comfortable moving through the crowd, chatting away with everyone. Any guy who came on a little too hard was immediately- IMMEDIATELY- set straight by my male acquaintances. I talked to some of the older women for a bit, but for the most part, I was able to stand with groups of young men, and just “chat”, as Jamaicans say.
I was also introduced to “wifey’s” , who are SCARY PEOPLE. More on this the next time I post, but let me just tell you this: I have never been “preed” so hard for so long. And still, I’m pretty certain I didn’t pass muster.
Mostly, though, I was able to hang out, which is something that I really miss here. And also, getting to know some of these ‘idlebwoi dem’ as individuals- not just a generic blur of potential harassers, but just guys who offer me gum, or let me try on their sunglasses, or politely ask me if I like dancing, and how I feel about Vybz Kartel. That, to me, is what this whole experience is about.
However, as a purpose-driven, and results-oriented girl, that is also the most challenging aspect, because there is no way to really qualify the relationships I’m building. I need to be able to measure myself against some standard, and as a Peace Corps Volunteer, that is pretty much impossible.
I can’t put: “My host mama and I had a very trying evening that resulted in us both being really upset with each other and the situation, but we hugged it out by 8:30 the next morning.” on my trimester report. I can’t say: “Well, I tried to plan a domestic violence intervention workshop in my community, it fell apart and didn’t happen, but the little girls down the street collected a big bag of john crow beads for me and left it as a surprise on my verandah” when interviewed by potential employers.
Yes, it has been a very difficult year. Just riddled with frustration and what feels like failure. I’m still awaiting some sort of resolution, or gratification, or that a success that I can tangibly hold in my hands, that I can say “I did this and this, and that is what happened, and it was good.”
But as my parents will tell you, I’ve never done things the easy way. And ultimately (now mind, 10 months ago these are the last words I’d expect to be saying), I really love this ridiculous place, probably because it IS so hard to love. What I find really amazing is that every one tells me, “Miss Taylor yuh nuh go back a farin, a yuh home dis.” It’s true, this IS my home for now, and I plan on returning again and again.
Jamaicans also love to tell me “Miss Taylor, yuh nuh easy, enuh!”.
To which I want to say, “No, UNU nuh easy!”
Maybe we’re even?
