a Stage - Page 2
and every man and woman a player upon it
story- we've
all got them!
by Yard Gal
I married in 2001. I married after much persuasion because I really loved the man and believed he loved me too. He'd done really well in the year before (or so I thought then) and also believed he wanted to change his life for a 'more decent one" as he put it. I invested in the house he had just built and we set up in business together in Negril. It turned out to be my worst nightmare. Three months later he went off with a rich foreign woman who came into our business one night and fell in lust with my husband. She was old enough to be his mother and then some. She was really friendly to me but afterwards I was told she was really coming on to him behind my back and bragging about all the money she to build a house in Jamaica.
My husband left me alone to run the business from that night and then our relationship seem to be one argument after another. I didn't know why at first until I discovered she had rented a hotel room for them that night and another time rented an apartment. It was so hurtful and embarrassing. But he came back time after time spending most nights with me even when she was there. He said it was just about money and he wanted to do things for us....sweet talk I believed for a time because I wanted to. He can be so sweet and persausive when he wants to.
Then I realised there was beginning to be a pattern. Every time she was about due to come back, and that was often, he got aggressive and violent accusing ME of sleeping with other men, calling me a whore and throwing me physically out of our home on a number of occasions. He made me so unhappy I lost weight and looked awful. I tried to get him out of my life but he just made too much fuss at the business place and everywhere if I refused to see him.
This woman sent him a lot of money, bought him an expensive truck, gold jewelry, clothes, fancy hire cars, and hotel rooms. She wrote to him letting him know what goodies she was bringing. One time he hadn't answered her for three months and she said she was still coming and did not care he was married. He had obviously told her some terrible lies about me. "My wife doesn't understand me" stuff like married men in any culture I expect.
Finally she moved to Jamaica to build the house of his dreams. Not satisfied with stealing my husband she paid a truck driver to take our house away while I was at work. I was devasted at this, how two people could be so cruel I can not comprehend. He also destroyed everything we had ever planted, chopping down whatever he couldn't uproot down to our ackee tree, which had borne it's first fruit this year. Things were generally a real nightmare but I tried to stand up for myself as much as possible. It didn't help as I just kept getting hurt and he got more and more abusive.
The other woman is at present wrestling with the fact that he has had another woman on her land while she was away. These two people deserve each other. I hope no other woman has ever to go through what I have. And I am surviving downsizing my business to make it easier to manage. I refuse to let these two cruel people drive me out of Jamaica. Sisters, watch out for men in Negril who approach you. They are truly clever. They won't ask you for money for a while until they know they have you hooked on their "love." They'll feed and water you (paid for by another woman via Western Union), take you to meet family, and give you hard luck stories because they are setting you up for bigger things. They'll eventually want a trip to foreign, to build a house, invest in a business. There are many stories here all the same but with different players! Ask yourself would you buy a car, house after two weeks for a man at home outside Jamaica. NO would be the answer so WHY do women do it in Jamaica so often. Because Jamaican hustlers are Sooo good at what they do. As women we are all the same and we need to acknowledge that and stop doing each other down.
As women and sisters we have to go public and we have to be strong to stop this abuse which for many women here is to undergo serious violence, theft, fraud and very little support from Police (often paid off). I would personally like to see us do something positive for the women abused. Often court is the final answer but by then these men have had your cash and you can't afford a lawyer. In my case my husband has the best paid for by his latest rich woman. She will pay for him to defend against a protection order for me and my right to regain my marital home I funded and she paid to take away for them. We need a fund to help foreign women abused in Jamaica. In my case all contributions to pay a lawyer gratefully accepted sistren. Please contact Marble via email if you are interested.
I think we analyse the situations that we find ourselves and unfortunately that is often why we get "duped." We try and understand the cultural differences and make changes in our behaviour to acommodate them. Mostly we do the acommodating because we are in their country and are aware the rules are different. We understand the poverty and the reasons these guys do what they do for a living. In my case I believed this man really wanted to stay off the beach and he did for a while. We worked hard to complete our home, set up a business and spent most 24/7's together. He asked me to marry him months after we were together and I finally agreed after we had been together a year. I DID have my doubts but he was persistent and I thought by making the commitment to him he would feel more secure about us. I was so hooked I actually believed that I would live forever in the hills and we would find a way of being together "till death" as he told me on out wedding night. There are moments during this nightmare when I have wondered whether "till death" may mean being killed by his machete.
When this woman of wealth appeared with all her cash three months after the marriage it was slow season, we couldn't pay our rent and we were broke. I was dumped, broke, while he sported huge wads of cash on the beach, bought drinks for all and later rode around in the expensive hire cars and then a fancy truck she bought him, wearing huge gold chains and new clothes. He lost the respect of the decent people in the community. His marriage which he had seemed so proud of mashed up, he lost his interest in the business and a lot of people began to dislike him. He had had what many men here dream of, an attractive hard working, loving foreign wife, a good homemaker and great business woman. JThe woman knew we were married, but wanted him. I warned her he was after her money on a number of occasions but she did not listen. He told her I was a terrorist and a bully, I had stolen his business from him, I abused him (classic "my wife doesn't understand me stuff in any country).
People did warn me too and I didn't listen, but people warn you all the time in Jamaica. The trouble is they don't really inform you, just hint and you find out the reality for yourself. You see what you want to see and hear what you want to hear. These men are proffesionals. They work the beach like sharks choosing their victims carefully and they always have money in the beginning. If he had been a 'broke pocket' dread I would not have looked twice. He had the beginnings of a home and had a small business (so he said). He had been to 'foreign' numerous times and wanted now to stay in Jamaica. I thought he was different. But at the same time I knew at first he was on the hustle and watched him carefully. I could not fault the way he cared for me and I believed we both fell in love working together on the land. Too many romance books maybe.
I did not see the truth about him until we worked in the business together and now realise with much embarassment he was finding his 'victims' at our business place ripe for the pickings. And yes I did let myself be a victim from the incident, I stupidly believed his lies because I truly loved him and I wanted to. I knew the reality but still took him back time and time again, believing he needed me, even feeling SORRY for him at times. I still find it hard to believe he can consciously be so bad. He does not see his behaviour as bad because it is always someone else's fault. He sees himself as the victim!
It is the fact that as women we are caring human beings that often makes us victims, seeing the good in people and trying to focus on that is a strength to us. Unfortunately those positive attributes are seen as a weakness, and we are perceived as soft or stupid so its OK to abuse us. And as in any situation women can sometimes be the first to stand in judgement. We are all different and deal with life in different ways. We all have different values often put on by the societies in which we grew. Life in Jamaica makes you question yourself and those values, whether we should stand by our learned principals? They can seem so irrelevant and even barriers in the situations we find ourselves in here.
Many of these men are just regular guys working the beach and are my friends and I feel for their struggle. There are few choices here for them and they can see no future without the foreign woman of their dreams to help them. Many leave Jamaica and live good lives, many don't. I don't try to judge people but I do object to the professional con men who con, abuse and cause a lot of pain in the name of pure greed. They add as many women as they can to their Western Union payments collections list (many of them kind women who can ill afford to send money), physically & mentally abusing women for ther own enjoyment and conning tickets to foreign only to skip out on their benefactor leaving them embarrassed and hurt in front of friends and family. Undoubtedly some of these men do a good service for tourism. Tourists see the island and grow to love it in a way they may never have before and come back time and time again. The "companionship" for money trade goes on in most vacation resorts across the world, its what some men an women come for, Jamaica is after all that type of place. With the decline of tourism everyone here is hungry, and becoming more desperate and there will be more and more guys and girls working the beach. It is the only way out for many, to a future like they see the people they are hustling already have. You can't blame them for wanting a piece of the pie can you?
Yesterday I attended the Family Court, where women and men go to sort out their difficulties such as domestic violence, children & property matters. There is no charge for the service for either Jamaicans or foreigners. The outcome was that he was ordered in the next week to partition our house and deliver half of it to me, including all the wood for kitchen and decks they stripped out of it, electrical fittings, water tank and piping. He was also ordered not to be physically or verbally abusive to me (a Protection Order). A satisfactory result for me, even too that the judge took my rights as a foreign woman seriously and never indicated for one minute she thought I should "go home" which is often the police response when we have difficulties.
So women in Jamaica.....STAND UP....we DO have rights so use them positively. I have a story as do many, but I would like to think my stand will help us in the future and I can pass on my learning. Don't leave yourself vulnerable; there are systems here so lets use them to work for us and protect us sistren. I would also like to hear from other women who can share positive experiences and would love to do something to promote women, both Jamaican and foreign, doing business in Negril.
This "companionship trade" and the conning will always go on as long as they are successful. These guys do not represent the majority of Jamaicans. I have been around Jamaica on and off for fifteen years and until settling over two years ago here and had not really witnessed this beach trade phenonemon. Most of the guys here will tell you what they think you want to hear in the hope that their support means that they use you. The learning here is more and more that a 'white woman' is your key
to the future, whether it be building your home or taking you away to foreign. The poverty here will always breed those dreams. Many have no other hope. To us it is a sunshine paradise but to many Jamaicans it is a hot, mosquito-ridden land where they are often hungry and have nothing else to dream about. Sad, but unfortunately true for most more and more as tourists flock to either the all inclusive hotels or other cheaper 'safer' countries.
Early this morning I sat on my bicycle waiting for my house to come back to Negril. The sun had just risen and the sunrise had been magnificent, blessing the day and the return of my home. Over two months ago my husband and his rich girlfriend had loaded it on a truck while I was at work and taken it to their land. Last week the judge in the Family Court had ordered that he cut it in half and carry one room back to me.
The morning was quietly beautiful and people were just beginning to move out onto the street to get taxi to go to work. I rode up to the bend by the Plaza and suddenly there it was. My pretty half a house loaded onto the smallest truck, which looked neither big enough or strong enough to hold it. A man was in front with a big stick pushing up the current wire to let it pass. The roof was adorned with pieces of tree that the house had licked off on its slow journey. It had left the land at midnight, and it was now 7. I felt a sense of excitement and satisfaction to see at least part of the house I loved coming back along the road. It had been my home for 18 months, set high on a hill with a stunning view of the sea. My husband and I had watched so many sunrises, sunsets and moonrise from this house. I used to feel that we could touch the stars some nights they seemed so close and thought I would live there forever.
Although I felt proud that I had stood up for my rights my sisters I also felt a sense of loss too. The house on its hill had seen such happy times in our relationship with friends, neighbours and guests around the yard. I wondered too if the rich witch had any idea what had really gone on in and around that house. Did she really understand what she had destroyed with her greedy need for my husband and how much she had hurt me. I was almost certain, despite her devote "Christian" ethics, that she did not care. We had lived with almost nothing at times, but she could buy anything, as she proved so well when she bought my husband.
The truck with its prize wended its way shakily up the road, the driver skillfully dodging the many potholes and trees. Part of the zinc roof was flapping about as the truck shook the house from side to side. The truck turned up the road to carry the house to where the day before I had leased a piece of land. It was not a quiet manouver with the truck men shouting stop and go as they let the house go under the many current lines that stretched across the road. People came out in interest to see "what a gwan," as they always do in Jamaica, and smiled as they watched the truck amble by with its heavy load. Neighbours who knew me smiled knowing smiles pleased to see my home retuning home for me again. At last we reached the land and the truck driver carefully backed the truck to the place where the house was to spend the next part of its life. It looked battered and worn from when I had last seen it at our land. My husband appeared in a taxi to say "see your house there" and left as fast as he'd arrived. I did not let this spoil my vibe but joined the truck men to find some rocks to set the house upon. They then sent me for white rum, Red Stripe & a camera.
On my return the house was ready to come off the truck. They blessed the land with the rum and we chased what was left with Red Stripe and Craven A. "To Yard Gal's house" they said. One man turned and said to me "you know Y.G., we have a saying in Jamaica that says "sometimes a man nah know what him tail is for until him lose it." We laughed and they began to tip up the truck and let the house slide off to the ground in between two ackee trees. Final photos were taken of us all together and they left wishing me good luck.
I went inside the house, now an empty shell of what had been such a happy comfortable home. My husband had sent me the bedroom part, which was now stripped of glass windows, current wire, bed, curtains, bed sheets, rugs, shelves, pictures and all the familiar things we had set up our home with. But no matter `tink bout dat'' I had the makings of a new home, MY home on MY land and mi nah going to let no man tell me what to do again Rasta … trust me!
"Our purpose in life is to leave a legacy for our children and their children's children. For this reason we must correct history that at present denies our humanity and self respect." Queen Mother Moore, World Federation of African Peoples
NOTE: The Family Court in Jamaica is here to counsel us, make decisions and help us establish and get our rights. It serves both men and women, black or white, Jamaican or foreigner. As a foreign woman I was treated as fairly and equally as I can imagine any Jamaican is treated. As foreigners we do have many rights to protect us and our investments in Jamaica, please remember that and use them.
by Those Who Were There
I am looking for some history on Negril. Can anyone tell me about when the people of the late 60's to 70's were in Negril? I have heard some people say it was in a way like the movie The Beach. Is this true? All during my youth my Mom would go away on month-long trips to the Islands returning with great stories and music. So come on, share what you know. I would like to piece it together.
L:
I was 17, in 1969, when the world's hippest chick and myself went to Jamaica for what we thought would be the rest of our lives. We were dead anyway if her father caught us. My friend had just returned and kept telling us about Negril, the drinks, the diving, dancing and music, ganja.
I don't know what it was but with less than $2000 U.S. we were off. The money used was the English pound and I soon had an English Ford Cortina, and a money-changing hustle that I didn't quite understand but learned how to master. That is, until the police with Uzi's suggested I find a new line of work! She had a touch of jewelry-designing talent so we were never going to starve. Not that I have ever seen a hungry Jamaican.
We stayed on the cliffs, at Sammy Jackson's, no electricity, of course except to the Yacht Club. Which was not for me, I was a Wharf Club man. How many remember the Wharf Club? The road did not go all the way around the island then, as back then there was a time of social change or revolution, or whatever, and tourists were not allowed into the mountains, which made us want to go there more.
The people were the best, just the proudest nation, wanting a better way of life, and a ticket to the U.S.
Sis I:
I was there in the mid-seventies. I guess I was a hippie, I certainly lived the life and looked the part, but I never categorized myself. I would not really think of it as a movie, as much as a quiet fishing village where there were few hotels. Most of us stayed in local yards, like Miss Gloria's, along the beach or cliffs. T Water was there then. Most of us who went were willing to live without hot water, air conditioning, sometimes electricity, and the bathrooms were often shared. At that time the places I stayed had an inside toilet shared by the guests and an outside shower with hibiscus growing around it for visual protection. Many of the local people had built nice little one room cottages in their yards along the beach and when you rented you got a room with one or two single beds, sheets, and a candle.
You could often buy cooked meals in the yard from one of the family members or along the beach, women would walk up and down with fruits, patties, and hot bread. At that time, the beach was very desolate compared to nowadays, except for the fishermen (I later married a local fisherman) and some Rastas cooking Ital stew along the beach.
The vegetation grew much closer to the water then. My girlfriend and I would walk for miles up the beach whre it was deserted and lie out all day, eating fresh oranges and hot bread that came by as the day went on. It was quiet and peaceful, you would rarely hear a motorboat, no parasailing, or banana boats. Your entertainment was mostly what you created for yourself. I remember being just overjoyed the first time I rented a plastic float from my friends for $1 a day.
At night, families, sometimes several generations, would sit in the yards and talk and watch the children play. Often there would be a radio with music and a fire in the yard.
Hippies and Rastas had a lot in common. Vegetarianism, living close to nature, anti-government sentiments, etc. The movement was similar except the Rastafarian foundation goes back to liberation from white oppressors. Early reggae music reflected this sentiment. It was a beautiful time to be in Negril. No one thought or worried about hair dryers, pizzas, hamburgers, etc.
Miss E
All the places were something like $2-$3 per night and most of them were private original Negril people's homes. Most people would go and stay for at least six weeks, a lot staying six months. Some people would just hitchike to Miami and get cheap planes out of there. I think in those times student airfare was half price.
Hardly any cars would come through- even Norman Manley Boulevard. There was electricity on the beach but it ended where the Yacht Club is. Almost all people had no refrigerators but there was a huge truck filled with gigantic blocks of ice (you would use an ice pick to break it up). With no electricity we used Home Sweet Home Oil lanterns for light. When there was no moon Negril was pitch black at night!
Negril was a fishing village, with lots and lots of fishermen in hand-hollowed out dugout canoes all up and down the beach. The West End was COUNTRY, almost no cars would ever go there. Taxi cabs were non-existent but a car would automatically most of the time pick you up for free, though there was not too much traffic.
Coolman:
Speaking of Ice Trucks...
In my first trip to Negril I and 6 other fellow travelers were kicked back, relaxing on the screened-in porch of this private guesthouse we had rented rooms in. We were just chilling out on that GREAT front porch, just people watching, when an ice truck turned down the little dirt road that ran alongside the guesthouse.
The ice truck was a military troop transport truck that I figure the military sold off once they bought new ones. It had the canvas pulled over the back, along the top, so you really couldn't see what was in the back of the truck as it drove toward us.
Now remember, this was our first trip to Negril so we were connecting the dots as we went along, talk about...GREEN! geeez!
The instant we all saw that military troop transport truck we all got the same exact idea in our heads and that was, "WE'RE ALL GOING TO FRIGGIN DIE!!"
LAUGH LAUGH LAUGH OUT LOUD...it's easy to laugh now. For a second there we all just KNEW that troops were going to jump outta the back of that truck and start spraying us with Uzi's! You should have seen the goofy look on all of our faces when the guys that did jump off the truck were carrying huge blocks if ice in these big tongs to the bar behind the guesthouse!
Of course we all had a good laugh about the whole thing...afterwards...while all of our heartrates slowly came out of the triple digits and we went inside to change our shorts! Grin...
