The time is hot on the West side of the Island. Hot and dry. So dry that the brush and grass looks as though an over-zealous farmer Dramazone’d (a chemical that kills brush) everything in his path- brown and crunchy. A fire caught by the road near my gate and it burned so hot that it took several returns throughout the day and night to put it out.
Now, East of the Blue Mountain Range is a completely different story. Reports from yonder describe musty clothes, floods and frigid nights. Share the wealth people, I’m shriveling up like a raisin over here!
Christmas in Jamaica, within the home, is different depending on your economic status. Some kids get visits from Santa but for others Santa, and the subsequent gift giving, is yet another confusing American tradition that has nothing to do with them. Yet, Santa came to visit the Basic School, with a crew of Sandals Employees, to the tune of “Walkin in a Winter Wonderland”. When you ask a rural child what they want for Christmas, some look at you blankly, some respond that they want some crayons, and still some want a video game (those children may have a parent or other relative living and working in the States). But no matter what, fruit cake with lots of wine baked into it and sorrel juice are prepared as traditional food items.
Christmas in Jamaica, within the community or even country, is largely about looking good and going out to parties. In the 3 weeks leading to Christmas I attended more parties and was out later than I have been collectively since arriving in Jamaica. Girls get their hair done in the traditional 3-4 big braids- some add a bright streak of color to them, women splurge on a weave, get their fingers and toes done and buy new clothes of sheer neon. Men buy new shoes or shirts, get their hair re-done and visit the barber for a shave. Most of the women look so sexy and beautiful it’s impossible for my pale, diminutive shape to not be in awe. Some women go way overboard with towering piles of hair, bright sequined clothes and/or heels that would make the Spice Girls cry, but either way, people-watching during the Christmas season is an awesome activity which I highly recommend. Especially at the “Grand Market” in the Parish Capital, where the road is blocked and hoards of people roam the streets shopping and eating cotton candy and jerk to the tune of whichever sound system is beating the loudest. This evening goes late into the night and it is common to “bleach” or stay out until the sun rises.
I reflected on the reason for the widespread self indulgence on boxing day: if you don’t have money to spend on “tings”, you might as well spend what you do have to make yourself and your family look fabulous. I dig it, and it made me appreciate what I had been seeing that much more.
Anyway, anyone could have told me that Christmas in Jamaica is different than in America and I’d have believed them, but just how different was my prerogative to find out. I did not come across any deep seeded traditions, family or otherwise (that is not to say they do not exist). There were no carolers, garland, mistletoe or over-lit homes, although there are pointsetta plants growing happy and large (pointsetta grown in a pot back home becomes a large, woody bush here.) I did not enjoy an enormous, sit-down meal, nor did the prep for the meal we did have take all day (there was a ham, rice and peas and family, but it was a scattered affair) The lack of familiar tradition, while my family back home was acting out the same wonderful play they do every year, would have been unbearable if I didn’t have my visit home in a week to look forward to. A moment of stress due to other external forces the other day resulted in a few tears and the single complaint of “I’m just so hot… waaaaaah!”, even though the reasons for my unhappiness were much more complicated. Last night, I dreamed of snow.
No doubt those who know me read this and thought to themselves, loud parties? late nights? crowds of people? How very not Adri. Well, I took a pretty observational approach to Christmas this year so while it was entertaining and eye opening and educating, it wasn’t my Christmas so to speak. They say home is where the heart is, and my heart is a bit split these days- but I’ll add a level: Holidays is where the Family is, and it was starkly obvious that mine is currently a thousand miles away. So cheers to batti riders, bright colors, late nights and dancehall christmas songs, but I will forever raise my glass to chestnuts roasting, jack frost nipping and yule tide carols. See you soon family, I love and miss you dearly.
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