Perceptions

You can’t read a book by its cover

Beautiful settings

Returning home from Montego Bay I had the opportunity to connect with my friend from Sweden.

Her life partner is a Jamaican trumpet player.

He plays a gig at a great all-inclusive resort called Charella.

We’ve never been there.

We like the gritty Reggae shows that often play at the less expensive resort Roots Bamboo.

Both venues have a stage on the famous Seven Mile Beach that the picture perfect white sand has drawn tourists to for more than thirty years.

Negril is a magical place.

Marshall drops me off so he can visit other friends we have in the city. Besides, he wants to smoke a spliff.

It’s been a long driving stressful MoBay run.

A new venue

My friend, Eva, meets me at the hotel’s front door carefully guiding me over the uneven stone path.

Once through the interior courtyard the building opens to a luxurious spot to drink and dine in front of the stage.

A cool evening, people are coming from the seaside in cover-ups. Men in short pants and marinas (as Marshall calls them).

Some men are smoking on the beach side of the stage.

Tourists enjoy themselves over food and drink seated directly in front of the stage.

The vibe is great. Things appear comfortably casual.

I am instantly reminded of Blues bars in Kansas City. Piano bars where an alto female belts out old time relaxing soulful song.

Warming up the band plays a few numbers. A bluesy, jazz music with the tell-tale Reggae beat peppering the sound.

The sound system is not too loud. My friend and I can visit without shouting at each other.

Frustrated with the service my friend calls over a supervisor to get us drinks.

Eva knows everyone here.

The supervisor’s is pleasant slowly bringing us two drinks and a cheesecake for Eva’s son.

Happy campers we chat on.

Suddenly, a Jamaican woman appears. Greeted at the stage by the resort’s owner, the band takes up an old Blues tune. The woman begins to sing. She has a rich, deep, soulful, voice.

Phone Call

I comment to Eva, “Marshall would love this!”

Immediately, Eva takes up her phone handing it to me as Marshall answers.

“Darling you have to come. Listen to this music!” I hold the phone up for him to hear.

I beg, “Please join us! You’ll love this! You can smoke your spliff on the beachside. You can’t smoke on the patio.”

He interrupts, “Guess who is here?”

His best friend, Carl.

A Jamaican born New Yorker, he is here with his wife and her friend for a funeral. They’re trying to rent a room at Roots where Marshall went to visit our other friends. It’s a confusing phone call as we know Carl just landed in Kingston. We did not expect to link up. The connection’s not great the call ends abruptly.

Eva and I continue our visit complaining about all that infuriates us about Jamaican norms compared to Swedish and American. Our visits are always cleansing. It’s not easy being a white woman in Jamaica. We are held to different standards when it comes to many things.

Even Marshall married to white woman encounters different pay scales. Since he’s married to a white woman, he must have money. It’s a double-edged sword we walk here.

We’re talking about Marshall when who appears?

Carl followed by Marshall.

A quick hug and introduction to Eva and her son. Carl is off quick as his wife and her friend are waiting in the air conditioned car in the parking lot.

Marshall meanders out on the beach to enjoy his spliff to the sound of the waves accompanied by great tunes.

He loves the place. He casually wanders back to us.

The supervisor returns. Marshall orders a short neck Heineken.

Oddly, her demeanor is 180º different.

Marshall, registering her disdain asks her what the problem is? He just wants to share a drink with his wife and her friend. The disgruntled supervisor exits quickly and brings him a tall neck Heineken.

Dissappointed he wanders back to the sea.

I comment to Eva how odd this was. Agreeing she sees the owner and complains.

She returns to table reporting the problem.

Marshall’s ganzi violates the dress code for non resident guests. A ganzi is the Jamaican word for what I recall Americans calling a wife beater T shirt. To comply with code here you need to wear a marina, called a short sleeved T shirt in America.

Who knew?

My Jamaican gangster

The reason revealed set about a deep reflection for me.

As Eva and I discussed the issue. Eva said, “You know Diana, when Marshall wears a scarf on his head, tied back, under his hats, he looks like a Jamaican gangster.

This is how he dresses every day.

I recall another American friend exclaiming when he saw Marshall’s photograph, “You’ve married a Jamaican gangster!”

I have honestly never thought about him that way.

I know he grew up in Spanish Town.

The original capital city before Kingston. Reggae artists like Chronixx have made the town famous in songs like Spanish Town Rockin’.

The song eschews guns in its’ lyrics.

I know it is a city well known for gang life shootouts or slap downs as some Jamaicans refer to murders.

Marshall purposely moved to another safer city when he was about 17. He had been on his own learning multiple work skills until he met me when he was 42.

We have changed his life exponentially.

I chose to marry a poor, honest, kind man who adores me. I have never thought about him as not my equal. He has street wisdom I will never understand. All my degrees and travels cannot rival the depth of his understanding of his culture.

A handshake and apology

Marshall returned to the table.

I explained we had violated the dress code unknowingly.

He graciously said his goodbyes to my friend leaving for the parking lot.

On his way out he ran into the owner. Issuing a sincere apology and a firm handshake he told the owner we will return better dressed.

The owner graciously accepted Marshall’s apology telling him he had a marina for him if he chose to stay.

I’ll wait for my wife in the car thank you. We love your music here. We’ll be back. So sorry boss. We didn’t know.

An unavoidable error

Considering the events it seems an unavoidable error.

Even my friend who is there every night didn't know about the dress code.

Jamaican norms often present customs that have origins from the British, the Biblical as well as being poverty driven.

I suppose I’ll add up-scale resort customs now.

You can’t judge a book by its’ cover. I’m keepin’ my good gangster till the end. It must be a message to ensure there’s a marina in the car. Just in case.

Thanks for reading until the end.

Blessings from Jamaica!

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