Yesterday, I was walking along Hope Road on my way up to a friend’s place. As I walked along the busy stretch, I realized something was off. Traffic was at a standstill, and everyone seemed to be staring at the intersection. People from the neighbouring Devon House (a popular park/entertainment area) were all crowding up against the gate to watch whatever was unfolding. 

It took me a few moments to figure out that two groups of youths seemed to be fighting. They were yelling at one another. Everyone else was encouraging them. Then the rock-throwing and running around started. And these were not little stones, these were substantial chunks of concrete. Bystanders started to run away and approaching cars started to take u-turns to avoid the area.

At that moment, something a Jamaican fried told me some months ago popped into my head: “If you see a group of Jamaicans running, you should run with them.” In other words, don’t go towards the area where the conflict was taking place. So of course, I do the opposite for a few steps. I wanted to know what was going on, but then the advice from my friend kicked in, countering my reporter’s instinct to go towards the excitement. 

I started to run/walk away from the fight, which now consisted of screaming and very fast running and more rock throwing. And then it started to move in my direction. People in the surrounding area were still running away, cars were still pulling u-turns, and the youth from Devon House were still watching everything go down. The police finally arrived and it appeared that they located one party, who had disappeared off on a side street. 

I was finally able to catch a route taxi, at which point the driver asked me if I was Australian. I had to laugh. I’ve said here before that people will call out to you what nationality they think you are. I have gotten British, American and lately German (never Canadian). This was the second time I’ve gotten Australian. I told him I was born there and he said I just have that look about me. I guess he has a lot of experience with Australian people. Then, as I walked to my friend’s house, a little white Jack Russell tried to bite my ankle. Thankfully, I made it in one piece.

Travelling on the road in Jamaica is never boring.