This is what a colleague asked me yesterday as we returned from a session training new mentors. This session was held at a theological college up in the mountains. As we sat in the classroom, we could hear the sound of ripe mangoes thumping on the ceiling as they fell from the trees and the rustling of palm trees in the breeze. It was work-related activity on a Saturday, but it was a pleasure to hear my boss talk to a group of 12 young aspiring mentors about the responsibility they had to their future mentees and no less than the nation of Jamaica.

One of the planks driving the efforts of Youth Opportunities Unlimited is nation-building. It is a bid to restore the Christian values, traditions and beliefs of Jamaica and to get its people as a whole back on the right track and away from the violence and immoral behaviour plaguing some of its communities. It is inspiring to hear individuals so driven by their beliefs and values call on others to stand up and take a leadership role. As my boss spoke to these young people, she demanded no less of them than to examine their own lives, as becoming a mentor means you can no longer make excuses for your own questionable behaviour. You can no longer dress a certain way because everyone else is or blame the bus for making you late for work. If you are coaching young people, you must have integrity and act as a role model.

But back to my colleague’s question. Instead of sharing with you with the values and beliefs driving my own journey as a volunteer, I thought it apt to focus on the work of some of my fellow Cuso volunteers. When you ask most of us why we are here, we give roughly the same answer, which is usually based on the simple desire to help. We work for several different NGOs, including the Victims Support Unit.

Several weeks ago, we visited this amazing agency. Here’s a bit about what they do: Under a mandate from the Minister of Justice, the VSU “provides therapeutic intervention to victims of crime, in order to assist the Ministry to balance justice for all.” It is the only one of its kind in the English-speaking Caribbean. Needless to say, these people do important work with scant resources. Indeed, their office is tiny. It was busy when we were there with people who had been victimized by crime seeking counselling and whatnot. Violence and crime are major problems here. In particular, the nation’s attention has fallen lately on the plague of childhood abuse thanks to a series of newspaper articles. There is a growing awareness of this problem, and as a result, an explosion in children needing advocacy and counselling as they make their way through the system. The VSU provides this service as best they can given the demand. The VSU is also involved in drafting a Victims’ Charter, which will spell out the rights of the victim. There are few things more important, I think, in protecting the rights of people who have been victimized. And in Jamaica, this work is being done by a small group of people doing the work that really needs to be spread out over a much larger group. 

My heart just broke a little, in a good way. It was a normal Friday morning and I was working, listening to some music while doing some research. My colleague asked me to come into her office for a meeting with a well-dressed young man. He wore a bright-coloured shirt and a tie, both adorned with pins of the Jamaican flag, and black pants. He was slight and carried a plastic accordion file folder. He explained that he was a writer, unemployed for now after working awhile in the service industry. He had no formal education but managed to teach himself a second language in his spare time in addition to writing prolifically. He was looking for work, walked by and saw the sign for Youth Opportunities Unlimited and was wondering if there were any for him. He told us his father left him when he was young and he grew up in Kingston’s inner-city.

He then pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed me several pages. I read and my heart started breaking. His poetry was innovative, aching, beautiful, unique and so honest. I told him so and told him that I know well how hard it is to show your writing, basically your soul, to another human being. He said it was the first time he had done so, with me and my colleague.

We are hopeful he will be in touch with us again, as there are indeed opportunities here for him. I say my heart broke for many reasons- his sheer courage, his honesty, his determination and the beauty of his soul. In his pitch to us of what he has to offer, he said that he grew up in the inner-city, where things often appear hopeless, but that he knows that there is still, and always will be, hope. He later came back to give me some hard copies of his poetry. I wondered why he didn’t just email them to me and it occurred to me that he likely does not have regular access to a computer. I can’t stop thinking about him.

Last evening, a bunch of us volunteers, and a few thousand other people, ventured down to Emancipation Park to watch the world premiere of the newest documentary on Bob Marley’s life called Marley. We arrived around seven, while guests were still arriving on the red carpet (actually, I think it was a red, green and gold carpet.) But before we entered the park, we pushed our way through throngs of vendors selling everything from unofficial Marley gear to peanuts to popcorn to Red Stripe. The park was quite packed with more Rastas than I’ve ever seen in one place. The red carpet arrivals were mostly unknown to me, except for members of the Marley family, most notably Mrs. Rita Marley. She arrived in an ornate outfit and huge black sunglasses accompanied by Rastafari soldiers. We saw Ziggy Marley and several of the other children.

The mood in the park was calm but celebratory – almost rapturous, especially every time someone mentioned the Marley name, JAH or Rastafari. After whjat seemed like close to 100 speeches (by politicians, musicians, DJs, Marley family members), the film started, met by cheers. These cheers, as well as editorial comments, waving of various objects, boos and some extensive commentaries, continued throughout the film. The audience dispersed a little halfway through when it started to drizzle a little bit (some people fled as though a blizzard had descended). Perhaps the loudest cheer erupted when Bob Marley talked about not wanting a life lived solely for his own gain, rather, he wanted to live for the people.

Going by the documentary, which was excellent, even at over 2.5 hours, Marley was a highly driven, talented man who was compelled to create music. Like all of us, however, he was flawed. Apparently, this documentary was met with some criticism from some camps, claiming that it included some tarnishing details. That it did, mostly surrounding his infidelity and selfishness (he had 11 children with 7 different mothers). But even this subject was handled with fairness and objectivity. The filmmaker clearly loved his subject and has created a well-rounded movie that addressed all aspects of this artist’s life, like his heritage, family life, how he created music, his love of Jamaica, his Rastafari religion and his humanness.

The most poignant moment came when one of his daughters, Cedella, discussed seeing her father on his deathbed as he fought cancer. I paraphrase, but she said something like: “You know when you just want them all to yourself?” The park, filled with thousands of people, was almost silent. Marley died of cancer in 1981. He likely could have lived longer had he visited doctors more regularly. The last pictures of him show an extremely thin man shorn of his beloved dread locks, unable to sing, perform or play his beloved football. It was a long move, a late night, but well worth it.