As I write this, dozens of Jamaica’s leaders are gathered in a hotel for a planning conference. This is part of an initiative called Vision 2030, check it out here if you are so inclined. In essence, it aims to identify goals and actions that will create a “secure and prosperous future.” The tagline is “Jamaica, the place of choice to work, live, raise families and do business.” From what I have read and observed, and from hearing anecdotally, many Jamaicans left the country over the past few decades, but are returning in waves. Indeed, one of my colleagues returned last year after 14 years away in the States, where he completed his education. It seems to be a creative initiative fueled by lots of enthusiasm and one that seeks to capitalize on the strong entrepreneurial spirit evident among Jamaicans.

Yesterday morning I attended my first meeting of the Canadian Women’s Club. It is held at the Canadian High Commission, which is a handsome building adorned with lots of red maple leaves. The CWC is a group of Canadian expat women who either work in Jamaica or are spouses of men who do. They do a lot of good work in the community such as fundraising and providing badly needed materials to schools or businesses. It seems like an interesting group and I will soon be taking over from a departing volunteer to write their blog, as well as helping with the newsletter. The meeting included some regular housekeeping stuff, as well as a presentation from a female architect who works with young women. She uses art to help them express themselves and find positive role models- she brought a piece of her artwork and it is stunning.

I had to leave early, but my thoughts stayed with one fascinating aspect of the meeting. One of the women I met is a member of the Matalon family, which is a prominent and very wealthy Canadian family, mostly based in Toronto, I think. While I was not familiar with the Matalons in Canada, the name sounded so familiar. They are active and prominent in Jamaica as they are involved in the business community and own a lot of land. Then I realized their name is so familiar because it is quoted in a song by reggae artist Vybz Kartel that I listened to all the time in Canada called Poor People Land. It is a reggae song that talks about the plight of poor Jamaicans and their lack of rights and opportunity and how the rich don’t care. Visit here if you want to read the patois lyrics. It was a surreal moment: being in a room with a person indicted in a Vybz Kartel song as contributing to the social problems in Jamaica. It brought home to me some of the realities of what us volunteers are doing here. We hover in an in-between world; caught in a strange gap and sandwiched on one side by the privilege, power or status that white skin or relative wealth provide us. On the other side is the opportunity to use these tools to help the people afflicted by poverty or lack of opportunity that we are here to help. Not sure if that is explained sufficiently- I am still working it out in my head.

Maybe it will help to quote a fellow volunteer who said this after reading the lyrics to Kartel’s Poor People Land:

“This is all about “show” methinks: he talks about not being rich, etc. yet Kartel is a multi-millionaire based on his music (?) / reputation / criminal associations. Yes, he may have been born/brought up poor but he is now using that history and ignoring that he is the baby-father to many and dissing those who actually work for a living (and some of them, like the Matalons, made money legitimately along the way).”

Just before I left for Jamaica, my sister told me that upon telling an acquaintance of hers that I was moving to Jamaica, he said “Why is she going there? She’s tall and blond?” These words resonate with me everyday now, although I scoffed at them at the time. There is no way to blend in here for white people. Some are more noticeable than others, but being tall and blond is a magnet, as a fellow volunteer put it. I’m not sure if this is something I will become accustomed to. Never have I been more aware of the luxuries of blending in and the safety of having one’s guard down that I could enjoy in Canada. Never have I been more aware of having the luxury of zoning out and of tuning out one’s fellows when in the public realm.

As a rule, I prefer to blend in and observe and politely decline the spotlight. I like to watch and tell stories- being a reporter is just about perfect for me as a profession. Here? Out of the question. I hear “hey whitey” a few times every time I am out. People stare with various expressions: WTF (white skin is associated with wealthiness here, so they wonder why a white girl would be walking, especially alone, rather than driving); curiosity (not too many white people here); annoyance (?); downright hostility (complex reasons, I presume?); amusement (mostly when I run) and something approaching just a genuine smile. That’s my favourite. Of course, I am aware that right now my approach to other people in public is verging on paranoia as I become more comfortable, but they do stare, make no mistake. In any case, the other volunteers say I will get used to it and that I need to get a thicker skin. I hope the former is true and I’m not sure I can achieve the latter. My whole life, I’ve been told this and that I’m too sensitive. For the most part, it serves me well, here, I will see how it works out for me.

PS- pictures from Treasure Beach to come tomorrow- stay tuned!