I’ve traveled previously to various out-of-the-way places in the Caribbean. However, this trip seemed to open my eyes up a little more clearly as each far off place normally tends to do with me… The more I experience, the more I see… the more I see… the more grateful I am for my charmed life.
I’ve seen some interesting people, cultures, places and living structures. One of the first places I visited in the Caribbean was Cozumel and Cancun. Beyond overabundance of bartering, they were mostly filled with tourists packed on a peninsula littered with cookie cutter designed resorts where the less enthusiastic and unadventurous tourists can simply drink their vacation away instead of expanding their brain with the culture and history that surrounds them.
I then traveled the land of Aruba. Beautiful, fairly, if for only that one incident, very safe. You could cover the island quickly and in your very own rented jeep. I must say, I was a bit bored after a few days of taking in what there was to see from a tourist’s perspective… Still, it was beautiful. Culture was a bit different. The only thing that really made an impression was that it was dirty in places, and the cemeteries were strange in that they were running out of places to bury their dead. Beyond that, the island was alright. Not too unfortunate of a land to dwell in. I enjoyed the trip, but don’t see a reason to travel back there any time soon.
From Aruba… came my next trip to Jamaica… you know the song… "Aruba, Jamaica… ohhh I wanna take ya… to… Bermuda…" yes, anyway… that is the line up as it would come to fruition for me…
Jamaica greeted me with a marijuana offering after barely stepping off the plane… Welcome to Jamaica Mon! I took a bus/taxi from Montego Bay to Negril. We traveled a long stretch along the island’s shoreline occasionally littered with tiny huts; servicing residents of the island as homes of what would be considered the ‘homeless’ in my land of origin. We traveled through small villages where the children were dressed in school uniforms, hair braided and tied back neatly… all stood in formation and followed direction of a head master. It all seemed very structured and a little harsh. Clearly less fortunate than the USA childhood schoolyards. And thought it was not the ideal way of living, it wasn’t absolutely decrepit. There were housing structures, villages, and schools. Again though, I thought this is not exactly a place I would like to live in. It did not have the modern conveniences of America, the home of the free.
My next jaunt was to Bimini Island which crests the west tip of the Bermuda triangle in the Bahamas. This was a much smaller island than Aruba or Jamaica, but it still had much to be desired when you consider living standards and overall quality of life.
My most recent stop in the Dominica Republic was much different. I know there are parts of this land that are completely barren and where residents balance their lives in their hands with treacherous living conditions. I was in a “good” part of the island, Las Terrenas. I traveled there in a small three seat plane. The area was beautifully capped with serene beaches, but the city of Las Terrenas itself, was a different invitation into a culture and lifestyle I had not been exposed to before.
Babies, who could only barely be five years old carried babies under 12 months. Mud littered the streets and children walked wild through the town’s side streets in conjunction with the wild dogs that litter the land. It is a new picture of how people live in this world. Not the worst by far, but so much to be desired. The area is toiled with dilapidated buildings and dwellings. It was dirty, muddy with narrow roads filled with deep potholes and gulches that could swallow a small family whole.
As I made my way through town, my taxi driver who owned much property in the immediate area, was was very proud of his family and his house (which I must say, was one of the best homes in the entire area), gave me the complete guided tour. He was so pleasant and kind. He was very happy. He doesn’t know any other way of lifestyle. This is his home and his land. I felt grateful for him and his sense of accomplishment/pride. I was very grateful for having the blessing of meeting him, feeling and knowing his joy “of country and home” through his eyes, smiles, and heartfelt love.
While I sat at a upscale bar/restaurant located outside of town enjoying my posh chair and surrounds, equipped with my beautiful martini cocktail, a young girl came skipping in. She was very pretty, fun playful hair and dressed in island attire. At first I was very happy to smile alongside her. And within a moment the honesty of her visit came through. She was most possibly a local prostitute. I was shocked at first. She wanted me to buy her a drink??? What else was she being so nice to me for??? I shivered… my naivety came spilling out like the drink almost did in my mouth at the wakefulness to the whole incident. Wow, that is crazy I thought. Then a friend next to me simply, nonchalantly said that, “Why yes. She might very well be a prostitute. She probably has three to five children that she is trying to take care of.”
This statement was so unemotional and matter-of-fact. Here I was feeling a bit disgusted, but primarily very sympathetic and sorry for the girl… then sorry for her children… I was filled with emotion regarding the entire scenario. I thought how strange, and how blessed I am to live in a place where prostitution is not organically such a casual thing of survival for the immediate community. There are no McDonalds or Buger Kings for them to flip burgers at in effort to put food on the family table. Wow, a real slap of reality. Secretly as I sat there, I thought to myself... I wanted to go home immediately.
I am so naive. Yes, indeed I am. Thank God! I am a sheltered Midwestern American girl from a 60 acre farm in the middle of nowhere, Michigan. Thank God. I am blessed to live in a small town where there isn't a need for a man to sit outside my window, door, and home with a gun 24/7 for protection. Where as a child my only concerns growing up included playing in mud puddles or making mud pies and cookies after a summer rainfall… Not lugging my little brother around in my arms to take care of him while my mother was off doing God-only-knows-what in order to keep me alive.
No, my brother and I had fun and played hide-n-seek with each other in the cornfield or barn loft… we did not have to raise each other… we were busy being a kid… not raising one. My mom was a stay-at-home mom; not off during the day soliciting services. I am so blessed to grow up in a one-room country schoolhouse… my siblings and neighbors being my best friends… still to this day! (Janel & Jenny)
I pray that I never lose sight of the beauty and truly “Norman Rockwell” life that I had growing up as a child in middle rural Michigan. I admit that at times, I’ve cursed that lifestyle and complained about the boredom… but, now my eyes have been opened. Perhaps this is my Christmas gift this year. To have this opportunity to see with my eyes wide open… hear with my eyes… see with my heart… how truly blessed I am in my beautiful, sheltered, naive, wonderful, amazing, mid-western, all-american-girl, charmed life!
I send up a prayer for all of those so less fortunate.
Love wins.
Jill Marshon
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