garbage collection and citizens associations

This was published in the Gleaner on Saturday May 24. I shared it on Facebook, and a friend asked a question which I have not answered yet: “Do you have a citizens association in Coopers Hill?”
She set me thinking… The simple answer is “no”. The logical response then ought to be: ” So start one, Kelly”. I’m sure I could. And yes, I have a raft of (valid) excuses: I have a full-time career, I am at school and I have school aged children who still need close supervision. But truth be told, I really don’t want to start a movement. (I might be more inclined to join a movement.) But here’s the ugly truth: I don’t want to get too close to my neighbours. I don’t want them to get too close to me. I want to pay my taxes and my bills and I want the system to work: electricity and water on demand, regular garbage collection, a responsive police and fire service and I want my neighbours to keep their grass low. And sure, I know the reality: the system doesn’t work as it should, and perhaps my constant cries would be amplified if shouted through the collective voice of a citizens association. Selfish? Perhaps. OK.Yes: it is selfish. My FB friend has thrown out a challenge which is bothering me… We’ll see…

Coopers Hill Tired Of Trash Service

http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20130525/letters/letters6.html

Published: Saturday | May 25, 20130 Comments

NSWMA boss Jennifer Edwards (left) and Local Government Minister Noel Arscott (in truck) had better get a handle on the shoddy garbage collection in Coopers Hill. – File

THE EDITOR, Sir:

Up to the time of writing on May 19, it has been two weeks since garbage was collected in Coopers Hill, St Andrew. This is how it has been over the past couple of months.

I don’t need to elaborate on all the undesirable effects of uncollected solid waste: rodent and insect proliferation come readily to mind.

What is really happening? Even as we pay dramatically increased property taxes, what are we to expect where garbage collection is concerned? The Government’s absolute failure to get this one little thing done underscores our belief that it is merely paying lip service to preservation of the environment.

Inconvenient though it may be, citizens with vehicles can load up their solid waste and take it to a public skip for disposal. What of those unable to do so? Well, what you get are garbage-strewn sidewalks, roaming dogs pillaging the mess, ad hoc stinkness, unsightly dumping sites springing up on the gorgeous hillsides that God blessed us with, gullies clogged with bags of solid waste, and the constant burning of garbage by those suffering at the hands of an administration that refuses to collect garbage in a timely manner.

What are we to do? Jamaica of yesteryear was a place that held ‘girl pickney’ to high standards of hygiene and cleanliness. “You cyaan do dat! You is a gyal pickney!”

Separate standards

I certainly do not impose two separate standards of hygiene in my household, one for my son and one for my daughter. But if only out of respect and deference towards our ancestors, I am imploring Madam Prime Minister, the first female PM of Jamaica, to hold her local government minister, Noel Arscott, and head of the National Solid Waste Management Authority (ironically a woman too!) accountable in this regard.

Let it not be said that you presided over a nasty administration and a filthy country, Madam PM. Please treat garbage collection as a priority. Allocate the necessary resources and insist upon an efficient operation.

Frustrated Property Tax Payer

Coopers Hill, St Andrew

about the J.P.S. Co. cries of doom and gloom!

So ever since the Jamaica Public Service Co. Ltd. has been sounding off about its financial woes, a growing sense of dread has been overcoming me. The latest wail is that the company will be out of cash by August. Now I am not fretting for myself, for reasons which I will outline shortly. But I am thinking about the few businesses plodding along in this extremely hostile context that is Jamaica today. We already are burdened with the highest energy costs in the region, and if you layer uncertainty of supply atop burdensome expenses, well…you can see how this will end. Let’s go back to the JPS’s latest alarm: out of cash by August. That is a holler for attention at the very least, but it must be some sort of call to action too. What do they want? Are they setting the stage to justify a rate hike? It is a fact that electricity usage has declined… Is this an index of economic growth/decline? Not sure. But for sure, ordinary citizens have really had no choice.

We’ve had to become Electricity Nazis in our own homes, using energy efficient bulbs, patrolling for lights being on for no reason, forgoing use of the electric water heater, unplugging everything once we are out of the house and there are some like my household who are almost totally off the grid. Yup. Some years ago, H had the foresight to begin to phase in the use of solar energy. To be totally honest, it was the unreliability of service from the JPS that prompted this move. The feeders in this area are old an unreliable and post-hurricane conditions were absolutely unbearable. But even though we would have light with or without JPS, as I said, I couldn’t help but worry about industry and therefore the state of the overall economy…the broader context within which I live and make a living.

So I was talking with H tonight, rehashing the day’s events. And he told me a story that lifted my spirits and gave me hope to press on. He decided to use the services of an automobile AC technician along South Camp Road. He only saw the sign, it was conveniently located (for him) and he only needed re-gassing…nothing complex. So he turned in and saw a modified shipping container serving as a small admin and waiting area. There was a steady stream of traffic in and out, including taxi men and commercial trucks, including trucks belonging to a well known haulage company. He took comfort in that fact, and noted that the owner was the head technician, moving around briskly and quite business-like. But he had to wait. H hates to wait. But as he sat waiting he noticed that atop the modified container, sat 2 solar panels. Wow! H’s fine engineering mind sat up and started noting the technical details of this AC business set-up. What he figured out and later confirmed in conversation with Mr. AC was that the solar panels provided enough energy for Mr. AC to run his AC repair business.

This simple entrepreneur had done his sums and determined that his competitiveness hinged on his ability to minimize his energy costs. Hence his current independence from the unreliable supply characteristic of the JPS and his lower energy costs.

H remarked that he is seeing more and more windmills on residences in St. Elizabeth too. Think of the new Digicel building Downtown, Kingston. Red Stripe recently announced plans to invest in their own energy plant. I am hoping that as JPS and the Government of Jamaica continue to piss around and play games (WHERE IS THE ENERGY POLICY?) we the people will do the necessary and invest in alternative energy sources.

And don’t gripe about the cost. Plan. Start. Phase in the darned thing. Incremental improvement may be the way you have to do it. Ain’t nothing wrong with that! So many people are comfortable borrowing money to buy a car, a liability that depreciates with every revolution of the tires. Buy a small car for cash and invest in alternative energy instead, People! That is worthwhile debt.

So I have to believe that the entrepreneurial class will not roll over and die. I have to believe that we will find a way to survive and thrive despite this Ineptocracy. (in-ep-toc’-ra-cy) – a system of government where the least capable to lead are elected by the least capable of producing, and where the members of society least likely to sustain themselves or succeed, are rewarded with goods and services paid for by the confiscated wealth of a diminishing number of producers.

about the scrap metal “trade” in Jamaica

I felt the need to rant after reading an article in the Jamaica Observer last week.
Here’s my letter that was published April 16 2013:

Dear Editor,

I make reference to your article carried Friday, April 12, 2013 “Mark your metal, Hylton urges”. This is not the answer to the problems associated with the restarted scrap metal industry.

To begin with, there is no manufacturing now taking place in Jamaica that produces enough scrap metal to sustain any sort of trade in this form of waste. I challenge anyone to prove me wrong here.

It means that the players in this industry will have to resort to other sources of metal to sustain their operations. Hence stolen cables, vandalised properties and compromised infrastructure like bridges, manholes and the like. I would like Minister Hylton to advise us how to “mark” kilometres of cable to prevent theft. I’d also like Minister Hylton to tell me how to “mark” my wrought iron gate, fence and garbage receptacle to prevent theft. His response to an industry that, I argue, offers a net negative value to the nation speaks volumes as to his absolute lack of appreciation for business basics and operational efficiencies. It is not enough to assure Flow, one of the most recent victims of stolen cables, that “rigorous regulations governing the scrap metal trade would make it difficult for stolen material to be exported”. He just does not get it.

The bottom line is that Flow is minus the use of its asset right now, whether the cables are exported now or later, representing a loss in terms of a reduced asset base and reduced income from customers to whom they cannot provide the service without these cables.

Get real, Minister, and get a grip.

Kelly McIntosh

about how we treat Jamaica

This is a very difficult post to make. My island, Jamaica, is one of the most beautiful places on Earth…from the gorgeous, magical seven mile stretch in Negril, to the hills of St. Andrew and Portland. But let’s go back to Negril…

I have been going to Negril at least twice per year since the birth of Miss World. It remains my absolutely favourite place in the world. I lie on the beach and people watch. The water is always calm. It’s blue and gorgeous. It is shallow for yards out. There is never ever any loud music to intrude on my thoughts. All I need is my rum, a glass, and a bucket of ice. Vendors go past offering everything from weed, to fruit, to juices, to pastry to music for sale. But they are never pushy. And it’s all part of the magic that is Negril. And then in the late evening, it all comes together in a perfect finale: the Negril Sunset. I dare you to find another to rival it.

We always, always, always stay at Negril Treehouse. yup, the same property where Stella got her groove back…or at least, where they filmed the pool scene in the movie of the same name.

View from my room at Negril Treehouse

Yes, this is shameless plug for this facility, and no they aren’t paying me for it. It’s owner managed and you feel Gail’s presence everywhere all the time. Sure, it’s an older property, but the gardens are beautiful and authentically Jamaican, and the rooms are clean with all the basics: bathroom, hot water, beds, cable TV and AC. And it is right on the 7 mile stretch. An added bonus is the fact that included in the reasonable rates is a top notch full breakfast inclusive of Jamaican favourites, fresh fruit and awesome coffee all served by friendly, attentive staff.

Repeated stays over the years have afforded me the opportunity to observe the receding coast line. Yes…once upon a time, there was sand between the beach bar and the water line. Now the sea laps up quite aggressively against the bar.

The sea lapping at the bar at Negril Treehouse

Sure it’s picturesque sitting in the bar sipping on your rum looking down into the gorgeous sea, knowing what it was before, and extrapolating forward, well, it’s just plain scary.

See the damaged wall from increasing battering from the sea

Close up of the damaged wall

(Futile?) efforts to halt the march of time…

So where do we go from here? Perhaps it’s time for me to get active in conservation efforts for what it’s worth. That 7 mile stretch was given to Jamaica by God. We didn’t have to create it, we didn’t have to buy it. All we are asked to do is to take care of it: don’t dump raw sewerage in the seas, protect the reefs, don’t eat parrot fish (OMG!), don’t steal sand! …and that’s another story altogether…the sand stealing, I mean. We continue to abuse nature’s gifts to this island: tearing down forests for the rapidly growing charcoal trade (Haiti: here we come!), creating garbage dumps any and everywhere and clogging our gullies.

The same “doan cyah” mentality is evident in how we treat our heritage sites…Port Royal, Three Finger Jack monument in St Thomas, that Columbus site in St. Ann, Lovers Leap and Fort Charlotte to name a few are run down and unimpressive.

Fort Charlotte in Lucea…a potential moneymaker in ruin!

Fort Charlotte in Lucea

They represent potential money earners for the communities within which they exist and for Jamaica as a whole. I’ve been on a quite a few glossily presented (pricey) tours overseas that lack half the authenticity and wow factor that our own history offers us. To be fair though, I saw adverts last week for private persons to take over the management of specific heritage sites. That’s a win-win approach.

It makes me sad and scared at the same time.

about living in Jamaica today.

I may just have used up all my sulking points for 2012 today…I may even have a jump-start on 2013. Here’s the thing: I work hard. I consider myself to be a good mother. I give of myself to these two endeavors. When I’m at home my wants are simple: electricity, water, Internet and cable TV. What? Am I crazy? Aren’t these “amenities” a given? After all, it is the year 2012…

The main road near my house

Hurricane Sandy passed through about 3 weeks ago and we were left without electricity for 8 nights. This in and of itself was uncomfortable enough, but it was the lack of responsiveness and dearth of credible information from the Jamaica Public Service Co. (JPS) that really, really got my goat. So I went to battle. I called them…every day…multiple times per day. I stalked their Twitter feed and their Face book page, making myself known at every opportunity. I wrote to the press. I wrote to one well known reporter. I bitched using every medium I knew. Service was restored on night 9, and on day 11, the Daily Gleaner published my submission on this issue to them. I heard from the CEO and now I am on a first name basis with my Parish manager and I have a direct line to her should I have any issues in the future. I am tired.

Then 2 weeks after the passage of Sandy, our water in storage got dangerously low. So I put on my boxing gloves again, but this time the opponent was the National Water Commission (NWC). I was already on a first name basis with the gentleman who trucks water in my area in times of shortage. And I already had the mobile number for the Operations manager who is responsible for service delivery in my area. When your water supply depends on your being on a first name basis with “Ruddy”, you know you’re in trouble! After hounding them for 2 days straight, we got our tanks filled from a truck and pumping from the NWC source resumed the day after. I am tired.

I live 15 minutes from the outskirts of what we call the corporate area. It’s blissfully cool, green and very quiet. I enjoy decompressing on my veranda.

My Veranda

But there are moments when I feel as if I really live behind God’s back. We are definitely NOT a priority when it comes to utility companies. At least it feels that way. We’ve been living here for 12 years and it feels increasingly difficult to survive here. The (public) road leading down to my house is like a river bed. The feeder that provides electricity to this area is totally unreliable and at the first smell of rain, the first roll of thunder, the first flash of lightening, there goes the electricity. So we decided a few years ago to make ourselves independent of JPS. Over the years, we have increased our capacity, and I have to admit, that our response this time around post storm was decidedly better than in previous years. We were able to keep the ‘fridge running and we could iron and read and watch local TV. But because we are still not where we plan to be, we still had to rationalize our use of power during the period we were without service from JPS and so comfort levels were not at all optimized. As for water, we have capacity to store 1650 gal of water, but this is depleted after 2 weeks with no re-supply.

Me in front of the water tank: Water is Life!

Post Sandy, it took two weeks for the National Solid Waste Management Authority (NSWMA) to resume garbage collection. Garbage receptacles from the bottom of the hill all the way up were overflowing. I simply waited and hoped for the garbage truck to come. I didn’t have the energy to do battle with that lot.

That’s to give you some context. Let me continue my rant now.

Then last week Friday evening, cable TV suddenly went. Service was restored Monday evening. I called. I called again. And still I called. A whole weekend with only TVJ as entertainment comes as close as I can imagine to what hell must be like. It is the lack of responsiveness and clear, credible info in the absence of product/service that really ticks me off! I was told that the storm damaged their lines. I was told that vandals had cut their lines. Still don’t know what the real story is. I am tired.

Then this Thursday night, we lost Internet service. And land-line service. We reported it to Lime. They could not proffer a reason but diligently recorded the complaint. And while watching news last night, my initial fears were confirmed: vandals had yet again stolen $5M worth of Lime cables from the area. They aim to replace said cables and restore service by the end of next week. This has happened twice in the past to the best of my knowledge, and the last time it happened, service was restored after 6 long weeks… and this only after I pressed a colleague of mine who had a direct line to the then president of C&W (now Lime) to intervene on my behalf. I am tired.

And now today, Saturday… I came home at 1pm after spending the morning at the Learning Center at my church helping out. I collapsed into my bed and started watching re-runs of the Voice when the screen went blank. Nothing. Cable service once again interrupted. It is now almost 9:30pm on Saturday night and I am forced to watch TVJ. Hell all over again. I was able to report the issue to the cable company before they closed for the weekend. Big deal. Dunno if their cables have been stolen too. Dunno when I’ll be able to watch some good TV again. I am tired.

H says that the country is in decline…that what we are experiencing are the results of a society falling apart. I can’t disagree with him. Main thoroughfares have simply broken away: Mt. Ogle in Stony Hill, Dunrobin near Red Hills Road, Junction en route to St. Mary, Cassava Piece off Mannings Hill Road…a clear sign of neglect and decay.

Bloomberg News says that Jamaica is perched on the edge of defaulting on our debt. The few dollars that I have managed to save and invest in government paper are once again at risk. The portfolio took a hit in the JDX scheme implemented a few years aback where we were asked to accept lower interest rates. “Jamaica has been the poster boy for imminent default for years now, but they don’t default,” Segura said in a phone interview. “The country has a weak ability to pay but strong willingness to pay.” So how do I preserve the little that I have accumulated? Equities? Real estate? FX? I am tired. There are those who have worked hard, educated themselves and fine themselves under-employed or un-employed. I’m not going to go into the crime situation, the young and old begging at stop-lights, the steady decline of civility in terms of how we deal with each other in terms of tone and deed. I am tired.

Now I have to strategise if I am to continue to live up here: increase the capacity of the solar set-up, add at least another 1000 gal to the water in storage, investigate options for wireless Internet (and this is not as simple as it sounds as right now I can’t pick up Lime cellular signal at home) and just decide to read more and build a library of DVDs in lieu of watching cable TV. I am tired.

Perhaps when the weariness overtakes me I should simply transport myself in my mind to those perfect times when I am sitting on Negril’s white sand looking at the perfect sunset, perfect cocktail in hand. Perhaps I should focus on the fact that my family is intact and in good health. Perhaps I should focus on the fantastic Sunday dinners that we still have, and the love and laughter and music and banter that we still share.

Paradise?

JPSCo: Customer service or mere PR stunt?

When JPSCo put full page advertisements in the press only a few weeks ago, I was puzzled as to the reason why. Afterall, JPS is a monopoly so it’s not as if they are grappling for market share. There were pictures of newly appointed parish representatives, but again, I was struck that there were no names and no contact information given. Fast forward to the recent devastation wreaked by Hurricane Sandy. Staring the sixth consecutive night of darkness in the face, I tried in vain to get contact information for my parish representative. I called the 1 888 Customer Care number and was told that they could not provide the information. To my distress, they could not give me any updates on my immediate predicament either. They made a great show of recording my name and number and recording the fact that I had no service.

I fully understand that we just came through a natural disaster that no one had any control over. What disturbs me is the lack of credible information concerning when paying customers can expect resumption of service. JPS has ramped up its’ on-line presence, sending out frequent tweets and updating its’ Facebook page regularly. But the opportunities for actual dialogue are extremely limited.

It is not enough for Customers to lodge their complaints into the void that is called Customer Care. How do we know that our issues are understood? Who can we speak with in order to get clarity and understanding? We don’t even hear Winsome Callum or Ruthlyn Johnson giving updates anymore. Mrs. Tomblin herself is becoming the face of the company. Even so, I don’t really care. All I want is the ability to speak with someone about my issues and to have reliable service. It seems to me that JPS is confusing Public Relations with Customer Service. What else would you call faces without the ability to contact? What else would you call a 1 888 number that takes your details and never calls you back?

I’d like to remind them that the best customer service is reliable and efficient delivery of the product/service. PR stunts only serve to anger and frustrate.

Just be nice!

I wrote to the Gleaner Editor yesterday, and they published it as Letter of the Day today. They edited out a suggestion I made in the original submission, so I will reproduce what they printed here and then add my suggestion after.

The Editor, Sir:

It seems that we have started to devalue the small gestures and acts of kindness that separate us from the animals. I was at the cashier in a major supermarket in Kingston last week Saturday. I noticed that the cashier made an error while ringing me up. She cashed three of an item when I had only one of that item.

I calmly questioned it. She did her due diligence, discovered the error and merely corrected it with nary an apology or a simple acknowledgement of her mistake.

We see regular displays of boorish behaviour in parking lots, where drivers deliberately swoop down on just-vacated parking spaces despite seeing a fellow motorist waiting for the same space. Think about your experiences in school parking lots. Parents stop where it is convenient for them to drop off and pick up despite the pleas of school administrations to adhere to strict zoning in this regard in order to preserve order, maintain a smooth flow of traffic and to ensure the safety off all using the space.

erosion of simple courtesies

Gone are the days when we would step into a waiting room and acknowledge those already there with a greeting. Why is it so hard to say ‘thank you’ to the security guard handing you a parking pass? Why do customer-service personnel feel that a smile while serving should never be part of the deal? The erosion of these simple courtesies is akin to running a motor vehicle without oil. The noise of metal against metal and the eventual decimation of the engine are inevitable results.

I personally resolve to be polite to those I come in contact with throughout the day and encourage everyone to do the same. We can do it. How wonderful it would be if Jamaica became known as ‘that island with the really courteous people!’

KELLY McINTOSH

Furthermore, I would like to propose a national campaign, similar to ones of yesteryear such as “Don’t harrass the tourist”, “Kingston…Clean as a Whistle” and “Two is Better than Too Many”. This campaign could be sponsored by the private sector, complete with billboards, print and electronic media presence and of course, social media. Picture it: “JUST BE NICE”. We can do this.

about (some) doctors and health care in Jamaica

Today I read an absolutely sad story in the Sunday Observer. Essentially, a woman of Jamaican origins, residing in the UK, was in Jamaica in April of this year with her family. She became ill and was rushed to a health care facility in Linstead. She was diagnosed with pneumonia, and some amount of respiratory distress was evident. The doctor on duty advised the family that there was not much more that could be done for the woman due to the lack of appropriate equipment at that facility. That in and of itself is sad and scary: do not get into respiratory distress in Linstead! But what happened next is what angered and upset me. The woman’s family panicked and became (understandably) emotional. They immediately wanted to transfer the woman to UHWI in Kingston, but that became a journey through beaurocracy and regulations and a negotiation with the doctor on duty. Read the entire sad and depressing story here if you will, http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/news/Coma-calamity_12407307.

The end result is that after a protracted period of time (while the woman was fighting for oxygen!) during which the doctor on duty locked himself in his office, choosing not to engage the family and calm them down and reassure them, leaving them to wonder and to plot their next move in fear and uncertainty, the woman was eventually transferred to UHWI and several months later, several millions of dollars later, she remains in a coma here in Jamaica, with the lack of oxygen being thought to be the main contributor to her present condition.

Here’s my beef: how dare the doctor on duty lock himself away? How dare the doctor not make himself available to the family? I know that he couldn’t pull a respirator out of his back pocket. I know he couldn’t magically produce a well equipped treatment room. But what he could do, he simply did not: that is to be present to reassure and to guide the family. Yes, yes , yes…there are two sides to every story, and we did not hear the doctor’s side, but I have had several experiences of my own, which lead me to give the benefit of the doubt to the patient and her family.

Many years ago Miss World was about four years old and she started vomiting with severe stomach cramps. It was a long weekend…I believe Easter, and the best option we thought was to take her to the public Children’s Hospital. We three bundled into their ER and eventually saw a doctor who gave her a well known analgesic/anti-spasmodic, antibiotics and rehydration salts. Great, we took her home hoping that all would be well. Twenty four hours we three were back in the ER. This time we saw and African doctor who insisted that he had the magic cure as he dramatically pronounced that the said same anti-spasmodic would fix her once and for all! I grabbed her chart out of his hands and hissed as I waved it around: “Did you not just review her chart? Can you not read? She TOOK your wonder drug 24 hours ago and we’re back!” That prompted a review and revision of her prescribed therapy, and in another 24 hours she was ok. Man alive! Suppose I did not know what questions to ask? Suppose I was not assertive in the face of these people who qualify as doctors and feel that they are God? Can you imagine Jamaicans who are not so educated doing business with this bunch?

On another occasion a few years later, Miss World again had a bad attack of gastro. This time we took her to a private hospital, having to make a deposit of JD70,000.00 because she wasn’t on our health insurance. Even in that private set up I had to point out to a very bored looking, sullen reluctant nurse that I had a concern that her IV drip was draining just a bit to quickly in my estimation. Without even looking, she tried to fob me off. But I was in no mood to be put off by someone that I was in effect paying, especially when the well-being of my offspring was at stake. Was she for real? When she inspected the set up she had the good grace to gasp and say: “Oh no!” I wanted to choke her. Seriously.

Miss World was discharged and before we reached home she was writhing in pain and I did an about turn and headed straight up to the public UHWI. At my request, her private paediatrician met us there to help expedite the process. Again, this was at my hysterical insistence on the phone as I drove like a mad woman up to UHWI. By this time I was panicked, hysterical and angry. I handled the young doctor assigned to our case like a stuffed toy quizzing him in a very hostile, angry manner, even daring to question his competence. To his credit, he did not respond like the Linstead doctor per the Observer account today. He remained present, answered my every question and reassured me of the diagnosis and therapy. I sincerely hope that the years have not jaded him and changed him. Well that incident ended with me storming out of UHWI with Miss World in my arms cussing every doctor in sight because it was unbelievable to me that in the 21^stcentury, a stomach ache which did not warrant surgery could not be cured!

Doctors must remain accessible and communicative, even in the face of obstreperous patients and their families. Remember that the only difference between doctors and us is that they chose to study medicine. Big deal. How impressive. I studied botany. He studied engineering. She studied law. We all have our function. Being a doctor does not make you God. Get over it and remember the oath you took. Remember too that when you are a private practitioner, we are your customers. We pay you. How dare you take appointments for dozens of us at the same time and then you waltz in up to an hour and half later? I suppose to your mind, you are important enough for us to spend half a day waiting to be seen by you for 10 minutes max. I have had doctors write me a prescription without even telling me what is on the said prescription and how it works. Once I had the temerity to ask the doctor how a particular drug worked. He replied that I could not possibly understand and that I was just to use it as per his directions. Needless to say I gave him a lecture and explained that I had a science background and that even if I did not, his job was to break it down for me to understand. I walked out and never went back to him. He is still a prominent dermatologist in Jamaica.

I resent doctors who do not communicate with me. I resent doctors who keep me waiting. I resent doctors who make assumptions about me and my health without asking questions. But most of all, I am sorry for and scared for my fellow Jamaicans who don’t know how to ask and what to ask and who fear these people that we call doctors in Jamaica.

Usain St. Leo Bolt, SUPERSTAR!

Here’s an open letter to Mr. Bolt:

Dear Usain:

I just wanted to go on record at this time with my real feelings about you. I am puzzled at your own reticence in styling yourself a living legend…and as for Mr. Rogge’s insistence that you are a mere icon and not a legend…Ha! He is simply in awe of your natural talent and is fearful that you could smother it with youthful vanity (remember his issues with your chest thumping in Beijing?) and he needs you to continue your legendary performances which are the main attraction at this year’s Games. He really needs you to fill stadia in the next Games.

Listen, Usain: you became a legend in my eyes when you smashed the WR in both the 100 and the 200m. And it is not just the fact that you did it, but it is how you do what you do! I am ashamed to admit that I had to ask who came third in the recent 1,2,3 Men’s 200m sweep in London 2012. You see, my eyes were on you and you alone from the beginning of the race to the end. That’s how it always is, Sir. I think I literally stop breathing every single time I see you run a corner. It starts with you slowly uncurling your totally unsuitable sprinting frame (yeah right!) in such an ungainly manner from the blocks, so infuriatingly slowly and then…you become like this massive anti-gravity Transformer who just defies the laws of inertia on the turn and then you simply expand into an even more massive unbeatable machine for the last 40 or so meters of your race. Such power, such long strides and such speed!

Yes, Asafa Powell started this whole sub 10 attack on the 100m. But I don’t watch the races because of Asafa. I don’t dream about what he will do next. You see, for me, I have to insist that it is not just about the speed. Again, it is how you do it that sets you far apart from men who you beat by mere seconds. Your antics before and after your race speak to a facet of your own personality that I find absolutely charming. You are a fun-loving person! And since one of my own personal mantras is: “I eschew unhappiness and unhappy people”, I am totally charmed by your joie de vivre. It’s natural, it’s infectious and it reminds us that it is possible to achieve fantastic outcomes without looking like or behaving like the destiny of the universe rests on what I am about to do here and now.

Don’t think I don’t see you acknowledging the young people who are tasked with carting your basket of gear off the track before the race starts. Nobody taught you to do that! Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you prodded Asafa to certain victory in that 4 x100m relay. Don’t think we don’t realize how you’ve deliberately and genuinely motivated young Blake and Weir. You whispered something to Weir at the start of the now historic Mens 200m in London 2012, didn’t you, when you saw this awesome young man buckling at bit before the start of the race. He ended up with a bronze medal from an awesome field of runners… It is not lost on me, Usain how you have the press eating out of hands. You actually stop and talk to them and you recently took away a camera and literally turned the tables on them. Did somebody suggest to you that this would be a charming gesture, sure to endear you more to the press and your adoring public? Methinks NOT. You see, Usain St. Leo Bolt…you are a Natural. My children are sick of me saying: “Bolt is such a Superstar.” It’s how you do what you do. You win races in outstanding fashion, you frustrate top athletes who run out their heart strings to beat you only to be relegated to 3^rd and 5^th and 6^thwith tears in the eyes and a mixture of despondency and awe in their hearts. You charm children and princes. You quietly help people…I recall your donations to the earthquake stricken people of China and your quiet donation to Sam Albert to help her finance her own Olympic journey.

And I think it is because your success has not been handed to you on platter, that I am in even more awe of you. I love Glen Mills for taking you and working with you when you just did not know how to deal with your twisted spine and resultant repeated hamstring injuries. Without that early intervention, there would be no Usain Bolt, Superstar. You accepted the guidance and the rest, as they say, is history.

I love it that you train right here on the rock.

I love it that you make no secret of the fact that winning is what you do. You are competitive in a manner not seen in many athletes.

I love it that you live your own life.

I love it that you have made and will make so much money.

Yes, when Blake beat you at the National trials some weeks ago, I was worried. I really was. I wanted to see more of your utterly disrespectful victories! It wasn’t until I saw you in the 100m semis in London that I truly relaxed and hugged my family and shouted: “HE’S BACK! HE’S GOT THIS!!!!!!”

I’m going to share my personal fantasy where you are concerned: (hushed tones) I get goose bumps when I think about you running the 400m flats. Usain! You and the 400m…picture it…feel it….see it! My other country man, Kirani James (I’m Grenadian too you know) is a formidable athlete too, but there’s enough room for both of you. Yes, yes, yes…I know training for what I consider to be the Ultimate Sprint is horribly hard and I know you would rather party. But here’s the thing: I am hoping that you will soon, naturally, temper your partying and just decide to mash down the 400m. Note I did not say “stop your partying”.

Juliet Cuthbert recently made the point that many athletes go the college route and we college grads all know what it means to put the P in Party. You opted not to go the college route, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t get to place the P, now does it! All I ask is that you remember MODERATION. Take care of yourself. Protect your body, Usain. Asafa seems to be a better motor car driver than you. Let him do the driving. Hahahaha! Hold your family close. Our families have the knack of keeping us grounded. Guard your mind and heart and keep moving forward.

Good luck to you and the team in the relay finals later today. I feel that something great is afoot. I’ll be going with my daughter to Half Way Tree to watch the race with the thousands of others that will bring traffic to a standstill this afternoon.

Oh! We will both celebrate birthdays on August 21 week after next. Happy Birthday when it comes! I expect to be living it up with my family and Mickey Mouse.

With a full and grateful heart , I remain one of your millions of fans across the globe.

Rock on,

Kelly

“Happy Anniversary!”

Happy Anniversary!

Today the land of my birth marks 50 years of independence from Great Britain. Fifty years ago we sang our own national anthem and raised our own flag. I went to primary, secondary and tertiary school right here. I got married to a Jamaican in Jamaica. My two children were born here and they go to school here. I work for a Jamaican company here in Jamaica. However, I had to think long and hard before I started this blog post. I am probably one of a handful of persons who has not bought a Jamaica flag to put on my car and I don’t own a Jamaica t-shirt. Here’s the thing: anniversaries of any nature present an opportunity for introspection. “Looks like we’ve made it, look how far we’ve come…” And herein lies the rub.

There are two Jamaicas: one where the schools are clean and quiet and teachers speak respectfully to students. And there is one where children crowd into noisy, hot classrooms and are expected to learn. There’s one Jamaica where you get “justice” if you have the money to pay for it. There’s another Jamaica where you are tossed roughly from side to side inside the bowels of the justice system and hope for the best. You often don’t get it… There’s a Jamaica that’s filled with boat rides to Lime Cay and outings to the movies and another Jamaica where you hang out on the corner to grab a little cool air. There’s one Jamaica that moves about in high off-the-ground air conditioned vehicles and another Jamaica that moves around in tightly packed public buses, fighting to keep your soul sane on your way to work and school and where you long to get home in the evening just to do it all over again in the morning. There’s the Jamaica where you dare not get ill on a Saturday evening or public holiday…. There’s one Jamaica where we lock up tightly in gated communities or behind high walls, where security codes are a way of life and King Alarm is on speed dial. There’s the other Jamaica where 4 year olds instinctively roll under the bed at the sound of a gun-shot ( and they know the difference between gun shot and clappers!) and their mother prays that Babylon don’t kick in the door tonight and search up her teenage son and cart his ass off to only God knows where.

Even in the midst of enjoying the things that make this island uniquely Jamaican: hot beef patties from Tastee, ice cold red-stripe beer after work, sipping rum on the 7 mile beach in Negril, jamming to rockers at a party, cheering like crazy woman at Boys and Girls Champs at the National Stadium, watching on in amusement in a line somewhere as someone “kick-off” and start cuss how dem a tek too damn long fi do whe dem haffi do, I cannot ignore the two Jamaicas.

So many of our people have migrated in search of better…even now you see them on Facebook and Twitter seeking to get their “warm and fuzzy” on as they live vicariously through the feats of Jamaican athletes, seeking re-connection in Caribbean festivals in the White Man’s Land where they’ve opted to make life and living for the next reggae concert in their area. They haunt local Farmers Markets for mango and pear and ackee in an effort to re-create Yard a yard. Who can really blame them though? Talk shows and Gleaner articles are dedicated to instructing us though the immigration maze to a Brighter and Better Future. The desperation in the voices that call in and the hope and anticipation coming out in the letters speak volumes about where we think our futures and those of our children lie.

And yet… and yet… I am absolutely a product of this island Jamaica. My heart swells with pride when I travel and everyone knows Bob Marley. I sense the envy of other nations when they remark: “Oh! You’re Jamaican!” I am well aware of the mystique associated with this Brand Jamaica: cool, tough, fearless, hip, creators of awesome food and music, the land of the fastest athletes on earth…This little impoverished, corrupt, beautiful, diverse, creative, colourful, famous, infamous dot of a place in the Caribbean. And I am Jamaican. Let me try to explain what this 50^th anniversary feels like to me…

You get married full of love and hope. The years go by. There are ups and downs. Times of prosperity and lean times. Children come. Challenges come. You wonder if this is worth it…you say to yourself “I didn’t sign up for this!” You wonder if this is as good as it gets. Unmet expectations and unsaid yearnings fill up your insides. And then up rolls another anniversary. You and your partner look at each other and without saying a word some memory of what brought you together prompts a smile. You look at your happy well adjusted children, and forget the school fees looming. You squeeze each others’ hand and remember the hope that you started this journey with and you whisper: “ Happy Anniversary. We’re still standing.” You mark the anniversary, not because all is well, but because in spite of all that is not well, you remember why you are together and you hold on to the hope that things can and will get better.

Happy Anniversary, Jamaica…Land of My Birth. There is still so much I love about you, and things can get better.