Speed dating kingston 2016
Kingston was a map of complex, and often bizarre, cultural and political and social activity, and I appointed myself its nighttime cartographer.
I’d know how to navigate away from a predatory pace, and to speed up to chat when the cadence of a gait announced friendliness. A lone woman walking in the middle of the night was as common a sight as Sasquatch; moonlight pedestrianism was too dangerous for her.
No thanks to a stepfather with heavy hands, I found every reason to stay away from home and was usually out—at some friend’s house or at a street party where no minor should be— until it was too late to get public transportation. The streets of Kingston, Jamaica, in the 1980s were often terrifying—you could, for instance, get killed if a political henchman thought you came from the wrong neighborhood, or even if you wore the wrong color.
Wearing orange showed affiliation with one political party and green with the other, and if you were neutral or traveling far from home you chose your colors well.
” –Fats Waller, “(What Did I Do to Be So) Black and Blue?The streets had their own safety: Unlike at home, there I could be myself without fear of bodily harm.Walking became so regular and familiar that the way home became home.My mother would often complain, “Mek yuh love street suh?Yuh born a hospital; yuh neva born a street.” (“Why do you love the streets so much?
(And sometimes I did pretend to be crazy, shouting non sequiturs when I passed through especially dangerous spots, such as the place where thieves hid on the banks of a storm drain.