Lifes a Beach

To live in Jamaica and not enjoy the beach would be ridiculous. Yesterday a group of us went down to the beach to celebrate Marie and Chantal’s birthdays. It was pretty overcast but we all wanted to work on not being quite so white.

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There are quite a few sellers who walk along the beach and one guy who now recognizes us not just as white people but the same white people as last week. He came up to us with his Zion Juice and tried for the umpteenth time to sell us Man Power and Rum Punch. After politely declining he invited me to his garden in the mountains. The conversation went something like this:

Rasta: give me your email address so next time you are in town you can tell me and I will take you to see my garden.

Me: To see your ganja?

Rasta: Nooooo white lady, ganja is low grade, I grow Canabis.

Marie to me: for a second there I thought you messed up the sterotype

Rasta: Waiiit. How do I know you aren’t CIA? (many Jamaicans think PCVs are spies)

After our drawn out conversation with the Rasta the sun peaked out and we took the opportunity to jump in the ocean…kind of. I made it most of the way to the beach then had the misfortune of slicing my foot on a piece of glass. As per protocol we called the PCMOs and Ann, none of whom answered because they were in church. We took matters into our own hands and tried to find some bandages and the best we could come up with was a shot of rum, a large block of ice, salt water, and a handkerchief.

I think given the resources we had it was a successful clean up job. Don’t worry Auntie once I got home to my medical kit I cleaned and bandaged it properly!

This accident truly showed me I am in good hands. When Chelsea saw the cut on my foot she immediately asked everyone else if they had any med supplies. Once they realized I was hurt they were all there to cheer me up. It wasn’t a terrible injury by any stretch of the imagination but it’s comforting to know that they were all there to help if it had been. Marie wanted to amputate my foot so she could call me stump, but we compromised and I think she is going to start calling me slice.

What I learned today:

I am part of an amazing group of people

Rum stings in open wounds

Rastas have a juice for everything

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