Keisha, Jamaican Market Culture, and Rural Development

Jan 15th, 2022

Keisha was our last Airbnb host on this trip. She is 44 years old Jamaican who grew up in a village near Montego Bay. My partner Cristian and I finally met her after a night of sleep. It was her daughter who checked us in the night before. Her husky yet energetic voice made an impression when we first met. While we were just preparing breakfast, I heard someone calling my name from the yard. Cristian opened the door, only to see this mid-age black woman with a ponytail and a beaming smile. We learned that she is the owner of the house, and she asked if we had everything we needed. Acknowledging that we sought for authentic local experience as travelers, Keisha offered to show us around the town.

9:20 am, we hopped on Keisha’s car, a clean and cozy second-hand Toyota. Jamaicans do not drive cars for fun. “Fast and furious” is the least for describing someone who “drives like a Jamaican.” Considering that we spent about 40 mins reaching her home from the coastal highway, including some adrenaline-raising off-roading. Keisha spent 15 mins taking us from the house to the downtown market. In most places, speed limits or lines are loosely enforced “recommendations.” (We were stopped by the police for speeding on the freeway from Kingston to Mandeville. Surprisingly, we were let go after the police officer queried into our purpose of travels and learned that we were students wanting to drive around and immerse ourselves in Jamaican local communities.)

You know that you have arrived in downtown Montego Bay when the speed is lowered to 10km/h. The congestion around the market was the opposite of limit-free driving. There are hundreds of farmers and vendors with their trolleys and stalls “double parking” the streets, with the drive-through shoppers in the middle. Coming from China where the street vendor is increasingly regulated and cleared up by law enforcement, the market scene threw me back to the old days. As the car was slowly moving, Keisha greeted the vendors and passersby as if they were families and friends. She knows the street and the market’s layout like the back of her hands. We learned that she was one of the vendors since she was 12 years old, selling home-grown vegetables and fruits with her mom on the same street, until the age of 18. Our first stop was at a fresh drinks stall, getting 3 bottles of Irish moose from an 80-year old Rastafarian. Then, we passed by all the stalls that were selling in-season fruits: banana, jackfruits, papaya, and starfruits. Keisha parked the car and walked us into a mini-mart that sells daily necessities that produce their own soap and detergents. We were introduced to the shop owners who are Keisha’s all-time friends. Everyone was extremely warm and welcoming — slightly more than when we traveled by ourselves without a local guide. The highlight in the market was seeing the live lobsters and knowing how much cheaper they are ($8~$15/pound) compared to the U.S. prices.

The market experience was quite an opposite of our culture shock when we first arrived in Jamaica. On the first day, we found the market filthy, unsafe, characterized by heavy traffic thanks to the unregulated food stalls. Somehow, Keisha contextualized this urban-rural phenomenon and challenged our judgment. She shared with us that the farmers start setting up the stalls at 4 am every morning with their fresh produce transported from the nearby villages. They each have a dedicated spot on the street by convention, and they look after each other when the stall is unstaffed. The market might look messy at the first glance, but deep into the social scene, the sellers are easy and fun to talk to, and the prices are reasonable. You might find yourself enjoying the “Jamaican vibe” filled with local vernacular “ya mon” and the funky smell of weed. They like to bargain but not excessively, to respect the sellers’ hard work harvesting the produces.

After we exit the market, Keisha drove us to the village where she grew up. It was about 15-min drive on a windy road. On the way there, she described how it was growing up in the countryside in Jamaica. Among other things, it struck me hard that she had to spend an hour every day walking to the city and coming back with a refilled bucket of water. We stopped somewhere near the top of the hill. She encouraged us to walk with her to the house where she spent her entire childhood. We followed her into the hilly village and greeted all the villagers on the way who she grew up with. I felt unsettled to be a “disruptive foreigner.” Keisha made it easy for us by conveying to her friends our eagerness to learn about Jamaican culture. After walking upstairs for 15 mins, we finally got to visit Keisha’s birthplace and the surrounding neighborhood. It was certainly not a hike that you would enjoy for 365 days, particularly at night. The road was rough, to say the least; but there was at least a road, built and maintained by the neighborhood families. “The government does not take care of such a remote area. To build the road by ourselves we had to carry the stones all the way up from the foothill,” Keisha said. Reading between the lines, there is certainly an apathetic, if not antagonistic, attitude towards the Jamaican government.

It prompted an engaging conversation when I asked Keisha about the local infrastructure development. “How comes the main pathways connecting thousands of villagers were neglected for the past decades?” The enthusiasm faded when she contemplated the answer. “Our government doesn’t take care of this. There’s only China. Go look around, China owns 95% of the shops in Montego bay. The main roads — connecting the north to the south of our country — they were all built by China.” Not sure if she meant to praise or criticize, I asked about her opinions on the Chinese infrastructure investment. “They brought the money, the equipment, their own workers. They hire our local people only as workers. After one project is down, they move on to another with their own workers.” She does not sound to be fond of the Chinese, but her voice emits hopelessness that the Jamaican government could finance large infrastructure projects without the help of the Chinese. “For me,” Keisha added, “it’s best to start my own business. It’s the best way to survive in Jamaica. Now I sell my own fashion design, homemade food, and rent my own home for Airbnb. Even though there are five children, my family and I live a decent life.”

Hearing Keisha’s frustration, I added my opinions for what it’s worth. “It’s a shame that the local people cannot own these infrastructure projects! The development agencies should co-create projects with them based on the local’s needs.” Keisha did not respond to this, as if she found me idealistic, or maybe there is a different vernacular for “community-driven development” in this country. Following the conversation, I found out online that 60% of China’s employees in the Caribbean are non-locals. There is little or no mention of the level of seniority or the type of skill training.

For all we know, cultural shock dissipates with understandings, patience, and time. The morning walk with Keisha certainly challenged my notion of the ways of “being” and “doing” in Jamaica. Keisha’s stories translated what I thought to be “different” (from Hong Kong, the Bay Area) into something much more relatable. Even more, I enjoyed the conviviality of the market underpinned by the seller and buyers’ face-to-face encounters on the daily basis and the strong social fabric among the vendors. It also added perspectives to my view on China’s involvement in overseas development projects, who owns the world a critical review. Keisha described us as “family-like” in the Airbnb guest review. Well, I believe that some connections are truly special, and some inspiration would live on.