Jamaica’s Burmese: A Hope for Democracy Back Home
Jamaica's Burmese community, I am told, is about 300 strong now. When my friend Jo arrived about 18 years ago, there were fewer than 100. Initially drawn by the availability of professional medical jobs in Jamaica (the island suffers from a chronic shortage of highly skilled medical professionals), friends followed friends, and families followed families, and the community is now quite successful.
Recent developments in Burma have sparked new hope for real change back home for this group. Many of them tell me of their support for the National League of Democracy, the political movement of Aung San Suu Kyi, back in the 1980's, and about how the government violently suppressed the peoples' calls for more democracy.
Now, for the first time in a long time, the NLD is being allowed to contest elections. Today, Jamaica's Burmese community held a potluck fundraiser for Suu Kyi and her bid for electoral office in Burma.
- Pork. Various body parts. My interest ended there.
- Mohingga, delicious fish soup. A taste of Burma.
Search for the Best Steamed Fish
I forgot who recommended So So Seafood, on Chelsea Road, but the claim that they had the best steamed fish in town just may have to be declared true. I'm pretty sure a planted suggestion did not become a self fulfilling prophecy - my search for the best steamed fish on the island has honed a reliable judgement for the stuff. This one was really good.
- Fresh snapper, from the ice box
- Hot off the grill, steamed with veggies and lots of scotch bonnet
- Delicious – just the bones remain
Bless this coffee…
Biking through the posh neighborhoods, and gully communities, which seem to pass one into the other so abruptly in this bifurcated city, on a quiet cool Sunday morning can be a wonderful thing. Especially when there is rum to sweat out of the system, and the church choirs are just picking up steam in the omnipresent jamaican churches.
Destination: my favorite coffee shop, to check the morning's news and views and to recaffeinate for the ride home (unfortunately it is all up hill...).
One of their morning's first customers, I am privileged to witness the opening group prayer, what I assume is a daily ritual performed by the crew of pleasant young women who always serve me the lovely Blue Mountain coffee with a suggestive smile. Not simply a prayer, though, as much as a five minute plunge into song and hymn, holding hands in a tight circle, eyes closed, oblivious to the cafe patrons who continue to file in, patiently waiting for their own chance at redemption through ritual... Though their sacrament of coffee is not quite the same...
King Fish in Port Antonio
The rainy season makes it a little harder to enjoy the beaches of Portland, on the North Coast of Jamaica. But that can't stop us from indulging in the bounties of the sea!
Saturday had us at a nice place on the outskirts of Port Antonio, in the Parish of Portland, called Anna Banana. The king fish steak, steamed, was excellent.
The Living and the Dead in Jamaica
A friend once told me, as we drove together over the Blue Mountains from Kingston to the much more pleasant North Coast, that Jamaicans treat the dead better than the living.
The notorious Nigh Night, a massive party involving dancing, food, drink, music, and in some cases I hear, shots fired into the air, is the culmination to a long period of mourning and partying before a deceased person's soul is finally sent on its way.
Graves in Jamaica can range from the modest and tradition to the perhaps distastefully outlandish. This cemetery in St. Andrew, on the way to St. Mary, told a million little stories, from the memorials scratched in a grave while the cement was still wet, to the trash on the ground, the rum bottles and cookies laid on a loved one's shrine of a grave, to the elaborate mausoleumof a final resting place.
Moments, On The Way Home
Has it come to this? My letter writing confined to long bus and plane rides, those moments of drawn out transition when my brain has a chance reset, reacquaint itself with thoughts that do not involve the meetings or reports of the day, the latest Jamaican political drama, whether last night's rain storm carved any new potholes along my route to and from the embassy? In my last letter, written on a bus trip from New York to Washington, I promised to be a bit more prolific in my writing... sorry.
But now, once again, ears popping in the plane's changing pressure, Thelonious Monk on my headphones, mind numb from the 4:00 am ride to the airport, I can leave one The Caribbean behind and delve into a Thanksgiving holiday with family and friends in Minnesota.
...
And now, a few hours later, of all the places to get stuck, Terminal D of Miami-Dade International Airport, a rather desolate stretch of gates and doughnut vendors. 40 mile per hour winds in Chicago, they say, everything delayed. Now wishing I had a direct flight to Minneapolis/St. Paul. But MIA does give me an opportunity to read, write, and people watch. I can see the flip side of the immigrant's story, for example. In Jamaica, I routinely deal with people who are migrating/ want to migrate to the USA. This airport, however, seems to employ almost exclusively people for whom English is not a first language, people from every Latin American country, people who take your lunch order in English before jumping back into rapid fire Spanish conversations with their coworkers. People who come to a new country and work very hard, hopefully legally and hopefully for something better than they had before.
Sooner or later I'll touch down in Minnesota, though, and a blast of November air will cement the physical transition away from the tropics and away from life as a "diplomat" - in quotes as a useful replacement to what would otherwise be a long and ultimately inadequate description of this strange and wonderful existence. The psychological transition will take a bit longer, since I haven't seen my friends or family or home for over 14 months, and I have barely set foot in an American supermarket or department store for that long. For all the similarities, there are so many differences.
Much thought has been going into the commitment I seem to have made that will define the next seven years of my life: in less than a year I will begin ten months of language training before heading to Beijing, China for a five year tour at the embassy. Well, a one year "junior officer" tour in 2013 and a three year "mid level" tour in 2015, with a year of language study in china in between. I am participating in a pilot program put in place with the hopes of building a corps of diplomats highly proficient in the Chinese language - anyone who thinks US-China relations will not be an increasingly important theme has not been paying attention. I am very proud to be a part of this program. The prospect of living and working in Beijing for five years of my life evokes all sorts of excitement and anxiety.
...
And finally, in Minneapolis, a few inches of snow have already fallen since I've been here. It's going to be a good two weeks.
Ten Years, Three National Capitals
It dawns on me that when I finally depart Beijing, China in 2018 - assuming all plans take place as they have been laid out - I will have spent a consecutive ten years living in the capital cities of three different countries.
I moved to Washington, DC in 2008, then to Kingston, Jamaica two and a half years later. I will go back to DC for the good part of a year when I leave Kingston after two years, and then head to Beijing for a long, five year stint.
Country Driving
- The biggest Avacado ever
- Awesome lunch at Mr. Lee’s
- Mr. Lee’s roof, St. Mary
- Avocado Tree
- Giant spiders in St. Mary
- Unique Advertising
- Washing Clothes in the river


















































































Wednesday, May 23rd at 1:19
Tuesday, May 22nd at 15:51