Melville CookeI LIVE in, if not the murder
capital of the world, at least in its suburbs.
By late September 695 persons had been killed across the island, which has just reached a population of 2.6 million - officially, that is. Of course, it is over 700 now, but that is the latest figure I have with the stats I want.
The St. Andrew South police
division recorded 102 of these killings, St. Catherine South 69, St. Catherine
North 59 and Central Kingston
58. Work out the math. That is an awful lot of murders in a very concentrated
area.
Which is the key to the headline of this piece. I have absolutely no fear living in Kingston (St Andrew, if you want to be picky), this due in no small measure to the concentration of killings in clearly defined areas. Like the vast majority of Jamaicans, I have never seen a person killed, I have never carried an illegal weapon and have seen far more bodies in coffins than I have on the roadside.
Like the vast majority of Jamaicans, the crippling violence which racks the country comes home on the evening news. And then, it is so much it becomes blurred and one killing runs into another into another until it just becomes a part of everyday life.
Harsh, but true.
So I live near to the killing fields with absolutely no fear at all. I sleep with my windows open when I wish to (I know, common assault outside Kingston and St. Andrew), I come and go as I please, I was skipping outside at 11:30 p.m. on Tuesday.
I am, however, not unusual in this regard (OK, maybe the skipping).
Persons who live outside the metropolitan area commonly referred to as Kingston, but which is in fact mostly St. Andrew, sometimes find it hard to believe that those who live in 'Killsome City' lead normal lives, but we do. Similarly, many who only read about Jamaica and its horrendous violence tend to think that everybody here walks around in a flak jacket.
This stems from a misperception that the communities - small, but densely populated - where the majority of the murders take place are Kingston and St. Andrew. Similarly, outside of the island there is the misconception that Kingston is Jamaica. We are small but rigidly separated, even in death.
With the murder rate skyrocketing, it may be hard to believe that hordes of people go exercising around the Queen Hill area 'before day' daily, but they do. It may be hard to believe that people gather at the Esso gas station at the intersection of Barbican and Hope Roads round the clock, but they do. Asylum is packed (or, at least, there are many cars outside) on a Thursday night, sessions at Mas Camp and several other venues across the city swing, men visit women and leave in the wee hours to go home to the 'right woman,' life goes on.
There are those who live in a constant state of paranoia, but not me. Certainly, some of the violence is random, but a lot of it happens for a reason. In other words, if you are not 'involved,' the chances of someone sticking a Glock in your ear and giving you a brain scan diminishes considerably.
Therefore, one of the keys to living without fear in 'Killsome City' is to live on the straight and narrow. Don't get involved in drug runnings, gun runnings or stolen goods runnings. Just as importantly, do not keep company with anybody who is so involved. If you have a friend slogging the nine to five who suddenly turns up in an Escalade, and his rich uncle is still alive, cut him off.
Think of it as taking a vaccine against lead poisoning.
Another leading contributor to funeral home owners gleefully saying that business is dead is man and woman runnings. Joe Grine (that is a man who sleeps with another man's woman) is a rather unhealthy profession, and it is advised that if you are breaking the news to a woman that you are seeing someone else, you do not do so in the kitchen or while driving.
Carjacking is the primary concern of the people in my side of 'Killsome City.' I scoff at that. I drive a 1988 Suzuki Fronte - when I do drive - and I am hoping to get my dream car going shortly. It is a 1967 Ford Mustang.
If anybody sticks me up for any of those I will give him my deepest sympathies and offer him counselling.
I am not stupid about my serendipity, though. If I am coming home at 4:00 a.m. and someone turns on the avenue behind me, I drive past my gate.
So I live in - or, to be more precise, near - one of the world's bloodiest areas and I am not afraid. Neither do I foresee a time, barring a military coup, when I will be.
I am staking my life on it. Migration to a 'First World' country is just not my idea of fun and I hope I will never have to explore that option.
A yaso it deh.
- Melville Cooke is a freelance
writer.
