Rio Sambre

Yes, we are definitely going to change the name of our riding club from "Fun and Thrills" to "Fun and Spills", for whereas we may have fun, spills are a definite certainty! Saturday 23rd May was no different. It was on that day that we set off from the parking lot of Juici Patty in Bog Walk to undertake a rigorous ride from St. Catherine to St. Mary, a ride estimated to take some seven hours.

The ride started out quite run of the mill as we headed north on the highway for an about two miles. We then made a right turn, heading in an easterly direction passing through pleasant residential areas such as Sunnyside and Rosemont. All along we saw orderly orange groves and green pastures. Then we got to Devil’s Race Course, so named I suspect, to describe how drivers perform on the fairly smooth road. However, it is an absolutely beautiful passage overgrown with bamboos which offer excellent covering from the morning sun. Ferns and wild flowers aalso proliferate on the sides of the road.

Then I got the shock of my life, for it was the first time in my life that I had ever been racially profiled as Chinese. As usual, I was lagging at the back while my colleagues raced ahead. I guess the of sight of some ten strangers passing through sleepy rural hamlets did create quite a stir, for as some kids saw me panting to try and keep up, one declared triumphantly to her friend "Si annada chiney ya". Well blow me down.

It was a pleasant and scenic ride I thought to myself and much easier than I had anticipated. Then the hills arrived. At first the hill seemed quite easy to conquer despite the boiling sun. But that was before I discovered that the darn hill went on forever! Well not being one who is into masochism, I decided that dishonor is better than death and started pushing my bike up the hill until, thank God our support vehicle caught up with me. Well who could resist the lure of air condition as opposed to struggling up a hill that had no end and pushing a 20 lb bicycle to boot? Well certainly not me. So in I jumped offering to drive and Michael was only too anxious to oblige for he had given up the opportunity to ride in order to drive the vehicle for us.

It was not long before we came upon Johnny (aka big John) who had given up struggling up the hill and was resting in the shade. He too could not resist the lure of the air condition. Our new recruit Kevin also discovered that the hill was too much for him and joined us happy troupers. Several miles up the hill we found the "fit ones" all crashed out on the floor of a small country shop gasping for any liquid that they could find. They were Barry, Heather, Damit, Howie, Michael and Gervais. Gervais is a young Trinidadian medical student who was riding with us for the first time but everyone was in awe at how he took off at full speed and did not seem a bit perturbed by the hilly terrain. I learnt the next day from my godson Jerome who is his batchmate at the University of the West Indies that his bicycle is pasted on to him as he rides everywhere, in and outside of campus.

When we got to the top of the huge hill we were in the town called Guy's Hill. Guy's Hill is a typical rural town but its distinction is that it spans two parishes, St. Catherine to the west and St. Mary to the east.
At Guy’s hill, most of us less fit ones remounted our cycles as we were promised by our scout Howie, that it would be downhill all the way. Well if that’s what downhill looks like, I must just have been born yesterday because for every respite we got which allowed the breeze to cool us down, we found another mini hill. But it was not that bad....certainly no way close to the long hill that we had to climb to get to Guy's Hill.

At Windsor Castle we made a sharp left turn and thank God, it was really downhill all the way from there. As I enjoyed the scenery, the cool breeze, the soothing sounds of the birds in their natural habitat and the occasional gushing of the otherwise lazy river running beside the road, I came upon a small crowd including not only our riders but also persons from around the area. The excitement had been caused by Barry whose front rim had exploded with a loud bang sounding like a gunshot, I am told. Since only superman could have survived a broken rim and Barry is no superman, he landed on his stomach and skated on his chest for quite a few yards.

In a village where nothing exciting happens, the sound and sight of a white Chineyman skating on his belly, created quite a stir but it left him with a number of bruises. As he recovered, a Jamaican Lizard Bird (aka Qua Qua) shrieked loudly in the trees as if reprimanding us for having invaded his tranquil abode with such noise and fury. Of course Barry to his merit, did not allow a small blow to his pride and a number of superficial scratches to deter him, so packing his broken bicycle into the vehicle, he jumped on another and finished the journey to Wood Park in fine style.

After we crossed an ancient bridge we found the lovely swimming hole in Rio Sambre (called Tiger River by local residents) that Howie had been telling us about. Despite its strong current we had a great time cooling off in the surprisingly warm waters in the most tranquil and scenic surroundings. Apparently that river is not always as harmless as it appeared that day however, for we were told by a local resident to keep looking upstream for at any moment the river could come barreling down in huge sheets caused by rain falling somewhere upstream. We had no such excitement however and after a great session in the river it was time for the long ride back to Bog Walk which meant riding uphill from Rio Sambre to Windsor Castle. Well as they say in Ja, mi not into dat, so I hastily took my seat once again in the support vehicle.

Those who made it back to Guy’s Hill on bicycles where we had excellent food at a local restaurant, were Heather, Howard, Damit, Gervais and Michael. They also finished the entire journey back to Bog Walk on bicycle, with Gervais reaching at least half an hour before his older counterparts, I am told!

It was another great day of riding, camaraderie, exercise and frolicking in the water, the type of outing thatI always look forward to .

TO SEE MORE PHOTOGRAPHS TAKEN ON THE RIDE, GO TO ;http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=111694&id=763366822&saved

GOVERNMENT INSTITUTIONS AND WASTE

As a Jamaican I have never ceased to be amazed at how taxpayer’s money is constantly being wasted by the establishing of government bodies which have nothing to do but trip over each other as the do the same thing or even worse, do nothing at all since the budgets they get usually accommodates salaries only.

Now we have an even weirder situation where the Public Defender has gone even further by announcing that his department will be conducting an enquiry into the Armadale tragedy within hours that the government announcing that a Commission of Enquiry was being established to do just that!

Surely the resources of the Public Defender’s department would be better spent dealing with complaints by citizen’s organizations and indeed citizens, against government institutions. Instead those seem to have been sent to file 13 while the impetus to grab sound bites has taken over.

As a matter of interest, has parliament ever gotten a report on the achievements or indeed even usefulness of that institution?...

"Correctional" Institutions

The deadly fire on Friday 22^nd May 2009, at the state-run Armadale centre in Alexandria St. Ann, Jamaica, which claimed the lives of five young girls, the injury of 11 others and the destruction of a dormitory at the all-girl correctional facility, has once again raised questions about how such institutions are run.

“Correctional” institutions in Jamaica were first established by the British over 200 hundred years ago, using the concept that you simply lock away offenders from the public. No correction involved. Matter closed.

However, Britain like the rest of the civilized world has long ago moved into the modern era where the emphasis at these institutions is rehabilitation. However, Jamaica remains steeped in the old concept. So whether one is a young or old offender, there is no emphasis on re-socializing them or teaching them skills that will enable them to re-enter society as useful human beings and not parasites or deviants though this is far cheaper for the entire society in the long run.

Also, our institutions are hotbeds of corruption where warders are prepared to supply any contraband from cell phones to weapons, for a price. And the policy makers, be they JLP or PNP, do not care two hoots about rehabilitation. They just want the problem to stay as far out of sight as possible. As a result, offenders are locked down for up to 23 hours daily, instead of being taught a skill or made to put in some form of work where they can earn an income , no matter how small, which could either go to helping their own families or providing some form of compensation to those they have harmed. What a waste.

As to the juveniles, Yes, some form of schooling exists, but are the authorities interested in rehabilitating them? No, they simply want to keep them till they are 18 years old then they either send them back into their comminutes much worse than when they left or they are then sent to adult correctional institutions to get even better qualifications in deviance. Either no or so little that at matters, is offered in terms of counseling ….. for example in anger management, socialization, nor not even a psychiatric evaluation is done in most cases. So the reasons behind their anti social behavior is never analyzed with a view to rehabilitation. Hence we are told that at the Armadale institution the fire started because it was deliberately set by the girls who were locked up in the dormitory, as they were planning to create a diversion to break out. Does this sound like rational behaviour?

One would hope that coming out of this unfortunate incident where lives were lost, there will be a change in how the policy makers and bureaucrats view “correctional” institutions, but I am certainly not holding my breath!

MOTHER'S DAY

What is the best way to spend mother’s day? Well if you are like me with no children nor grandchildren living in close proximity, what better way to spend that special day than with friends, taking in the absolute peace, beauty and tranquility of the Blue and John Crow Mountain Park.

That’s exactly what I did on Mother’s Day 2009, along with the usual crazy crew from Fun and Thrills. To be frank however, when I left my home at 6 am, I had expected to return by about 1 pm so I could do my usual vodka lyme with the usual suspects. That is because I never realized that my good Sri Lankan friend Damit had become so Jamaicanised. For Damit had organized the ride had indicated that we were going to a place called “Section” which was approximately 2 miles from Newcastle. Newcastle, if you have been reading my blog, is 13 miles riding uphill from Papine a distance that took me the slow rider 4 hours last time. Then Section was said to be 2 miles downhill from Newcastle so a safe 7 hours for the trip was a good guestimate, I thought.

Well the last time I went on that the very scenic route that takes you from Newcastle to Buff Bay in Portland was about three years ago. At that time I had seen where Hurricane Ivan had torn away the road just below Newcastle but because the kindness of a Coffee farmer in the area, we had been able to go through a road he cut on his property and continue our journey without much problems.

Riding up to Newcastle this time was not too difficult for me as I had already conquered it and was feeling quite fit. And guess what, Donna introduced us to “Gooseberries” which grow wild on the road side. This is as small yellow fruit, probably the size of a blueberry but far moré delicious. So I had a lot of fun satisfying for my cravings for this new delicacy by stopping all along to replenish my stock. Well what most of us had forgotten was that from Newcastle to Hollywell Park was by no means downhill so having adjusted our minds to the joy of sailing down we had to keep struggling uphill for another two miles. But once we started descending with the breeze cooling us off and drinking in the fantastic scenery of the different colours on the hills and the fabulous wild flowers, the real rewards of riding tripped in.

When I had arrived at the first break away and saw the possibility of falling hundreds of feet into a ravine if I walked where the surefooted and my courageous colleagues had, I opted to push my bicycle up the hill (Damit the gentleman, saw me struggling up the hill and came to my assistance) and through the coffee farm then down a step hill, dangerous for cyclists because of the loose gravel. But I survived. So I rode happily down the hill enjoying the fantastic flowers, brightly colored impatience, purple and another lilies of all sorts, the most fabulous assortment of wild ferns including the tree fern which it is said comes back from prehistoric era and other beautiful blooming flora. The birds too were in their element cheering us along all the way and the day was cool and a bit misty.

It was an absolutely scenic and peaceful ride.

Then we came to the second breakaway in the road.

I had no idea that since my last trip on that route, another hurricane (Dean, I think) had torn away two other parts of the road and those two other sections had no alternative route for vehicles to drive. That was when I decided I was not going to play the role of a mountain goat and opted to stay with Winston Chin Yu who had kindly agreed to drive the support vehicle behind us that day. We later had our delicious brunch of mackerel run dung, callaloo, boiled dumplins etc delivered by a kind young man who volunteered to be our guide when we came upon the first break away at Section...

Sitting there with Winston, I was reminded of how fortunate we and our families were as we observed a number of children, some no older than twelve, having to carry heavy sacks of sand on their little heads, in wheelbarrows or on a bicycle. In other words, they were acting as beasts of burden since the road was impassible to trucks, cars and vans. So the building material needed to erect a house on the other side was being transported by the kids. We never saw an adult during the period were there, doing that harrowing task. The scene was very depressing.

I had decided from we started that being a one direction rider I would drive back to Kingston so I took my seat early in the support vehicle. The heroes Damit, Howard, Heather and Michael, all power to them, road back and when the rain started they really got soaked. Those too who drove back in the open back of the pickup also got soaked and the breeze on their wet clothes made the journey back even more uncomfortable. Poor Michael chuck decided that he could no longer take the cold breeze and called a friend in a closed up vehicle to rescue him at Irish Town.

I can't speak for everyone, but I thoroughly enjoyed my Mothers day, the exercise, the camaraderie, the scenery and last but not least the food. Thanks Damit.

yOU CAN SEE MORE PHOTOS TAKEN ON THAT RIDE BY VISITING;

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=logo#/album.php?aid=109840&id=763366822&ref=nf

MILLICENT KNIGHT, HAPPY IN HER OWN SKIN

Eat, drink and be merry”. Laughing heartily, 98 year old Millicent Knight OD, educator extraordinaire and a former Headmistress of Westwood High School declared that this was her formula for a long healthy life. I had not seen this great Jamaican for over half a century, but when I phoned her at the nursing home where she now lives, I was absolutely surprised at how young and vigorous she sounded. Presumptuously I asked he if she remembered me (I gave her my maiden name). No she replied hesitantly, and then added quickly “Are you related to Collector Marshall?” When I told her he was my late father, She quickly replied “Oh yes, he did have a rude little daughter who used to swing on the gate”. Sheepishly, I admitted to having been the culprit but quickly added that I was now over sixty. All my life I had regarded this great educator with awe as did almost everyone in Stanmore, Malvern and the environs. For guess what, I remember it being whispered every time she appeared that she had been the first black girl to attend the prestigious Hampton Girls School (best known at the time for its elitism at and racism). We kids, I am reminded by my brother, even used to speculate that she would have had to powder her skin white to get into Hampton! Everyone spoke about her brilliance and as a child I used to watch her stroll up the aisle of the Bethlehem Moravian Church to play the piano and I was always enthralled at how this staid and circumspect looking person became full of life the moment the music got to her. Millicent Knight, the first child and only girl of seven children, was born in Stanmore in St. Elizabeth and went to St. Albans Primary school before attending Hampton School. According to her, she cannot remember a day when she did not want to follow in the footsteps of her parent and become a teacher. So brilliant was she that on graduating from Hampton High School in 1930, she immediately went to Bethlehem Training College to teach English and Maths to students older than herself. While there she did an intermediate BA as an external student then later traveled to the University of Toronto to complete her studies. After graduation, she again returned to teaching at Bethlehem and was soon promoted to the post of Vice Principal. Her next move was to St. Hilda’s Girls School in Brown’s Town, St. Ann before moving on in 1965 to become Headmistress of Westwood High School in Stewart Town. Coincidentally, Westwood was established in 1880 to give coloured girls the opportunity to get higher education. According Mrs. Logan, one of the headmistresses who succeeded her, the academic standards at Westwood improved greatly during Miss Knight’s and there was a marked improvement in discipline and religious training. Ms. Knight was also lauded for her foresight as she became an avid fundraiser both locally and overseas with a view improving the accommodation and facilities at the school. Those who succeed her carried on the programme and used the funds to construct the William Webb auditorium and the Princess Alice Dormitory. One of her former students, Elara, also concurs with the view on the improvement in educational standards, but she went further to state that Miss Knight brought Maths to life and whereas this had never been a strong subject among girls, they started to excel in the subject under her tutelage. She also remembers Miss Knight as a strong disciplinarian but never unfair or spiteful and someone who had a great sense of humor and a healthy laugh. “In fact, I would say she was always comfortable in her own skin, something not common among black women at that time”, she added. On retiring in 1976 Ms. Knight returned to St. Elizabeth and her alma mater, where she went to help her friend Gloria Wesley-Gammon then Headmistress of Hampton Girls School. There she taught Maths and English for a few years before leaving the teaching profession for good. Miss Knight laughed as she told me that she and Miss Wesley-Gammon had been school- mates at Hampton so the stories of her being the first black girl to go to that school could not have been true. “While it made good folk lore,” she laughed, “there were in fact a number of black students there by the time I got there!” After leaving teaching, she became a lay preacher and religious activist at St. Albans, the Anglican Church at Stanmore, (where she had always been a member although being active in the Moravian Church) and moved back to her parents’ home where she lived with a brother. When he died, she moved upon to Kingston to live with another brother and having outlived him, moved into the nursing home where she now resides. If ever anyone has debunked all my fears about old age, it is Millicent Knight. To begin with, she has a fantastic memory although she often complains that she forgets some things and is totally up to date with all that is happening. (I saw no evidence of forgetfulness!) She is an extremely happy and healthy 98 year old who reads the newspaper from start to finish every day and without glasses. She admits that she automatically solves mathematical problems if she has nothing to do and adds that she can eat anything and loves spicy food. So her relatives have to keep her supplied with hot sauces since nursing homes catering to the elderly stay far from the spices, she adds laughingly. She has a telephone in her room and keeps in constant touch with friends and relatives. While she has no serious illnesses, because her legs are weak, she goes around in her wheelchair but can move around in her room on her own. Spending time with this outstanding Jamaican was extremely inspiring for me, but I just could not help getting answers to two burning questions. “Are you sorry you never got married and have children “ I asked her .The quick reply was “Absolutely not, for I have seen too many women suffer greatly in marriage and because of the actions of their children.” Then the whammer. “How come you remembered that I used to swing on the gate? She laughed heartily. “Because your parents were staunch PNP’s and you used to swing on the gate and call out to people telling them to vote for the JLP!” After I left, I mulled over the scenario which must really have seemed quite outlandish to the adults, but I couldn’t help thinking how lucky I had been not to have been born in a garrison, for had I been, that childish prank could have lead to my entire family being harmed, in Jamaica land we love!