Before embarking on this outrageous adventure I read all sorts of briefing documents and information packages about Jamaica, and what to expect from the people and the place, from a cultural differences perspective. A common refrain was the warning about catcalls from people on the street, particularly aimed at white women. The streets of Kingston have lived up to the hype. I am constantly amused, sometimes angered, but rarely disappointed, by the boldness, arrogance and audacity of Jamaican men. Whether it’s a homeless beggar, a dreadlocked Rasta, a scruffy taxi driver, or a well dressed businessman, the desire to catch my attention with an array of creative jeers is constant.
“Pssssst, hey whiteee!” is the common starting point, “wa gwan beautiful lady?” takes it to the next stage, and “baby, wanna be my wife?” is the ultimate goal. I have to say, I am impressed by their confidence, persistence, and, let’s be honest, their blind ambition. I mean, it’s not as if their advances have ever worked, that they have ever received a response “yes, please, I would love to be your wife, mister homeless man.” And yet they never stop trying. I learned early on that the best response is a very cheery and loud “have a nice day.” Perhaps they’re not expecting such an affirmative, positive response, but for some reason, it seems to stop them in their tracks, and I can continue on my way, until the next one.
I know it’s a “cultural thing” and that there are all plenty of sociological, psychological, and historical explanations for this behaviour. But at face value, it’s a source of amusement and entertainment to my life in this crazy, complex place, and adds another dimension to my Jamaican experience.
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