Goodwill in Negril

A few years back I made my first trip to the island of Jamaica. There were many reasons for the visit including sunshine, beaches, music and so on. What I didn�t realize was the poverty and suffering that lay ahead. Within minutes of my arrival, I realized I was witnessing a culture so different than ours. Structures that we would normally call tool sheds, were being used as homes for that majority of the residents on the island. Desperation seemed to eerily greet you around every corner. After spending four days exploring the western portion of the island, I had this feeling that I would eventually return to try and help out in some way.

Since that trip I have kept in contact with a local woodcarver who resides in Negril. His name is Elvis and he has filled me in with the current happenings around the island through various phone calls. I received one such call from Elvis shortly after Hurricane Ivan ravaged the western portion of Jamaica. Things weren�t looking too good. His home had been severely damaged and the majority of his wood carving stand had blown into the ocean. Elvis told about the suffering, the food shortages and finally of his own personal tragedy. After the phone call I knew it was time to act on my humanitarian desires.

I would return to Jamaica, but this time it would be to help the locals instead of just a fulfillment in vacation satisfaction. I would be carrying with me 100 pounds of clothing. The clothing would be heading to Elvis to help supplement his income during the tourist drought currently taking place. Elvis could sell the shirts to the locals for a fair price and in return make some much needed money to help feed himself and his daughter. I spent the next few weeks scouring the RAD store and Family Bargain Center collecting my booty. Some of the items were new while some were only slightly used.

Arriving in Montego Bay, I lugged the two over stuffed bags to the Customs counter. If my wording wasn�t just right, I would possibly have to pay a duty for the clothing. The Customs agent wondered why I was traveling with so much luggage? I answered that much of the stuff would be handed out on an as needed basis to the needy. The Customs agent wondered why I hadn�t declared the items on the custom form? The line behind me was now growing much longer as I continued to play the verbal game. I told the agent that since much of the stuff was donated to me, there wasn�t a way for me to put a value on it. The agent asked what value I thought it was worth? "Maybe twenty five dollars" was my response. The agent appeared frustrated and knowing I was lying, finally waved me on. Leaving the airport I realized that I was only about 90 minutes away from my final destination in Negril.

IIf you pass along the famed seven mile beach of Negril, you will come to the Cliffs or the West End. My lodging for the adventure would be for three nights at the Blue Cave Castle. Luckily, a last minute cancellation allowed me to get the top of the castle for the first two nights. This has to be one of the best deals of a lifetime. For $80 a night (single) you get the entire top of a castle including three private decks and a nicely furnished studio apartment. The views from this enchanted location are some of the best in Negril. The final night would be spent in a lower tower room directly over the water.

Within a few hours I met up with Elvis whose wood carving stand is located directly to the north of the castle. His stand had been rebuilt and this time much more securely. A rudimentary concrete foundation would seem to add more support. Elvis explained how the structure had ripped apart during the storm while pieces of tin flew in various directions. Things were now looking better and Jamaica seemed to be healing, but the tourists were still staying away in record numbers.

I brought the first bag of clothing down which was also stuffed with various snacks and school supplies. Since Elvis had told me he was a diabetic, I had brought along quite a few sugar free snacks. His eyes lit up when I brought out two bags of sugar free oatmeal cookies. Elvis and his helper Larry began to devour the cookies. I left them to the clothing and snacks and headed back to the castle for a swim and possibly a nap. Later that evening I went back to the wood carving stand and was surprised to see Elvis charging out the door. He smiled and said "Jeff mon, these are the best cookies I have ever eaten". I was beginning to realize

that the locals rarely ever had the simple luxury of a good cookie.

I told Elvis I was hungry and wondered if he wanted to join me for dinner. He seemed shy and said he was fine. I prodded some more and finally he agreed to join me. We headed off in search of pizza. The hour long adventure took me to the black money market exchange which I declined to utilize, and then to an ATM machine where the girl behind me in line had a boob completely exposed to the world from the top of her dress. I asked Elvis what the boob was all about and he told me that she was a prostitute and that was her calling card. We then ventured on to the very end of the village as I began to panic. In a Toyota station wagon with a large rasta man and Elvis, I began to wonder why we were not stopping anywhere?