Jamaican Pizza Party

Last month I left off riding in a Toyota station wagon with Elvis the Woodcarver and a Rastafarian gypsy cab driver. We were supposedly looking for some pizza, but the village of Negril was coming to an end and I was starting to wonder why we were not stopping anywhere. Thoughts of jumping from a moving vehicle began to swirl in my head. Thank god the cabbie eventually put his blinker on.

Pulling into a dirt parking lot, I was already beginning to smell the aroma of pizza. The rasta cabman said he would wait while the food was being prepared and would only charge me ten bucks for the whole trip.
I asked Elvis what kind of pizza he wanted and he seemed perplexed. Finally I just decided on a jumbo vegetarian for $14. As we waited for the pizza, I asked Elvis if he wanted to play some pool? He told me that he didn�t know how to play since most Jamaicans don�t like to waste their money on games. This was another reality check played out in front of me. Americans think nothing of tossing fifty cents or a dollar a shot for a game of pool. In Jamaica money means survival and little else.

About 25 minutes later the pizza arrived and we headed back to the woodcarving stand with one stop for some beer. Back at the stand, I opened the pizza box and Elvis and his helper Larry seemed to just stare at it. I told them to grab a slice and we all began to dig in. Within about two minutes, things started getting weird.

I noticed that local villagers wandering over to the stand wanting pizza. Over the next few minutes a small crowd had gathered. Since one pizza wasn�t going to feed the world, I decided to ask Elvis which one needed food the most? The chosen one scaled over the wall and happily greeted a slice of the pizza. Elvis then told the others to go away as we started eating once again. My Jamaican friends were shocked to see how fast I could drink beer. To impress them, I popped another one open and drank it like I was Homer Simpson. They laughed harder. The electrical power pole running along the road was popping out hot sparks every few minutes, while the girls sitting across the road in front of a whorehouse kept us visually entertained. Finally I was witnessing the simple life of a Jamaican.

The next morning I awoke in the castle and headed to a nearby store for some orange juice and a local newspaper. Scanning the pages I came across a story about the living wages of the average Jamaican.

Minimum wage equals much less than a U.S. dollar per hour. Putting some deeper thought into it, I realized that the pizza the night before would basically cost the average Jamaican more than 2 days wages. No wonder it was treated as such a luxury item. Later that day I asked Elvis and his helper Larry when the last time they had eaten pizza? Larry told me it had been almost 6 years previous, for his 15th birthday. Elvis said it had been over a year for him. The daily struggles became more evident.

Elvis told me that he would be treating me to a traditional Jamaican meal that evening as a way of saying thanks. We would be eating across the road at mom�s house. Mom is the caretaker of a small hotel located across the road from the Blue Cave Castle. I began to wonder what would be filling my plate in a few hours. I knew that leaving any food on your plate in a country like Jamaica is a huge insult to the cook.

Later that evening I headed across the street for my first authentic Jamaican meal. The hour before dinner was spent watching some local dancehall DVD�s and listening to music. Elvis finally told me dinner was ready and we proceed into the dining area. As a guest I was first to be served and was shocked to see a heaping plate of food headed my way. Mom seemed to pull out all the punches to impress this skinny white boy from California. Curry chicken, a huge dumpling, rice, cucumbers and Jamaican potatoes all mixed with some fruit punch style Kool Aid made for one delicious meal. After dinner I walked with Larry to get some beer since the family wanted me to stay for the entertainment. Back from the store I laughed seeing that the entertainment was a bootleg DVD of the Good, Bad and the Ugly. Everyone was engrossed in the movie until the little kids all started giggling at me. I asked what was so funny? They told me that they had given me the nickname of Yellowhead.

After the movie I took Elvis and Larry back to the castle to see the penthouse. Elvis had never been up to the top and freaked when he saw the views. He asked if we could get some of the ladies from the whorehouse to come over and party. I told him that the hotel management probably wouldn�t think that was too great of an idea.

The next day was my final full day and I ended up just hanging out at on the grounds of the castle taking in some sun. Later that evening I joined a couple from Florida staying at the hotel, for a meal up the road at one of my favorite restaurants in the world. The Rockhouse restaurant located in the Rockhouse Resort is top notch. Outstanding views to go along outstanding food. Everyone was pleased although later that night I realized that the cost of my meal with drinks was the equivalent of a week�s salary for the average Jamaican. For some reason I completely downplayed the meal when Elvis asked me about it the next day.

Although I definitely don�t consider myself rich, by the Jamaican standards I would be considered loaded. I left Jamaica thinking about how I hate the current occupation of Iraq, question the President�s motives, lack health insurance and drive a ten year old car although I still consider myself one lucky bastard to have been born into a country where a person actually has a chance to get ahead. In Jamaica, that chance is known as the impossible dream.