Growing up in Jamaica was not what some may think as ideal, it has been described as
a Third World Country, but to me, it was just home. Third world indeed, poor, violent at
times; a contradiction, with its sandy beaches, clear blue skies, delectable food, feel
good music, and some of the hardest working people one can ever have the pleasure of
meeting, who refused to stay where life may have placed them, but strived to climb
above those circumstances and attempt to carve out a life for themselves and their
children.
Let me introduce you to the Jamaica that I grew up in and remembered; I remember
the endless summer holidays growing up off the Sligoville Road, in a small district called
Mt. Moreland, where the playground
a Third World Country, but to me, it was just home. Third world indeed, poor, violent at
times; a contradiction, with its sandy beaches, clear blue skies, delectable food, feel
good music, and some of the hardest working people one can ever have the pleasure of
meeting, who refused to stay where life may have placed them, but strived to climb
above those circumstances and attempt to carve out a life for themselves and their
children.
Let me introduce you to the Jamaica that I grew up in and remembered; I remember
the endless summer holidays growing up off the Sligoville Road, in a small district called
Mt. Moreland, where the playground