Marriage is a sacred union that commits two people together in a relationship. If one person wants to be involved in intimate relationships with others outside of a marriage then that person is not ready for such a commitment. A commitment is serious business, breaking a commitment has serious consequences just like breaking the law of the land. One should be sure he can remain faithful to his commitment before making such a commitment.
Most males get married in Jamaica because it is what’s expected of them and it gives them respectability, a family and a trophy wife. So, without much thought to the commitment part of it, they get married for the convenience of getting married but not because they want to be committed to that person and the relationship, and so now we have a broken relationship and the blame game starts.
As humans, we all have the tendency to get distracted but we can avoid things and circumstances that lead us astray. If you are a rabbit and you do not want to overindulge why stay the entire day at the carrot farm?
Friday, June 10, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
From a Jamaican Point of View
The days of slavery supposedly ended. Yet the people of Jamaica are enslaved by a constitution that was written for the benefit of persons in government and not for the benefit of the people and equal rights where humanity is concerned.
Jamaica became an independent nation in 1962 and since then the same breed of Politicians have been the ones in charge of governing our nation.
A citizens right to vote does not have the power of the citizens voice, it only creates power to the individuals placed on a pedestal who only serve themselves and not the people of Jamaica.
The most basic food that necessitates survival incur tax, still it is yet to be seen where all these taxes collected goes. Policing, Education, Health care, and Infrastructure are all lacking.
The Politicians continue to live lavish lives, while the common people struggles to survive in a highly illiterate society.
Moral values have been on the decline since Cable TV came into being as there was no censorship from the beginning. Unplanned pregnancy among teenagers and the less fortunate continues to breed poverty,crime, porn infestation and decrease family values.
Self-loathing has created the bleaching phenomenon where persons are using extremely hazardous chemicals to lighten the color of their skin.
There is limited opportunity for a Jamaican citizen who plans to stay in Jamaica.
While a Jamaican Politician can pay the the same price as an American in America for a motor vehicle the people of Jamaica would have to pay two or three times the price to own and drive the same automobile in Jamaica.
A Jamaican doing business in Jamaica, sooner or later will give up and migrate to another country or become corrupted or develop health issues.
A truck on a distribution route or a person on his way to work is stopped twice per day in road blocks delaying constructive productivity. The traffic police have become the biggest extortionists.
God help us...
Jamaica became an independent nation in 1962 and since then the same breed of Politicians have been the ones in charge of governing our nation.
A citizens right to vote does not have the power of the citizens voice, it only creates power to the individuals placed on a pedestal who only serve themselves and not the people of Jamaica.
The most basic food that necessitates survival incur tax, still it is yet to be seen where all these taxes collected goes. Policing, Education, Health care, and Infrastructure are all lacking.
The Politicians continue to live lavish lives, while the common people struggles to survive in a highly illiterate society.
Moral values have been on the decline since Cable TV came into being as there was no censorship from the beginning. Unplanned pregnancy among teenagers and the less fortunate continues to breed poverty,crime, porn infestation and decrease family values.
Self-loathing has created the bleaching phenomenon where persons are using extremely hazardous chemicals to lighten the color of their skin.
There is limited opportunity for a Jamaican citizen who plans to stay in Jamaica.
While a Jamaican Politician can pay the the same price as an American in America for a motor vehicle the people of Jamaica would have to pay two or three times the price to own and drive the same automobile in Jamaica.
A Jamaican doing business in Jamaica, sooner or later will give up and migrate to another country or become corrupted or develop health issues.
A truck on a distribution route or a person on his way to work is stopped twice per day in road blocks delaying constructive productivity. The traffic police have become the biggest extortionists.
God help us...
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The Blueberry Hill Guesthouse
The Blueberry Hill Guest House started back in 1990. It shifted location in 1996 by relocating to a new customized building next door its original site. Patrons range form locals and foreigners alike.
Located at the edge of the town of Buff Bay, Portland; the Blueberry Hill Guest House is nestled on a hill overlooking the scenic Bay and the town of Buff Bay with a picturesque view of the Blue Mountains to the south. It is surrounded by tropical flowers and plants. The entire property is scattered with coconut, breadfruit and banana trees. The beach is a three minutes walk away and local casual restaurants and bars is a five minutes walk into the town. The Court House and Anglican Church are historical landmarks and Charlestown which is a mile in from the town is a historical Maroon site. The town of Buff Bay is the gateway to the Blue Mountains from the north coast of Jamaica. Rafting on the Rio Grande is a 20 minutes drive. Port Antonio and the Port Antonio Marina is a 30 minutes drive.
The Blueberry Hill Guest House is private, simple, comfortable and affordable. It is the perfect getaway or the perfect overnighter before starting your journey up the Blue Mountains. Look up the Blueberry Hill Guest House on Youtube and facebook.
(876) 913-6814
Located at the edge of the town of Buff Bay, Portland; the Blueberry Hill Guest House is nestled on a hill overlooking the scenic Bay and the town of Buff Bay with a picturesque view of the Blue Mountains to the south. It is surrounded by tropical flowers and plants. The entire property is scattered with coconut, breadfruit and banana trees. The beach is a three minutes walk away and local casual restaurants and bars is a five minutes walk into the town. The Court House and Anglican Church are historical landmarks and Charlestown which is a mile in from the town is a historical Maroon site. The town of Buff Bay is the gateway to the Blue Mountains from the north coast of Jamaica. Rafting on the Rio Grande is a 20 minutes drive. Port Antonio and the Port Antonio Marina is a 30 minutes drive.
The Blueberry Hill Guest House is private, simple, comfortable and affordable. It is the perfect getaway or the perfect overnighter before starting your journey up the Blue Mountains. Look up the Blueberry Hill Guest House on Youtube and facebook.
(876) 913-6814
A Glimpse of Buff Bay
Upon approaching Buff Bay, Portland from the west, and just after passing the cemetery I had to descend a small hill, where tall coconut trees greeted me on both sides of the street and the ocean lay a stone’s throw away to the north. The mountains to the south glittered in a variety of greens and blue giving me the first glimpse of the Blue Mountains. I drove across a bridge where the Buff Bay River flows beneath to meet the sea. It was dawn, so the town was quiet except for a few persons at the bus stop waiting to board an early bus to Kingston or further and in between. A Texaco Gas Station was lighted up on the left, yet there were no sign of human activity. I drove further into the town past the easterly traveler’s bus stop where a few school students were boarding a minibus to Port Antonio. I wanted an early start, so I had departed Kingston at 3:30am in the morning. It took me just over an hour to arrive in Buff Bay to my amazement. The road from Kingston took a bit of maneuvering, but on entering the outskirts of Annotto Bay the road with its clean, smooth surface was a pleasure to drive on, especially because I was one of few motorists on the road at that hour. I drove past churches, schools, bars and shops; all was calm and quiet as I headed to the Blueberry Hill Guesthouse where I planned on residing for the rest of the weekend on my quest to discover the town of Buff Bay.
The drive up the hill in the early morning was refreshing, tall trees and palms were spaced out on both sides of the road, a slight wind blew in the air diffusing the stillness of the morning. I had to pass three houses before I got to the guesthouse. The garden surrounding the guesthouse flourished with beauty, I pulled up at the entrance and got out of the car. The smell of roasted breadfruit greeted me as well as a tall brown Indian lady smiling. She showed me my room and prattled on, asking me about my drive and what I was doing in Buff Bay. I was happy for the chatter after a quiet uneventful drive and she invited me for breakfast to my delight. The grounds of the guesthouse were enveloped in green with different blooms scattered across the garden. I went up the outside staircase and stood on the balcony observing the most breathtaking view. Looking out, the silver ocean seemed to spread out like a blanket meeting the horizon. Ms. Doris, the Indian lady called up to me then and I went down to have breakfast. It was a basement kitchen; the only modern convenience was a sink. There was a table and few benches, some shelves where tableware, utensils and pots were kept and a door to the back of the room leading into a large pantry. Two coal stoves stood in the middle of the kitchen. One was fired up with a pot cooking something mouth-watering. Before, going into the basement I had noticed a wood fire under a coconut tree where the breadfruits were roasted. The aromas were a delight to my senses and when I actually took the first bite, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. My taste buds came alive as I devoured the roasted breadfruit served with ackee and saltfish, prepared the old fashioned Jamaican way. The guesthouse was fairly modern with cozy bedrooms and bathrooms showing all Jamaican-made furniture, but the kitchen and the food were an unexpected pleasure I will never forget.
After two hours of rest and freshening up, I decided to walk down to the town. Ms. Doris was going down, so we walked together. On entering the main road into Buff Bay, I could see the Blueberry Hill Jerk Center as it stood on the edge of the seaside, the shutters were down, but I could see and smell the smoke escaping through, signaling that the grills were lighted up and ready to start jerking the chicken, pork and sausages for the day.
Ms. Doris took her leave in the opposite direction to wait for a bus going east to the capital, Port Antonio. I walked on passing the very high, mildewed white washed wall of Lynch Park, the barrier to the home of the St. George’s community center and sports facility. But just across the main street the sea rolled forth and receded on the black sand leaving the white froth for a while before it dissolved. It was interesting to watch and listen to the music of the ocean touching the shore. A white hatch backed car pulled up beside me interrupting my thoughts as the driver called out ‘Taxi’ staring at me. Those types of car seemed to be everywhere I turned and decided not to get distracted by their evasive presence and continued my morning walk into the heart of Buff Bay.
The town was buzzing now with people going in and out of the fresh produce market and the parking lot of the Shoppers Pride Supermarket which was packed with motor vehicles and people. I did not linger as I wanted to view the quieter side of Buff Bay. I paused to view and take pictures of the exterior of the closed Buff Bay Post Office, the small building looked ancient and cared for and I wondered how the inside looked. A lady had her wares spread out on a folded canvas on the landing of the post office steps, her goods consisted of Tupperware, metal strainers, plastic flowers and other nic-nacs items. I decided to buy a small grater from her, it was made of metal, but there was a wooden brace at the back which was painted red with flower prints, it was quite unusual. I chatted with the lady for a while, she told me about the different schools in the area. There was the regular public primary school, a public high school and some private basic and prep schools but no school environment for children with special needs, which is same as most small towns in Jamaica.
I continued my walk and proceeded across the street to the grey, ancient stone building which stood tall and high embracing memories of long ago. It was one of Buff Bay’s few historical landmarks. The Anglican Church was built with stones from England which were used to balance ships traveling across the Atlantic to Buff Bay, Jamaica to collect produce to take back to England. I looked at the monuments and their inscriptions. I was informed by the caretaker that the land behind the church going back to the seaside was once a burial ground for the slaves who died after arriving on the island. And like the church, the stones that built the courthouse were of the same origin. The colonial style courthouse was a replica of traditional English Architecture dating back to the 17th century and beyond.
There was still more of Buff Bay that I wanted to see, but I was getting hungry so I went to a small roadside restaurant next to the Court House. The name Hibiscus was printed across the length of the outside wall in brilliant red, while the rest of the space on the walls was painted with the Hibiscus Flower; it was a pretty sight. A dark rounded lady greeted me with a wide dimpled smile. I ordered the brown stewed Snapper with Rice and Peas, a tall glass of sorrel and sat down to enjoy my lunch at one of three white plastic tables.
My next stop was the town square. There was nothing significant about the square. What stood out was the expanse of the intersection, and the Texaco Gas Station. I could see that Buff Bay was a well planned town with its wide roads and avenues. I was getting tired so I flagged down one of the white taxis which took me back to the Guesthouse so I could get some rest before I met with my guide to plan a trip to the Blue Mountains the following morning.
The drive up the hill in the early morning was refreshing, tall trees and palms were spaced out on both sides of the road, a slight wind blew in the air diffusing the stillness of the morning. I had to pass three houses before I got to the guesthouse. The garden surrounding the guesthouse flourished with beauty, I pulled up at the entrance and got out of the car. The smell of roasted breadfruit greeted me as well as a tall brown Indian lady smiling. She showed me my room and prattled on, asking me about my drive and what I was doing in Buff Bay. I was happy for the chatter after a quiet uneventful drive and she invited me for breakfast to my delight. The grounds of the guesthouse were enveloped in green with different blooms scattered across the garden. I went up the outside staircase and stood on the balcony observing the most breathtaking view. Looking out, the silver ocean seemed to spread out like a blanket meeting the horizon. Ms. Doris, the Indian lady called up to me then and I went down to have breakfast. It was a basement kitchen; the only modern convenience was a sink. There was a table and few benches, some shelves where tableware, utensils and pots were kept and a door to the back of the room leading into a large pantry. Two coal stoves stood in the middle of the kitchen. One was fired up with a pot cooking something mouth-watering. Before, going into the basement I had noticed a wood fire under a coconut tree where the breadfruits were roasted. The aromas were a delight to my senses and when I actually took the first bite, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. My taste buds came alive as I devoured the roasted breadfruit served with ackee and saltfish, prepared the old fashioned Jamaican way. The guesthouse was fairly modern with cozy bedrooms and bathrooms showing all Jamaican-made furniture, but the kitchen and the food were an unexpected pleasure I will never forget.
After two hours of rest and freshening up, I decided to walk down to the town. Ms. Doris was going down, so we walked together. On entering the main road into Buff Bay, I could see the Blueberry Hill Jerk Center as it stood on the edge of the seaside, the shutters were down, but I could see and smell the smoke escaping through, signaling that the grills were lighted up and ready to start jerking the chicken, pork and sausages for the day.
Ms. Doris took her leave in the opposite direction to wait for a bus going east to the capital, Port Antonio. I walked on passing the very high, mildewed white washed wall of Lynch Park, the barrier to the home of the St. George’s community center and sports facility. But just across the main street the sea rolled forth and receded on the black sand leaving the white froth for a while before it dissolved. It was interesting to watch and listen to the music of the ocean touching the shore. A white hatch backed car pulled up beside me interrupting my thoughts as the driver called out ‘Taxi’ staring at me. Those types of car seemed to be everywhere I turned and decided not to get distracted by their evasive presence and continued my morning walk into the heart of Buff Bay.
The town was buzzing now with people going in and out of the fresh produce market and the parking lot of the Shoppers Pride Supermarket which was packed with motor vehicles and people. I did not linger as I wanted to view the quieter side of Buff Bay. I paused to view and take pictures of the exterior of the closed Buff Bay Post Office, the small building looked ancient and cared for and I wondered how the inside looked. A lady had her wares spread out on a folded canvas on the landing of the post office steps, her goods consisted of Tupperware, metal strainers, plastic flowers and other nic-nacs items. I decided to buy a small grater from her, it was made of metal, but there was a wooden brace at the back which was painted red with flower prints, it was quite unusual. I chatted with the lady for a while, she told me about the different schools in the area. There was the regular public primary school, a public high school and some private basic and prep schools but no school environment for children with special needs, which is same as most small towns in Jamaica.
I continued my walk and proceeded across the street to the grey, ancient stone building which stood tall and high embracing memories of long ago. It was one of Buff Bay’s few historical landmarks. The Anglican Church was built with stones from England which were used to balance ships traveling across the Atlantic to Buff Bay, Jamaica to collect produce to take back to England. I looked at the monuments and their inscriptions. I was informed by the caretaker that the land behind the church going back to the seaside was once a burial ground for the slaves who died after arriving on the island. And like the church, the stones that built the courthouse were of the same origin. The colonial style courthouse was a replica of traditional English Architecture dating back to the 17th century and beyond.
There was still more of Buff Bay that I wanted to see, but I was getting hungry so I went to a small roadside restaurant next to the Court House. The name Hibiscus was printed across the length of the outside wall in brilliant red, while the rest of the space on the walls was painted with the Hibiscus Flower; it was a pretty sight. A dark rounded lady greeted me with a wide dimpled smile. I ordered the brown stewed Snapper with Rice and Peas, a tall glass of sorrel and sat down to enjoy my lunch at one of three white plastic tables.
My next stop was the town square. There was nothing significant about the square. What stood out was the expanse of the intersection, and the Texaco Gas Station. I could see that Buff Bay was a well planned town with its wide roads and avenues. I was getting tired so I flagged down one of the white taxis which took me back to the Guesthouse so I could get some rest before I met with my guide to plan a trip to the Blue Mountains the following morning.
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