My First Dance Class in Jamaica

The first class I booked was with Mara Jackhammer, a New Skool female dancer who was part of the group, Jackhammer girls. I sent her a very informal message on Instagram, and she responded telling me to come at 12pm, and gave me the address. Not knowing anything about the part of town she lived in, I jumped right in. I tried to make it so Autoy, my trustworthy driver from the first part of my saga would drive me, but since he was busy, I rolled the dice and called "On Time Taxi." When the driver pulled up, and I gave him the address, he gave me a look like I had just told him to run his taxi into a tree. I wasn't sure why he was acting like that until we pulled into the neighborhood,  and I slowly understood. ( Just a note, I recognize I am telling this part of the story from the perspective of a white foreigner with absolutely no knowledge of this city at this time. My account about this first experience was primarily influenced by my own fears, not the actual environment.) 

The neighborhood was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I had traveled to other countries of the world, and seen how other people live, but I had never seen this level of poverty in my life. Everyone was staring at me as the taxi pulled in. When I called Mara to let her know I was there, she left a voice note saying she was at the bank, and would be there soon, which apparently was the catalyst for setting the driver off into an angry panic. All of a sudden, he held nothing back from me, shouting wonderful things like, "You shouldn't have made me drive you to this neighborhood", "I can't leave my car parked in a place like this, how dare you make me do that", ( and the best one I heard) "As a white girl, you shouldn't even be in Kingston. This place isn't for you!" When he finished with his cacophony, a very pregnant Mara came walking up to the window, rescuing me from the horrible angry awkwardness that was sitting inside that taxi. 

When I came out of the car, she pulled me over to the side of the street where a few guys were sitting on top of a speaker drinking some juice. I looked around me and saw pieces of metal held up by concrete walls, piles of burning trash, and kids holding hands with their mothers as they ambled down the street. My mind cleared once Mara turned on the music. She gave a brief introduction, then we got to dancing. She taught me her steps, then we combined them in an amazing choreography as the whole neighborhood watched. 

For the first time since I had walked off the plane, I felt like I was exactly in the right place. I understood why I was there and why learning the steps right from the source. That class was the most amazing class I had taken in my life. We were in the street, sweating, dancing to music that was made RIGHT THERE. It was incredible. I no longer felt scared or disappointed. If anything, I was upset at that taxi driver for making me feel unwelcome and like I was doing the wrong thing.