My First Stay in a Jamaican Household

 My experience in Jamaica very quickly transformed from a quick trip to take a couple classes into a full blown life experience that would transform the years to come. From almost the moment I touched down back in California, I already had my next trip planned and booked in less than a full season. Of course, this time was not any different from the last, in that the trip I had planned in my head was completely different than the experience that was thrown before me. 

This time around, I only had 6 full days in the country, which meant I had to pack even more in than I did that first time around. My "plan" was to stay with my teacher, and his family, and get a foundation in the Old Skool rhythms of Dancehall. It seemed simple in my mind, and, without much planning, I was stepping off the plane into the sweltering heat once again. Before I knew it, I was rushed into an old jalopy driven by my teachers' good friend and driven to the neighborhood that I was briefly introduced to a few months earlier. Stepping out of the car, I shed the whirlwind of my red eye flight and bumpy car ride, and could once again feel the calm that being in Jamaica brought me. 

While my last trip had been an introduction to Jamaica as a whole, this trip was my up and close introduction to the way of life in Kingston. The house was small, with three makeshift rooms that each led into one another. At least two people slept in every room, except if there was family visiting, which increased the number to 3 or 4 . The yard, where classes were held, was all dirt, leading to a pathway of chicken coops and clotheslines. With music playing at least 12 hours a day, and the almost twice a day video game gatherings, personal space was considered a luxury. Despite me being a complete stranger, I was welcomed as a member of the family. My six days were spent eating an Easter dinner of fried chicken and pasta salad, playing video games with the group of neighborhood boys, kicking a soccer ball with the little kids, hanging up laundry, and participating in the occasional class led by my teacher in the yard to a group of foreigners passing by. So much was packed in, with time flying by and standing still at the same time. 

When the lively chaos of the day time subsided, the magical evenings set in. My first night of learning took place on top of the entry gate to the house. As people in the community passed by under the darkness of the night, my teacher explained to me the different time periods in Dancehall music. We started with the beginning, with Old Skool and Rock Steady, to the Mid Skool era recounting the radio war between Vybz Kartel and Mavado, ending with the New Skool era we are in right now. The next few evenings panned out the same way, this time dancing to the steps. We covered about 20 in total, with my teacher struggling to break down the barriers of my current movement style, often throwing up his arms, confused why I moved like a "cardboard box". We were able to break through some, thankfully. I learned to pick my feet up more, put more detail into my movement, and actually started to feel the tiny nuances that went into step. 

We skimmed the surface, which was the best that we could do in 6 days, and although I wanted to come back from this trip completely transformed, I knew the depth at which I wanted to explore Dancehall would take significantly longer. 

But first, I had to go to another party...