In my time living abroad, mostly in Toronto, Tradewinds gigs took me all over North America and to Mother England, and, of course, all over the Caribbean. But for several years after I moved to Grand Cayman in 1981, I chose not to visit Jamaica. The two islands were only 40 minutes apart by air. There were daily flights, the service was good, the fare was reasonable, and there were no immigration or customs hassles. But I didn’t go, and the reason is very simple. I had concerns about going there to perform
From Canada, where I had lived for 22 years, and then in Cayman, the media had left me with the very definite impression that I would be a risk visiting Jamaica. The stories were rampant and varied in subject, but they were almost all negative, some approached horrific, and without actually saying so, this information was telling me that visitors to the country were taking great risks. Apart from the physical dangers of robbery, assault, injury and even worse, there was also concern about drinking water, the need to bribe to get proper service, irregular electricity supply, and the absence of safe public transportation. The spectre of crime was powerful. This was not a place you wanted to go with your family. Time and again, when the discussion of a Jamaica visit arose, the overarching concern was the feeling of not being safe. Reasonable people I knew would flatly tell you, “I’m not going there.”
