The bamboo raft slammed into another wave, and I tightened my grip on the steering pole, feeling the current try to twist us sideways. This was the part of the job that never got easier—the rapids where one wrong move could send the whole load, and me, into the river. I’d been doing this for years, and it still took every bit of concentration I had. A raft like this only lasts about six months before the bamboo rots through, and then we just build a new one.
That’s the rhythm of it. Out here, away from the tourist beaches, Jamaica shows its real face. The mountains are covered in grass and bamboo, and the rivers cut through limestone, creating waterfalls that pour down toward the coast. Almost everything grows here—coconut, banana, pineapple, ackee, mango, avocado, breadfruit.
If you have a small garden, you can feed your family, and if you have extra, you can sell it. The water is what makes it all possible. Rain collects in the porous rock, filters down, and feeds the streams that carry us through the rainforest. When the raft reached the village jetty on the coastal plain, I helped unload it onto a pushcart.
For most people on the island, that handmade wooden cart is the only way to move anything. It’s cheap, and it gets the job done. But I don’t spend much time with the carts. I’m a fisherman.
My name is Roy Collins. I live alone in a small beach hut, just a simple place with everything I need within reach. I like it that way. I like the water, the beach, the slower pace.
It’s a more natural life. Less stress, less headache. You don’t need so much expensive stuff. Sometimes you can’t afford it anyway, so what are you going to do?
Live simple, and you have less to worry about. Today, my friends were lucky. The sea was calm, and the catch was good. Bonito—a kind of tuna—is the most prized fish around here.
The boats shared fuel costs, so everyone got a fair share. We cleaned them on the sand as the frigate birds circled overhead, waiting for their scraps. Today there weren’t many leftovers. Most boats stayed pulled up high on the beach.
Kingston was a different world entirely. About a million people live in the metropolitan area, all drawn there by the hope of making a living. The city exists because of its enormous natural harbor, one of the largest in the Caribbean. Thousands of ocean liners pass through every year, and the old harbor village is now just a few fishing boats that make a modest living.
It wasn’t always like that. Where that village sits now used to be Port Royal—the pirate town, the most lawless place in the Caribbean. In the 17th century, buccaneers launched their raids from there. Then, in 1692, an earthquake sank most of the city below sea level and killed about 2,000 people.
Kingston was founded by the survivors who fled the ruined town, and it grew fast into the biggest city in Jamaica. Now it’s the economic heart of the country, but it’s a rough place. Thirty percent of the people are unemployed, and that’s driven violence to the point that Kingston is one of the worst crime capitals in the world. Beautiful sunsets on one side, brutal poverty on the other.
The people here just have to learn to live with it. Downtown still has traces of British colonialism, which ended in 1962. Some historic buildings, like the Ward Theatre, have fallen into ruin because there’s no money to fix them. But the statues are well kept.
Around William Grant Park, figures of national heroes watch over the chaotic traffic. The biggest one is Bob Marley—the king of reggae, a worldwide Rastafarian icon, and the most famous Jamaican ever. One Sunday, I decided to cook for all my friends. It was my turn, and I had enough ackee to feed everyone.
Ackee mostly grows wild, so you can always find it if you know where to look. Some people sell it, but usually, you just go and pick it yourself. It’s a good meal, and it’s very cheap. A little piece of salt fish with it, and the whole family can eat.
Not everyone has money for a lot of other stuff, so they buy ackee when it’s in season. But you have to know what you’re doing. Ackee is poisonous when the fruit is still closed. You can only eat it after it’s burst open on its own.
Then you carefully cut the pulp away from the peel and remove the pips. The pulp is rubbery, so it needs to cook for at least half an hour. While it’s boiling, I fried up onions, sweet pepper, garlic, and tomatoes in vegetable oil. Then I added the drained ackee and let it simmer just a little.
When it was ready, it looked like a proper Jamaican meal. We didn’t eat at a table in the sun. That’s for tourists. We ate where we were comfortable, in the shade.
The taste is a bit like spicy scrambled eggs, and it’s healthy—high in plant oils and rich in protein. After we finished, I washed the dishes in the sea. It saves precious drinking water, and there’s no detergent needed. The sand scrubs everything clean, and the crumbs feed the small fish in the shallow water.
Environmentally friendly, too. Later, I watched the other fishermen head up the beach. Most people go to church on Sundays—about two-thirds of the country belongs to a Protestant congregation. The fishermen who don’t go to church sit around playing dominoes.
It’s practically the national sport here. They play for drinks or small change. The version they play is called cutthroat, which sounds violent, but it just means each player is on their own against everyone else. Some people prefer music and dancing, singing old songs that go back to their African ancestors.
Some of the tunes are still performed in the original African languages, to keep the memory alive. This is what life in Jamaica looks like. It’s not easy for most of us. The money is scarce, and the work is hard.
But there’s a philosophy that carries us through. Slowing down isn’t a luxury here—it’s survival. We try to hold on to our vitality and our calm, even when the odds are stacked against us. I live like a cowboy on the beach.
I don’t need much. When you’re not really sick, and you have your freedom, and you’re not locked up, when you can move free, then life is okay. You get up, you see the sunshine, and everything is alright. That is very important.
Come on. You can enjoy life. So that’s what I do. I take it easy.
Try to take it easy. Because it’s not so easy to take it easy. You just have to try.
