It’s easy to make a list of all that is undesirable in Kingston, my hometown. As a youngster, I never imagined I’d spend all my life in a city, given that I always loved being outdoors. But here I still am. And it’s also easy to write about the lost Kingston of my childhood, but now I want to write about the things many of us still love about our city, the things not yet lost, much as some of them are on the brink. These are my own thoughts, but also those of other Kingstonians, and I thank all who helped me with this list.
I’m never lost in Kingston. This is not because of a widespread logical grid pattern or informative street signs, neither of which Kingston has. It’s because no matter where you stand in the city, no matter how unfamiliar the area, if you turn in a circle you will see the hills and mountains and you will know where you are. You might also be able to see the sea – a second point of reference. The first time I travelled to a flat place I felt entirely unmoored – how did the people who lived there know where they were? They talked of east and west – but for me, unless the sun was rising or setting, there was no way to know the way home.
This takes me to the mountain views from the Liguanea plain, on which Kingston sits.
From Jamaica House, December 2016
The Blue Mountains, of course, rising behind the city, but all the lower hills as well – Long Mountain, Dallas Mountain, Jacks Hill, Wareika Hill, Red Hills. I remember visiting the Riverton City dump and climbing to the top of the current tipping face – the best vantage point I had ever encountered for appreciating the sweep of the mountains embracing Kingston. A view available to all. Given that I was at the Riverton dump because of the many problems there, I thought: I look towards the hills from whence cometh my help.
We’re in the regular dry time now, hot, dusty, windy. The hills are brown and so are the lawns – if those who tend them are abiding by water restrictions, which often they are not. But Kingston blazes with blooms. Especially bougainvillea - my favourite is the rusty glow of Kenya Sunrise – but everywhere I see flowers – oleander, plumbago, lignum vitae. The poui trees, which seem a bit confused these days, have already bloomed and dropped their yellow carpets.
And the pods of the woman tongue trees make their susurration.
Much as they are under attack by what’s termed ‘development’ today, Kingston is still a city of large trees. I like to go to the top of Jacks Hill or Skyline Drive where from high up, I can still see the older neighbourhoods with their bigger yards and many fruit trees – mango, guinep, otaheiti apple, citrus, banana, plantain, the huge guangos, the elephant ear trees, the occasional cotton tree.
Kingston, from Skyline Drive. Photo by Jeremy Francis
In some of the earlier multi family yards, I can still see a big tree that was allowed to coexist – thanks to Honor Ford Smith for pointing out just such a tree off Hope Road. Wouldn’t happen today. Here’s one of my favourite trees – on Dewsbury Avenue. I’ve tried to get it protected with a tree preservation order, but no one in officialdom is interested.
I like the old neighbourhoods too, even though the homes are often falling into disrepair. I can see the gracefulness of what used to be enough house for us, the small verandahs, the places residents went about their lives, to church, markets or for a sea bath.
As for downtown Kingston, I celebrate its vibrancy. I feel ghosts in the buildings we haven’t protected and I wish we knew their stories. I so appreciate the work of Kingston Creative downtown and I big them up. I spent an afternoon at Trench Town and Culture Yard Museum, and musicians turned up to jam, and I sat on a step and listened to them, and I felt the musical heritage of the city, knew the beat of its heart.
I love the waterfront, much as we’re attempting to wall it off and armour it, but it’s still true that you can go from mountains to seaside in about an hour from the city of Kingston. I can’t say I still love Hellshire, now I mourn it, but the sea is still there, and perhaps the beach could come back if we undid all that we have done. And although the sight of Big Sea has been taken from us on Palisadoes, I can climb through the untested giant rocks and there the surf is, and I can wait to see the sunset behind the lighthouse. I love the view of Lime Cay from Fort Rocky, especially on a calm day, and I love it that I can go on a fishing canoe from Port Royal to the coral cays of the Palisadoes/Port Royal Protected Area, to lie on the sand under a mangrove tree or go for a swim. Although it’s not cheap anymore.
I love the sunshine in the morning and the birdsong, especially the nightingales, the warm nights and the luminous light of December. Okay, those can also be found outside of Kingston, but they are still here too. I love the creak of the whistling frogs after rain – and yes, I know they are non native, but I’m hoping they’ve settled in like the fruit trees.
I love the produce I can buy on street in so many places, and I enjoy the interactions with the sellers and other buyers, the discussions as to whether an avocado pear is a Monday pear or a Tuesday pear, whether the sugar pine is ready for peeling right away and are the naseberries sweet-sweet.
Barbican, Kingston
And there are places we can all still go – Hope Gardens, not the place of my childhood anymore, why on earth did we allow the pond to be behind an entrance fee, but Hope Gardens remains somewhere we can stroll around, sit under a tree on a blanket. We can still go to Emancipation Park, Devon House (at least part of it), Mona Reservoir. Some places for free, others not. I love the ruins and the aqueduct of the University of the West Indies. I love going to antique sales and art shows and plant sales and all the various kinds of markets – old ones, pop ups, informal ones, farmers markets, and the mobile market which shows up outside my gate in a van.
I am sure this is an incomplete account. I will think of more things as soon as I post this. You, reading this, will have a different list. Here’s my last one – I love the exuberance, the irreverence, the irrepressibility underlying the paint jobs in Kingston, the signage, even the graffiti. After the supremely ugly median barrier was built through Barbican Square, a graffiti artist went to work on it and here are some of his or her messages, a playful cultural stamp, a small resistance:
Yeah. I’m definitely in the city of Kingston, island of Jamaica, not anywhere else. And I’m glad to be here.
I left Jamaica and Kingston years ago though I visit my remaining family regularly. I enjoyed this piece as it reminds me of my former home off Old Hope Road and why I loved about living there and about what is still worth seeing. Thanks Lori
You write so well Diana. Thank you for sharing beautiful thoughts. You transport us through some of the assets of Kingston on a balanced wheel. Continued blessings as you share your talent.