My guess is any time of the year is a good time to visit Jamaica.  I was supposed to visit in June, and then the schedule changed to July, and then it changed to January.  My vote would have been January all along.  I'll take any excuse I can to leave Ohio in the winter.  But, as it turned out, I finally visited the Caribbean in April . . . well, make that October.

After four delays, I wasn’t holding my breath when the fifth invitation came my way.  I had to see the airline ticket and hotel reservation before I would believe anything.  And, nothing was truly certain in my mind until I stepped onto the airplane.

Upon arrival in Kingston, I had a meeting at the U.S. embassy with their staff as well as representatives from the two communities scheduled for murals and the Edna Manley College of the Visual and Performing Arts.  It didn’t take long for me to see I was in good company and I think I set their minds at ease.  I hope so, anyway.

The first mural was in Standpipe, a community directly across the street from the U.S. Embassy.  A wall in a major intersection in the community was selected and, thankfully, it was very smooth.  The people I met with liked the idea of illustrating things inside the word “Standpipe”.  And, in case you were wondering, the area got its name because there once was a single standing pipe that provided water for the entire community.  Life has improved since then, but the name remains.

From left to right, the illustration begins with a Rasta man and his guitar.  Contrary to every stereotype in my mind, the majority of the people in Jamaica do not sport dreadlocks.  Yes, there are some, but not nearly as many as you might think.   If they don’t do it because of the heat, I completely understand.

Large metal drums that most likely once hauled gasoline or oil are converted into grills, called jerk pans.  Of course, if you use a grill that big, it’s for a community feeding.  And, the local favorite cooked in any of them is jerk chicken.  I guess you can have jerk goat or jerk whatever meat suits your tastes.  I drew a chicken who wrote the word “fish” under jerk chicken.

Loodie is a game very much like Sorry, but the board is much bigger.  You throw the dice and need a six to begin.  But, they don’t just toss the dice.  And, it’s way more than just a little wrist action.  The whole body is used to properly get that six.  One man I observed couldn’t get a six to save his life, but I told him he lost beautifully.  He used his body in ways I’d never be able to use mine.  I just don’t have the right genes.  But, he looked so good losing.

The design included a man playing basketball and a woman playing netball.  I included a couple of dominoes.  And, I like to toss in a map whenever I can.  Hovering above Jamaica were a couple of pineapples from the national crest, the national bird – a humming bird called a doctor bird – and the quote “Out of many, one people”.
Now, you can’t illustrate Standpipe without that original pipe.  To round out the mural, I added a tropical sun, a drummer, the Jamaican swallowtail and a red hibiscus.

I thought I was done.  After hours of work (and it takes so much longer than anyone really understands to assemble these kid-friendly cartoons into a mural), I went to bed.  But, in the middle of the night, I realized I forgot to add the number 59 somewhere for my latest mural.  When I figured out how to add it, I rolled back over for a few more zzz’s.  In the morning, I filled in a little negative space with one more domino.  You can already guess the two numbers on the tile.  However, I never dreamed there would be any controversy.  Most domino sets in Jamaica have six as the highest number.  It took a lot of explaining, almost every time someone passed by, to explain that nine.

Very fortunately, we had a tarp set up over the mural.  On the first day of painting, we needed protection from the rains.  Tropical rains.  Drenching, miserable, soak everything rains.  But, we successfully managed even though the paint was so slow to dry.  On every day after that, we needed the tarps to shade us from tropical rays.  Either way, I was drenched.  On the first day it was because of the rains and after that it was my usual tropical weather, fashion statement.  I get drenched, and drenched fast.  Some people might say I sweat like a pig.  I’ve never seen a pig sweat, but I know drenched when I am it.

The mural was so very well received in the community.  It was in a location that had a lot of foot traffic.  There was a lot of conversation, but it was usually in Jamaican Patois, a dialect that is English-based, with a smattering of French and Spanish and a whole lot of West African Akan.  You can listen to it, and it is lovely, but you will never understand enough to make heads or tails of it.  So, when my local contact in the Standpipe community, Boxer, wanted to really communicate with me, it had to be in English.  He said that there had been a lot of talk about me and the mural.  And, he came to one conclusion.  “You should move to Jamaica.”  I don’t think he could have given me a higher compliment.

I think it’s common for most of us to think that one person cannot make much of a difference in the world.  And, that kind of thinking can lead us to do a whole lot of nothing.  That’s why the story of Maianna Faraf and Paint Jamaica is so inspiring.  One person made a difference and it’s continuing and growing.

Farag, from France by way of New York City, first visited Jamaica in 2014.  You don’t have to be in Jamaica long to know that Fleet Street in Parade Gardens is not the kind of neighborhood that most tourists normally go to.  There are no beaches in sight and no stars by any hotels, if there are hotels.  It is an impoverished inner city location.  And, at 41 Fleet Street was the shell of an abandoned warehouse where Farag found inspiration.  In a location where some people, most people, would see urban despair, Farag saw a concrete canvas.  Farag knew that art could inspire a positive change in the community.

Now, I’m very impressed with this part of the story.  Somehow, this tourist found herself in the middle of the arts community while on her trip.  I’m not sure how that happens.  I’ve rarely experienced it.  But, that’s where Farag found herself and she asked, “Why don’t we use street art to uplift communities in need?”  That is how Paint Jamaica (Facebook link) started.  And, this street-art movement was launched to beautify the walls of the warehouse, the street, and eventually the neighboring school.  A ten-day group muraling project in July, 2014, began the change.  Not only do the murals gloriously transform the neighborhood, but they reduce the negative stigma that surrounds the place.  Truly, people come from around the world to find their way to 41 Fleet Street and witness its transformation into the largest street art gallery in the Caribbean.  These art-lovers wander a community that in the past no taxi driver would venture into.

The Paint Jamaica team realized that it takes a community to transform a neighborhood with art.  Yes, I took great comfort in that because it’s the same truth that I realized with my first mural when I began painting in Namibia so many years ago.  The murals in this neighborhood are community projects, using both local and guest artists.  And another thing I learned along the way was also happening in Paradise Gardens.  I’ve learned to work with the community to gather their ideas for the murals.  The same thing has happened in the work produced by Paint Jamaica.  They discussed the issues in the community before designing the murals.  They want to reflect their community through the murals created.  The art reflects peace, community, cooperation, unity and inspires positive change in the neighborhood.

The hope is that the changes will continue to spread and transform Kingston.  It isn’t just art.  It’s art that repairs broken-down social barriers, unites a community and breathes hope into an area where it was once lost.  Crime has reduced, as well as litter.  The murals have helped to change the landscape and revive the community.

When I went to Fleet Street, I went with a local person.  It’s always the best way to explore any new location, anywhere in the world.  My friend knew that the narrow opening in a metal wall, across from the warehouse canvas, was actually the entrance to Life Yard (Facebook link).  But, even knowing it’s the entrance, you still have to know to squeeze down the very narrow pathway on the right, between two buildings.  It opens up to a small garden oasis where you would never expect one.  And, in this oasis, students can safely study, play and practice yoga or capoeira.  At the same time tourists can taste organic delights in the restaurant where they eat what they grow and grow what they eat.  Additionally, visitors should sample the homemade juice bar combinations under tropical heat (which I absolutely recommend).  

The Rasta men of Life Yard decided that positive action needed to be taken in order to take back their community from crime and violence.  And, they had the hands to do just that.   The people of Life Yard are multicultural, intergenerational and eco-friendly. Together they reach out to their neighbors throughout Fleet Street, across Parade Gardens and into neighboring communities.  They are craftsmen, artists, farmers and teachers who want to help hone the skills of the children who live in their inner city community.  And, they also work with adults teaching life and job skills.

It’s incredible to walk the street and wander through the warehouse to see what has happened on Fleet Street.  But, unless you visit on the right day, you are not likely to see actual paintings going up on the walls.  You will, however, find people who truly care about their community when you locate the Life Yard sign and wander back into their oasis.  These people give the Fleet Street transformation an actual face that you might otherwise miss.

Paint Jamaica and Life Yard want to change the entire downtown area of Kingston.  There is a lot of “canvas” yet to be painted.  On Fleet Street the people have realized what art can bring into their lives.  Jamaica, an island with rich culture and talented artists, is transforming one mural at a time.  One woman’s dream is now celebrated by a street, across a community, throughout an island and around the world.

Three days before I departed for Jamaica, I received an interesting email.  In it, I was informed that I would be teaching two classes at the Edna Marley College of the Visual and Performing Arts.  You might have thought that someone could have mentioned that to me a little sooner.  A little bit of advanced warning could have helped.  I had no idea what they wanted me to share.  Even though the course was for students interested in murals (a fact I learned upon arrival), not every artist is a teacher.  Not every teacher has lessons filed away on a computer at a moment's notice.  And, not every arts envoy could figure out what to do for the class with so little warning.

But, they asked me.

It didn't hurt that I had just given a presentation at a teacher's conference that very same week.  So, my introduction PowerPoint was already created with no need to change a thing.  I talked to the students the same way I talked to the teachers.  And, in both presentations, I made a confession.  I've spent much more time sitting in the seats at presentations rather than standing up front.  With that experience under my belt, I attend with very low expectations.  If I get one thing from a lecture that I can apply to my life or my classroom, the lecture is a success in my mind.  It hasn't always happen.  If I get more than one thing that I can apply to my life, well, that's just like extra dessert.

I love extra dessert.

So, when I begin my presentation, I hit people right up front with two, yes, count 'em, two take-aways.  There is no searching for a hidden message and absolutely no waiting.  Right there, right from the start, is the most important take-away in the whole presentation with dessert on top of it.  In case you are just dying to know what the hidden jewel is that I had to share, it's the word "yes".  I say "yes" to every opportunity that comes my way, as often as I can.  Saying "yes" has taken me around the world to adventures and opportunities that I never dreamed possible.  And, there is no sign of it slowing down at the moment.  If you are wondering about the dessert on top, I also give them my website where they can contact me, read about my adventures, use my clip art, and see their photos if they paint with me in the coming week.  But, it truly appeared they all had more than one dessert.  One of their greatest surprises - and valued desserts - came later when I told them about designing murals and using a chalk line.  None of them had ever seen that tool before.

I threw a fairly complete bag of goodies into this lesson.  Not every presentation can be stuffed with disasters and adventures like I have had in my life.  But, this one was.  When I went to Africa to paint my first mural in Namibia, I wrote that it was a "once in a lifetime occasion".  One of my friends corrected me.  He said it was yet another in a series of Phillip Martin experiences that nobody else seemed to have. 

I think he was right.

Throughout my talk, I stressed what saying "yes" had done for me.  The highest praise was when the classroom teacher, Greg Bailey, described that lesson as the "sweetest dessert" among a lot of shared desserts.  And, a lot of the my stories were woven together in surprising ways.  Things that I said "yes" to as far back as 1989 lead me to where I stood in Jamaica in 2019. 

--  I said "yes" to the Peace Corps, where along the way I collected and rewrote some African folk tales.
--  I said "yes" to international teaching which lead me to twenty years in Africa, Asia and Europe.
--  While teaching in the Philippines, I said "yes" to a graduate course where my teacher lesson websites, first --  --  about Hammurabi and then about those African folk tales, won top prize in MicroSoft competitions.
--  That exposure led to the creation of my clip art site for students and teachers.
--  I said "yes" when the first mural came my way because someone in Namibia thought my clip art was perfect.
--  And, I said "yes" when someone at a Peace Corps meeting in Columbus, Ohio, suggested I contact U.S.         --  Embassies.  He knew they would see the murals as a win-win for everyone involved.  And so, I was in Jamaica.

Mr. Bailey told me that he'd never seen his students so attentive.  But, again, it wasn't a normal every day kind of lesson.  It was a no-holds-barred, knock their socks off, Ripley’s Believe It or Not kind of lesson.  I shared experiences that have happened in far corners of the globe, but a lot of it still brought lessons home to the students in Kingston, Jamaica.

In North America, I shared about painting with Little Stevie Wonder at a school for special needs students in Mexico.  Stevie was my first blind muralist.  I let him feel the wall and then turned him loose with a paintbrush and his own can of purple paint.  Parents marveled and said, "You know he's blind, don't you?" Of course I did, and it was glorious to give him that ownership.

In South America, I shared about painting with Claudinei in Brazil.  His story was especially impactful in a room full of artists.  Claudinei had cerebral palsy.  He couldn't physically hold a brush or pencil, but he absolutely loved art.  He painted with a special hat that had an attached brush.  And, he jumped for joy in his wheelchair when he had the opportunity to participate with the mural.

In Oceania, I talked about how I sought out cultural experiences.  I wanted to try a local drink called kava.  So, when the person I met in a souvenir shop said he'd take me out drinking if I joined him after work, I did just that.  From the horrified expressions I witnessed in class, I gathered you really shouldn't go to parts unknown in a taxi with strangers in Jamaica.  You probably shouldn't do that in Fiji either.

In Europe, I discussed gratitude.  And, the old fart in me thinks that a lot of entitled youth need to remember this.  I painted a mural with orphans in Romania.  The two oldest brothers shared one pair of shoes.  They alternated days on who went to school.  I've never known any other children who faced that dilemma.  And, if that wasn't enough guilt, my interpreter sat me down.  He said he knew that these past few days were just another in a series of wonderful Phillip Martin experiences.  And, he was right.  But, for those orphans, painting the mural was the best three days of their lives.  I've never been anyone's three best days before.  It was very humbling.

And, finally, in Africa I talked about my experience in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.  I spent my ten days there crossing an intersection between my guesthouse and the orphanage where I painted my mural.  In that intersection, my friend Fils worked in a kiosk where he sold time cards for cell phones.  He warms my heart every time I see his face.  After all, he came over to paint on my mural on a couple occasions.  But, he also haunts my soul.  Fils looked maybe eight or nine years old, but he was twenty.  He had severe malnutrition as an infant.  I always thought you just outgrew that once you started eating right.  That is not the case.  The effects stunted his growth and would eventually shorten his life.  Yes, the truth was haunting.

If that wasn't enough, I threw in an art lesson.  When the class ended, after three hours or so, none of the kids left the room.  Nobody raced out for a break.  Every single kid remained to work on their art.  I'm not sure if that ever happened before in the history of education.  It certainly impressed their teacher.   And, Greg Bailey is certainly impressive in his own right.  He's establishing a name for himself in Jamaica as quite a painter.  He's already had his work displayed in the national gallery.  I knew the truth and I told him, "I'm never going to have my art displayed in a national gallery."  But, Bailey didn't miss a beat when he replied, "I wish I had my art displayed around the world in Africa, South America, Europe and North America." 

Okay, touché, and dessert was had by one and all.

I knew about two Jamaican dishes prior to landing on the island.  One was jerk chicken and the other was ox tail and beans.  One, I planned to eat and the other had ox tail in it.  I've spent enough time on farms to know where ox tails are located, and that is right next to smelly, messy body parts on an ox.  I want no risk of cross-contamination.  It just isn't going to happen.  There is no way I can talk myself into it.

The very first place I ate in Jamaica had both of these options.  They also offered cow's foot.  Again, I've been on farms.  I know what those feet spent their entire lives standing in.  There is no amount of bleach in the world that can sufficiently clean that up in my mind.  And, even if there was, then you would only taste bleach as you ate the dish.  No, it wasn't happening.

As it turned out, I didn't have the chicken at the first restaurant.  There was a rooster and a hen walking around at my feet.  I wasn't going to risk it.  So, as I frequently do, I asked my waitress what was recommended.  She said pork without any kind of hesitation.  And, we aren't going to talk about pig styes.

I love to talk about food when I travel.  So, of course, I've talked to Jamaicans about chicken.  And, two of them told me that I must have chicken at an international chicken chain that is in Jamaica.  In fact, I was told that this unnamed chain is hugely popular on the island.  There are more of these chains per person in Jamaica than any other country in the world.  One person told me that her family always eats at this chain when they come to the island.  It's that good.

I was skeptical.

I want some home-cooked jerk chicken while in Jamaica.  It hasn't happened yet.  But, even though I usually try to skip international food chains when I travel, I decided that I had to find out why this chicken crossed the road and the Caribbean Sea to get to Jamaica.

I still don't know.  

I can tell you that his place was Crazy Frantic Chaos.  I almost didn't even set foot inside the chain.  The actual space inside wasn't all that big.  And when I entered, there were about ten people in line to place their orders and another twenty standing around to get their orders.

Now, I'm going to guess that we've all been in lines that we felt were too long and too slow.  When given the choice at the grocery, the bank, or this CFC, I always pick the slow lane.  It's a gift and I can't figure out how to return it.  I always pick the wrong line.  However, there was only one line at this chain and it was molasses slow.  I am not usually one to cause a scene.  If the service is slow, I grit my teeth and endure it.  I do not make a scene.  Not ever.  But, causing a scene was part of the Crazy Frantic Chaos experience.

No, it wasn't me.  I was simply a very interested observer.  This chain didn't serve jerk chicken, but it did serve jerks.  In one corner of the gang of twenty was a huge woman with a matching temper.  And, she had had enough of the chaos.  She finally said what I've wished to say in the past, but actually never - never - would.  She demanded, "What kind of service is this?  Why is there only one person up front by the register?  Get some more people up front and take care of these orders!"

And, that's just what happened.

If I had actually said something like that, and it caused people to jump into action, I think I would have trouble suppressing a smile.  I mean, there really was no excuse for what was going on behind that counter.  But, I just couldn't demand the staff jump into action.  You couldn't pay me enough to do that.  I just stood back and took it all in.  But, even after letting off some steam, repeatedly, and causing a commotion at CFC, this woman remained in a dour mood.  There were no smiles.  There were certainly no thank yous.  She received her five enormous boxes of chicken and pounded out of the store.  I don't know what could possibly have made that woman smile.  It sounds like a recipe for indigestion, if you ask me.

But, the show wasn't over at CFC.

Each of the twenty-plus people waiting for their orders had receipts with numbers on them.  One innocent young cashier called out, "193" and then another called out "194".  That was just too much for the man holding on to number 192.  He loudly swore at the staff (something I could never do) and insisted that he get his money back right away (which I might also have considered under the circumstances).   It was amazing how fast his order was served.  He also left without a smile.

Okay, the entertainment portion of the meal was over.  I got my meal and retreated to a corner.  The food was nothing to write home about.  The chicken might have crossed the road to get to this place, but I never would again.  The entertainment was unique, but I don't want to experience that again either.

I'm still waiting for my personal invitation for home-cooked jerk chicken.  In the meantime, I have had some at a local Jamaican fast-food place called Mother's.  The service was friendly, the lines were short and I shared my meal with a local artist involved in my mural projects.  That meal was savored.  It'll have to tide me over until I get my home-cooked jerk chicken.