Jamaicans enjoy living on the edge

By Robert Lalah

Well, now, surely it can't be that easy! One toot of the car horn, then a finger point to the sky, and the buxom belle was convinced to get into the Corolla. The car had white plates and tinted windows, so unless she was gifted with bionic eyes, she had little idea who was inside. All the driver had to yell was 'town!' and the deal was sealed.

The woman had been standing on the sidewalk, technically alone for about five minutes, though the eyes of every adult male within 100 yards were glued to her. She was, after all, wearing little more than a belt, high heels and that 'I'm-hot-and-I-know-it' scowl.

You could tell from the way the men were perusing her every curve that they wanted desperately to approach her. A few of them could be seen consorting, perhaps debating ways to make the move. If only one of them had thought about driving by and pointing to the sky. Then they'd have her all to themselves.

This is something I've often wondered about. How can people get into vehicles that don't have red plates or any other marking to indicate that they're taxis, just because the person driving calls out the name of the place they want to get to?

'Robot' taxis, by their very nature, are just like the other cars on the road with nothing to distinguish them as legitimate pay-for-transport vehicles. Their drivers, then, can be anyone from straight-laced church deacons, to psychotic serial killers whose hobbies include boiling small children in big pots after sunset. Yet, day after day you see people hopping into these vehicles with nary a thought about what they could be getting themselves into.

I find this fascinating. It's one of the things we, as Jamaicans, do that make you realise that things could be a whole lot worse than they are. Yes, our murder rate is ridiculously high, but the foolish chances people take every day suggest lots of us think bad things only happen to those poor saps on the evening news.

innocent children

Another example of this is very young children being sent to school and to the corner shop on their own. You see them all the time trudging along, plastic bags in hand or with heavy backpacks weighing them down. Some can't be more than three or four years old and seem susceptible to a strong breeze, yet their parents think it fit to allow them to make the journey, which can be a short walk or many miles long, all by themselves.

Never mind the fact that the evening news is frequently full of stories about missing children and perverts gone wild. Apparently none of this matters because little Johnny 'must learn fi go shop'. Going to school on their own, too, must be some sort of rite of passage that I personally just don't get.

Teach them responsibility, yes, but also protect them until they're at least able to better protect themselves. It can't be that there is no option. There has to be an older family member or friend who can help out by walking with the children to and from school, in the event that the parents can't make it. Take risks with your own life if you want, but protect the children because they didn't ask to be here.

I guess we're a nation of risk-takers. That would account for the silent passengers of speeding buses, zigzagging motorcyclists who don't wear helmets, drunk drivers, policemen who take bribes, motorists who offer bribes, and people who took out second mortgages to invest in Cash Plus and other investment schemes.

Maybe most of us have been lucky so far despite taking these risks. But the law of averages dictates that sooner or later our luck is going to run out. To continue taking these unnecessary chances would be moving beyond risky and into the realm of utter stupidity. And there's no coming back from that.

Robert Lalah is assistant editor - features, and author of the popular 'Roving with Lalah' every Tuesday. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com.