(no subject)
We saw a variety of things today, none particularly related to each other, but all speaking to Jamaican culture, and attitude toward farming. In many cases, working with nature instead of against it was proven useful.
First was the Longville Park Farms, a fish hatchery and grower. Most of what they dealt with was tilapia, which has enjoyed increased international popularity in the past decade. This facility, however, was all for local consumption.
One thing about the farm's clientele is that most Jamaicans are poor. Because of this, and the culinary traditions of the region, every part of an animal is consumed. Fish are eaten whole--the head, tail, eyeballs, everything. When buying fish for the whole family, what's desired most is an individual fish for each person. But, people can't afford to buy large fish. Though tilapia grows to 10-12 inches, I believe he said Jamaicans buy it at six inches or less. This is much less cost-effective for the producer, but the demand is just that way.
We had lunch at the owner's house, a palace compared to the housing scheme down the hill. His girlfriend complained of the view. She was interesting--a Floridian, she met the farmer on match.com, and he flew her first-class to visit. She moved in soon after and has been here two years. At first she spoke with some Jamaican vowel sounds, but soon slipped into her native accent as she reaccustomed herself to being around Americans.
She was bleach-blonde, wore movie-star-in-hiding clothes complete with giant sunglasses, and had flip flops on with pink painted toenails. She explained fish mating with enthusiastic gestures. She was quite intelligent, and later chatted with us about some difficulties of living in Jamaica as an American woman.
When she and her boyfriend go to the gas station, and she says "fill it up," the attendant ignores her and looks to the man. If men are deep in conversation, and she tries to pay attention and join in, they act like she's not there. People also stare everyone up and down here--not to be rude, it's just a normal thing. But it took her a while to stop being offended by it. As for the apparent sexism, she didn't like it, but felt like there was nothing she could do about it. She smiled and said her boyfriend wasn't that way, that he was educated and well-traveled. He doesn't let her drive, though...
They lived well, at any rate. They had hired help: a maid who cooked and cleaned, and a gardener. More examples of colonialism. The farmer begrudgingly installed two air conditioners at her request. He, like many Jamaicans, just doesn't like the way it feels. Farm workers who commuted from far away had become squatters in the various dilapidated buildings on the property. They didn't ask, they just sort of moved in. The farmer mildly complained that he had to pay for their electricity, but I don't think he's hurting for money. Security is an issue everywhere on the island, even in the country. It's just not as apparent because they don't fence everything off with razor wire. Armed guards with dogs patrol at night, and wandering squatters only complicate matters.
[As a sidenote, security is apparently big business here. It's become a major industry in the past twenty years, and I definitely see waaay more hired security presence than police presence, which is virtually non-existent.]
But one really cool thing about his operation was his insistence on and skill at selective breeding. He shunned hormones and imported genetics, noting that many farmers make the mistake of importing productive breeds from totally different climates, like Norway, and scratching their heads when they all die. His crew hand-picks through 30,000 fish, narrowing it to 1000 males and 2000 females. It works. He outproduces Jamaica Broilers, the big fish standard (governmental?) on the island. He called the difference "embarrassing."
The other facility that stood out to me today was the bee office at BODLES, a government-run research facility under the Ministry of Ag. I love honey, and was pleased to know there are no mono-floral honeys produced in Jamaica--that is, like bland clover honey you see at Wal-Mart, made in a field planted with just the one plant. Wild, random honey really is flavored better, and surely has more health benefits (I am an advocate of it as an allergy cure). It's sort of unfair for me to applaud their wonderful honeymaking standards when it's bred of necessity. I mean, all the honey is produced in the middle of nowhere by small-time farmers, a few hives at a time. Planting a field of clover is expensive and no one would even consider it. Instead, the rich, diverse flora of Jamaica ends up in every bottle. I tried some, and I swear it's even kind of spicy!
First was the Longville Park Farms, a fish hatchery and grower. Most of what they dealt with was tilapia, which has enjoyed increased international popularity in the past decade. This facility, however, was all for local consumption.
One thing about the farm's clientele is that most Jamaicans are poor. Because of this, and the culinary traditions of the region, every part of an animal is consumed. Fish are eaten whole--the head, tail, eyeballs, everything. When buying fish for the whole family, what's desired most is an individual fish for each person. But, people can't afford to buy large fish. Though tilapia grows to 10-12 inches, I believe he said Jamaicans buy it at six inches or less. This is much less cost-effective for the producer, but the demand is just that way.
We had lunch at the owner's house, a palace compared to the housing scheme down the hill. His girlfriend complained of the view. She was interesting--a Floridian, she met the farmer on match.com, and he flew her first-class to visit. She moved in soon after and has been here two years. At first she spoke with some Jamaican vowel sounds, but soon slipped into her native accent as she reaccustomed herself to being around Americans.
She was bleach-blonde, wore movie-star-in-hiding clothes complete with giant sunglasses, and had flip flops on with pink painted toenails. She explained fish mating with enthusiastic gestures. She was quite intelligent, and later chatted with us about some difficulties of living in Jamaica as an American woman.
When she and her boyfriend go to the gas station, and she says "fill it up," the attendant ignores her and looks to the man. If men are deep in conversation, and she tries to pay attention and join in, they act like she's not there. People also stare everyone up and down here--not to be rude, it's just a normal thing. But it took her a while to stop being offended by it. As for the apparent sexism, she didn't like it, but felt like there was nothing she could do about it. She smiled and said her boyfriend wasn't that way, that he was educated and well-traveled. He doesn't let her drive, though...
They lived well, at any rate. They had hired help: a maid who cooked and cleaned, and a gardener. More examples of colonialism. The farmer begrudgingly installed two air conditioners at her request. He, like many Jamaicans, just doesn't like the way it feels. Farm workers who commuted from far away had become squatters in the various dilapidated buildings on the property. They didn't ask, they just sort of moved in. The farmer mildly complained that he had to pay for their electricity, but I don't think he's hurting for money. Security is an issue everywhere on the island, even in the country. It's just not as apparent because they don't fence everything off with razor wire. Armed guards with dogs patrol at night, and wandering squatters only complicate matters.
[As a sidenote, security is apparently big business here. It's become a major industry in the past twenty years, and I definitely see waaay more hired security presence than police presence, which is virtually non-existent.]
But one really cool thing about his operation was his insistence on and skill at selective breeding. He shunned hormones and imported genetics, noting that many farmers make the mistake of importing productive breeds from totally different climates, like Norway, and scratching their heads when they all die. His crew hand-picks through 30,000 fish, narrowing it to 1000 males and 2000 females. It works. He outproduces Jamaica Broilers, the big fish standard (governmental?) on the island. He called the difference "embarrassing."
The other facility that stood out to me today was the bee office at BODLES, a government-run research facility under the Ministry of Ag. I love honey, and was pleased to know there are no mono-floral honeys produced in Jamaica--that is, like bland clover honey you see at Wal-Mart, made in a field planted with just the one plant. Wild, random honey really is flavored better, and surely has more health benefits (I am an advocate of it as an allergy cure). It's sort of unfair for me to applaud their wonderful honeymaking standards when it's bred of necessity. I mean, all the honey is produced in the middle of nowhere by small-time farmers, a few hives at a time. Planting a field of clover is expensive and no one would even consider it. Instead, the rich, diverse flora of Jamaica ends up in every bottle. I tried some, and I swear it's even kind of spicy!