In 1980 Manley lose the election and Edward Seaga become prime minister when the Jamaica Labour Party take power. They say that seven hundred and fifty people get killed in the months running up to that election, and they reckon that whereas up to 1976 the gangs was using sidearms, mostly the.365 Magnum, by 1980 they was using rapid-fire M16 rifles.
By the next year we break off diplomatic relations with Cuba and we get back the US aid and foreign investments start flooding back again.
But even though the foreign investment good, it mean we not really in charge of our own destiny. Is the foreigners in charge of our destiny, because is them telling us what to do, and them deciding what going get cultivated or developed, and them deciding the time frame, and them deciding how much investment them putting in for how much profit them taking out.
Every day the street filling up with more advertisement for Pepsi and Sprite and Coca-Cola, and IBM and Citibank and Cable & Wireless, and Nestlé, and KFC and Burger King and Esso and Texaco. And all I can hear is Zhang in my head saying ‘you back in the grip of the foreigners’. And I think yes, but this situation completely different. Because in the old days everybody could see that it was the British that was responsible for the slavery, whereas now it seem like we are the ones responsible for this mess we in. Nowadays it hard to see how we being controlled by foreign powers because this new kind of imperialism come wrapped in a cloak that look like help.
The other thing that strike me ’bout the way Jamaica changing is how everybody start talking ’bout Africa. Is like we ‘Out of Many’, but the ‘One People’ seem to be just the Africans. Is Africa this and Africa that. Marcus Garvey and Haile Selassie. And ever since the world discover Bob Marley, everything turn to Rasta and reggae. It like they think the only true Jamaican is a African. Like they forget that the original Jamaican was the Arawak Indian and after the Spanish and British get through murdering all of them we was all imports. Every last one of us. But it no matter, all I see and hear every day now is how we got to get back to Africa.
You can hardly see a Chinese man on the street these days. Their feet don’t even hit the sidewalk between the Mercedes and the tennis court, or the golf course, or the airport tarmac on them way to their next vacation. And that’s the ones that still here, the ones that didn’t leave Chinatown to go jump on a plane and never come back. I reckon I must be the only Chinaman left in Chinatown, because even though the signs still here – Chin’s Bakery, Chen’s Groceries, Hoo’s Cleaners, Lee’s Hardware, the Golden Dragon, Panda House, Bamboo Garden – the Chinese have long gone. And now, when I step outta the yard at Matthews Lane, all I see is a mass of black faces looking at me and wondering what the hell I am still doing here.
Still, I reckon things good enough for Mui to come home if she still want to, so I write to her and tell her that. But it seem she too busy. She all excited with some big case that taking all her time and she want finish with it before she come. So I say alright. When yu ready then.