White Boys and Cornrows
My husband averted a potential hair disaster in Jamaica.
Familiarity doesn’t necessarily breed contempt — especially when it comes to travel. In my globe-trotting experience, places that remind me of somewhere else often make the best impressions.
My husband and I recently returned from a seven-day Caribbean cruise that docked for one morning and afternoon in Ocho Rios, Jamaica. It was by far my favorite day of the week, partly because the island of Jamaica gave me déjà vu vibes. It reminded me a lot of another Caribbean island, St. Thomas in the US Virgin Islands, which is where I was born.
I suppose I arrived in Jamaica expecting an element of familiarity. What I didn’t anticipate was the reaction some of the locals had to my husband Jayden, a White Australian. More specifically, I was surprised — and frankly, amused — by the way many of the Jamaican women responded to Jayden. On practically every block we passed while walking through the main commercial drag, a Jamaican woman would stop him and make the same request.
“Please, let me braid your hair.”
At first, I was a little insulted: What was I — chopped liver? Then I remembered that my shaved head was hidden under a cap. There was nothing to braid anyway! Jayden politely declined each offer, which didn’t…
