Baby (Island) Fever

“Upstanding” members of society in Jamaica will tell you that this is a very religious country. It has more churches per capita than any other. That may even be true. But don’t let them fool you.

Jamaica is a highly sexualized country.

In spite of the entire world telling us what prudes we are, Americans love to think we’re so enlightened when it comes to talking about — and having — sex. But I’ve seen and heard things that I’m still trying to process two years later. Everything from near-sexual acts performed on the dance floor to propositions I’ve received (from both men and women) within minutes of meeting.

I could tell you stories, but I won’t.

I don’t see anything wrong with most of what happens here. The openness is one of the many things that I love about my adopted home. But there are consequences that come from these free ways that I have a hard time adapting to.

I work in an office with almost 1500 employees, and it feels like not a day goes by that I don’t see a new baby bump emerging from one of my coworkers, women who are often young and single. I wish them all well, but every time I discover a new one, especially the younger the girl is, I get sad.

I know there are plenty of teenage girls and young women that get pregnant in the States. But as an “epidemic,” if you could call it that, it seems to center around unplanned pregnancies, so-called accidents. Not a justification, but can’t we all relate a little bit to being young and stupid?

But here, having a baby (or a few) at a young age feels more like a voluntary rite of passage, a cultural coming-of-age. Recently, a Jamaican friend told me, “If you reach 25 without having a kid, you’re an old maid.” I don’t know if she was wholly serious or not, but when I remembered what I was doing with my life at 25, I was stunned. I was still doing way too many naughty things back then to be a parent.

I realize everybody has their own philosophy on what makes life worth living. And I am the last person to critique other women’s maternal instinct: I was the girl in her 20s threatening to have an elective hysterectomy. I knew I didn’t want to have kids, so why should I suffer through periods for the rest of my life? And more than 20 years later, that biological clock still hasn’t started ticking.

It’s not about me looking down on others, thinking I’m better because I don’t have children. Sure, I believe every young adult could benefit from having a little crazy fun before they settle down to whatever. But everyone has to make their own decisions.

It’s about how hard it must be — especially here in Jamaica — to take care of yourself, and then one day know you have another living being to take care of that you will feel responsible for for the rest of his or her life.

It’s about knowing that you might have to go without lunch one or two days this week so you can afford to feed your child. Not surprising, many of the affluent families I know here have one or two children, while others who make barely more than minimum wage (currently $1.17USD an hour) have more.

I recently noticed that one of my coworkers that I see in the office a lot was pregnant. It took a while for me to get it — I was hoping she was just getting fat. But when I realized that her belly had a certain distinct and familiar roundness to it, my heart hurt.

Yesterday I overheard her telling another coworker, a friend of mine, that she’s 23 and this will be her second baby. After she walked away, I went off on my (I know, holier-than-thou) speech about how she should be out having fun, not another child. My friend countered with the though that young people don’t have enough money to have fun (except, of course, for the kind that get them pregnant).

My point exactly.

In the end, our coworker is excited about having her second child. She’s even getting a puppy soon. I wish her nothing but health and happiness and the ability to take care of herself, the two kids and the dog.

I try hard not to judge. Yet I know I do all the time. This doesn’t really even feel like judgement, though. I think it’s more a realization of just one of the ways I’ve been so sheltered in my life, and an attempt to process all these thoughts out loud.

Maybe even a little bit of it is about some kind of residual fear (would that be the right sentiment?), knowing that this could have been my life had my mother made different choices in hers. Had she married that pig farmer in the hills of Port Antonio, all this would not be cultural theory written on a website, but my everyday reality, the only thing I’ve ever known.

Not necessarily better or worse. Or maybe a little bit of both. But probably a lot harder than I’ve ever had to experience.