Cotton Tree Inn

Miss Janise at Jamaica Inn Hotel
Everywhere I look beyond The Cotton Tree Inn; black flesh seemed tied to the purse strings of foreigners paying for sex with drinks, meals, gifts, and cash. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. My first trip back to Jamaica in over three decades was supposed to be a voyage of discovery – a joy.
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Sunday Morning Taxi Ride

Sunday morning taxi ride

From Village Junction to Parakuo Link Road is a straight two-mile stretch. On this seemingly neverending length of potholed tarmac, the walk home to Parakuo Estate could take up to forty-five minutes under a scorching sun. It is a seven-minute ride by the fastest route available in these parts, but that is often a private car or taxi on a listless Sunday morning. The roads are completely deserted today. Even the bus drivers are in church on this Sunday

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To Buckingham Palace to Visit The Queen

My Royalist mother must have been smiling down at me from her seat on the right-hand side of God, as the taxi arrived 1)Monday, 12th November 2007 to pick me up to meet the Queen at Buckingham Palace. Today 2)Saturday 1st December 2007

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My God Wouldn’t Make a Homosexual

taxi

I was having a discussion with one of my regular taxi drivers the other day. We were on the subject of a depreciating Cedi and other social wrongs in Ghana, when he suddenly pointed to a man walking on the dirt road ahead and says, “Look at that man and the way he walks.” I looked and saw a slightly overweight man walking up a hill, and said, what about him?

“Look at the way he walks,” repeated the

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Big Man / Small Boy in Ghana

On Being a Big Man in Ghana

So here I am in Ghana in the middle of the night with no one to meet me because the London Heathrow to Accra flight is twelve hours late.

“Irie, Rasta man!”, says the tallest of the taxi drivers trying to handle my luggage outside the gates of Katoka International Airport.

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Black British School Daze

Black British School Daze

At twelve, my best friend was a white boy named David who lived across the road from us. He and I walked to school together, both worshipped Arsenal Football Club, went berry picking with his dad in summer, slept in each other’s house at weekends or pitched a tent in the back yard just for fun in stormy

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