Black, yellow and green adorn cars, buildings, notebooks...
Children recite their heroes and history.
Religion is everywhere, and a part of everything.
Everything grows. Plants grow on top of plants. Weeds grow on wires.
The powerful sun rise in the John Crow mountains, a full moon shines calmly infront of the Blue Mountains.
Wealth and poverty sit alongside each other.
Physical walls are put up. I caught a glimpse of what lies behind the gates, the tin fences and the wooden boards.
The people are the bridges that connect.
Potholes that are bigger than small children.
Art blooms in the jungles of Kingston.
Rampant political corruption.
People that come together to make a change.
Communities that come together in song and dance.
The power of mothers.
Scars on peoples' bodies.
Smiles on peoples' faces.
Children raising children.
Higglers on the corners.
Delicious ganapes for 50 JD.
A screeching pig being pulled into slaughter...he was going to be jerk pork.
Delicious fruits and vegetables off the trees.
Rastas dance the night away, and the spirit and the struggle of rastas in this country.
Slowing the breath to deal with the heat, cooling down in a stream in the bush.
Telling time by the appearance of mosquitoes, catching mosquitoes with wet hands.
Two sisters who begged for wood to rebuild homes that were destroyed by their government.
Everyday heroes of this country's past, present and future.
Spirit and resilience.
Inspiration to do more.
I lost my shoes but found a new purpose.
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