Tivoli Gardens
Adventures usually seem to begin for me with a chance encounter.
On my first visit to Jamaica, A kind Jamaican businessman, who I later found out to be an ex cocaine smuggler, found me a room to rent.
It was in a modern house, surrounded by a high fence, electric gates, floodlights at night and dogs left to roam the grounds, and it was half the price of a hotel room.
The house belonged to an old friend of his, Maria, a diminutive Rastafarian Empress, who radiated peace and calm.
She was kindness itself, and treated me like a friend of the family.
I was shown to a comfortable room, and asked not to touch anything, apart from the bed, and to keep my clothes in my backpack.
I soon realised that the room was a shrine to her son, who died along with his father when gunmen attacked the house one night. Maria was the only one to survive.
I soon fell into a routine; after breakfast, I would write in the morning, and in the afternoon, walk and explore the area.
In the evening, the friends of her dead son would arrive and cook a barbecue.
There was always plenty of cannabis, anybody could help themselves, but I stuck to my cigars, much to their amusement.
Christmas came and went, and on the New Year eve, the youngest Rastafarian lad Josh, asked me if I would like to go and see the celebrations in town.
I thought it would be a new experience.
Josh had a friend with an old Taxi, who drove us down Into the heart of Kingston and dropped us off at the edge of Tivoli Gardens.
This was the domain of Christopher "Dudus" Coke. An entire generation of drug traffickers and paid assassins grew up under Coke, who was both the “Don” of Tivoli, and head of the international Shower Posse.
He was almost a Robin Hood figure, and Jamaican police had to seek permission before entering the neighborhood.
I seemed to be the only European there, and I must say the atmosphere was electric. It was a street party like no other I had ever seen, helped by copious food, drinks, and cannabis from street hawkers.
There was a sound stage, fireworks, and firecrackers, which sounded uncomfortably like AK-47's.
I tried to limit my intake of alcohol and the scent of cannabis which enveloped us. Josh however, took too much Guinness, and shortly after midnight fell rather sick.
I was unaware that the tall young man I had been talking to, was following me as I made my way through the crowd to try and find a taxi.
Sensing a presence behind me, I turned to see his broad smiling face.
I'm covering your back Tom, he said, we will go back for Josh when we have found a taxi.
By some strange chance, the first vehicle we saw approaching was the taxi that had brought us. I asked the driver if he would wait while we went to collect Josh.
We found him still hanging over a balustrade, in no fit state for anything. We carried him to the taxi, put him in the back, and my handsome young protector shook my hand and went back to the festivities.
As the Taxi bumped along, leaving Tivoli Gardens behind us, Josh said,
"trust me Tom, I've messed up".
After couple of weeks, I left the house, and found lodgings up in the hills, in the beautiful house of a musician. I did wonder how she managed to acquire such a fine residence.
One evening she told me the story of how it had belonged to her ex partner, who as a teenager became one of Coke's assassins.
Post script:
Within a year, after a gun battle that left 76 people dead, the Don was extradited to the United States.
