Lifestyles of the low-income and unkown

After my last entry about the wealthy, I figured I had better tell you about the flip side. The "real" Cayman. No place that I have ever visited has had just one face to show, just one identity. Like there are two sides to every story, there are two sides, or more, to Cayman. Having visited slums in La Paz and Lima, and seeing the poverty in Indonesia, I was prepared to see some low-income neighbourhoods in George Town. I was pleasantly surprised at first. Most people seemed to live in houses that are in better shape than some back in Canada. They all drive nice vehicles and are religious about washing them. Most are appropriately dressed, and most work. It wasn't until I started to dog-walk for the Humane Society that I came across some "forgotten" streets. With names like Ms. Keppie Lane, Rock Hole Road and Mango Turn you would expect a quaint little street. Instead you discover the areas tourists aren't meant to find. Narrow one way roads, thick with brush along the sides reveal metal tubs sitting on lawns, broken down cars with flat tires sitting on the sides of the road, years overdue for their inspections. Worn plastic lawn furniture grace the decaying and sloping wooden verandas and toothless men wearing dusty cut off jean shorts smile from their doors. Unlike the touristy areas, the roosters and chickens don't seem out of place in these neighbourhoods. They peck away as reggae music pumps from an old stereo in a crumbling upstairs loft. It is hard to say who these people really are, but the crime descriptions in the newspapers generally label them as Jamaican immigrants, here for work. In fact, every week when I read about the shootings, they are generally from these neighbourhoods. It makes me a little sad, because when I walk along them in the daytime I see qualities we lack back home. For these people, their family and friends are their entire lives. They are never alone. Every house is wide open, and you can hear the soothing cadence of their accents as they speak. Although they do not have much, they always appear friendly. I have never been approached in a creepy way, and in fact, at one point I had to go up to a house to ask for a poop-scoop bag, and I met a legless man and his grown daughter who were more than happy to lend me a bag. When I walk along a street back home I often feel isolated. There is no one around, all of the houses have drawn curtains and locked doors. There are no voices except for the odd guard dog. Here is so different, and so welcoming. The crime in West Bay and George Town, however, is something I am glad we do not have back home. The poverty and crime levels are linked. Since our arrival there have been many shootings, three robberies in banks, and last months biggest tragedy was the shooting of a 4 year old boy whose father was actually the intended victim. Although it appears most crimes are linked to drugs and gangs, it is still scary when there are only 56, 000 people on islands and not a crimeless week goes by. I wish I had a solution. I guess, like everyplace, there are the good parts and the bad parts. One would be hard pressed to a Utopia anywhere in the world these days, but I think that Cayman is a contender, crime aside, with the right morals.