This morning an event reminded me of how fragile life and security are in Jamaica.  I was waiting for Erin on the side of the street when a guy came up to me "Please bredren, give me a likkle money man, a bwad man stabbed while me sleeping, and it hurt and me want to go to the hospital" and with that he stuck out his cut up arm and showed me the blood and slash wounds.  "Nobody cares" he says.

 

Two days ago the security guard for Erin's work got attacked.  He got stabbed repeatedly in the arm as well.  Everybody, including Erin and I, know who did it... the guys who run the parking lot.  The police will never be phoned - I mean the security guard has a crack problem after all, he doesn't really deserve rights.  Its the second time they've attacked him in under a month, last time they broke his hand... I was on anti-inflammatories at the time for an injury so I gave him some.  The police will never be phone... certainly not by me... I don't want to get shot or have something happen to Erin.  The helpless mentality that crime breeds is perpetuating into me - its like watching a train wreck in slow motion... I know one day I will go to pick up Erin and the security guard will be gone... dead... probably killed in his own parking lot.  There will be no media, no police, no nothing, just one dead of 1600.  Erin's own station probably won't even cover it... and he works for them.