My New Love for Kingston

Mara's class was the catalyst for the complete shift of energy during my first experience in Kingston. When I left her neighborhood, I immediately made plans for my next set of classes. I had reached out to a few groups on my own before I left, so I decided to follow up with them before my friends arrived.

The very first group I had reached out to before I left was a group called Kriptic Klique. When I had messaged them when I was still in California, and the leader of the group, named "7ven" immediately responded back with the class location, price, and what would be covered in the class. I soon learned that this was rare for dancers down there to do. Most of the time, I got a response that was very similar to "Yes, we can have class"... or an even shorter version of just "Yes"with no detail about time or place.

The next day, I called Autoy, who was available and drove me to 22 Ricketts Crescent in the heart of Kingston. The neighborhood was slightly different than the one I had experienced before. There were more houses cuddled by a few corner stores and patty shops, and not as many people in the street. When we pulled up to the house, 7ven was there waiting at the front gate. As I looked out, I noticed a brightly painted wall with blue lettering that read " Kriptic Klique". As he welcomed me inside, I could see he had two other teammates with him, along with Jay C Val, a well-known international Dancehall teacher from France. They were all training and practicing together for a video. I thought that was super cool, and watched them in amazement. When we got settled, we began class.

7vens class was very different from any class I had ever taken. He began by explaining the history of Dancehall and where all the steps originated. Not only did I learn his steps, but I got introduced, for the first time,  to different Old and Mid Skool steps. I finally started to recognize some of the moves I had seen Colo Colo and everyone from the hostel doing that night we went out. The class went for two hours, and it would have gone longer had Autoy not pulled up with one of my newly-made friends from the hostel and said it was time to go. Before I left, I made plans with 7ven and his crew to come back with my friends and get another class.

The selfie I snapped with 7ven before getting whisked away into the taxi. ( I don't know why my teeth are blue).

The reason why my friend pulled up with Autoy so abruptly was that she was on the way to another class and wanted to know if I was interested in joining. This one was with "Dancing Rebel", probably the most well known female dancer in Jamaica. When we pulled up, we saw two other girls waiting outside her house, and decided to wait as well. When Rebel finally came, it was almost as if we got graced by the presence of a celebrity. She was definitely Jamaica's Beyonce, rolling in with a solid crew, and a swag that spilled out into the whole neighborhood. The warm up was fast and energetic, which was only a precursor to the class that sped past my eyes. She taught two different portions. The first part was her "female" steps, where I felt like I could hold on, and the second part was a complicated, fast-moving gun choreography, where I felt like I got left behind at the gas station down the road. While the other girls in class looked so fierce, I looked like a tornado in a cartoon.The truth was, I didn't care. I was in Jamaica, dancing behind Spice's main back up dancer!

Class at Rebel's compound

The next day, my friends arrived, and I immediately planned a class at the hostel with a group of dancers called "Xqlusive Dance Crew." The class was planned for 4:00 PM, but they all seemed to arrive a little late. Even in the dark, you could feel their energy as they approached the gate. Class was a riot, to say the least. They all taught class one by one, and as one dancer came up front to break down the move, the other four would sit in the corner, and contribute to the most rambunctious peanut gallery you have ever heard in your life. Their addicting moves were full of energy, which were only outmatched by their hoots and hollers from the sidelines.

The following day, I had class with Latonya Style, the queen herself. Before I came to Jamaica, I had been following Latonya on Youtube, and learning her dance steps from her at a distance. She was the owner of the Dance Jamaica academy, and the CEO of her own company, called Stylish Moves, a fusion Dancehall program aimed at empowering women in Dancehall, and finding your own flow in the movement. While this class was different from the rest in that it had its own sense of calm, it was informative, fun, and as it was prescribed, empowering. The end of class was followed by a video along with our own photo shoot doing various Stylish Moves steps. Since I had gotten there by myself, she offered to give me a ride home. On the trip, I expressed my interest in becoming certified in her teacher training program. She encouraged me to apply, saying I would be a good fit. She waved good bye to me as she honked for Charlotte (her first student) to come out and say hi to her.

This was the photoshoot that proceeded class. I'm obviously not making the right duck face.

The next morning, I woke up energized for the day. Our first class was located in the heart of downtown Kingston in a sea of towering buildings with a small New Skool group called the Fantastic Steppaz. We soaked in their steps while looking out onto the streets of the swarming city. That night we had class with another group called Overload Skankaz, another New Skool group, this time, in the pouring rain.

Class in the pouring rain with Teroy from Overload Skankaz. (Don't worry, it's still hot AF outside.)

While each and every class took my breath away in a new, intoxicating way, the last two classes we had in Kingston left the real impression for the months to come. The first one was with Colo Colo, the character from my first night at the party, and the very last one was the second class at the Kriptic HQ.

Before our class with Colo Colo, I ranted and raved to my friends about how were about to have class with a LEGEND. After all, he was a legend. Colo ate from the same table as Bogle, the father of Dancehall. He walked around even the worst streets of Kingston like a king, with no fear. He entered every party for free, and everyone knew his name. That's how respected he was in the Dancehall community. When I saw him dancing my very first night in Kingston, I assumed that we would be getting an experience that we would never forget....and I wasn't wrong. He explained before that the class would consist of an hour of steps followed by a lecture. To be fair, the first half of class was learning steps, and the second part was, technically a lecture, just not in the way I thought it was going to be. Colo started the class without a warm up, making Charlotte control the music, as he danced the first step. When he finished, he turned around, and shouted " now, you do it!" As we gave our best attempt, he sat in a chair in the corner rolling splifs, and chain smoking, asking why we didn't get the move on the first try. The rest of the class played out just like this, with only a few more exclamations about how bad at Dancehall we were. In what we lacked in a real learning experience, we gained back in pure entertainment.

 Next came the lecture. My expectations of a lecture filled with the history of Dancehall were replaced by a detail by detail account of his first experience sleeping with a white woman. I honestly do think we wouldn't have been able to hold back our laughter if we weren't all waiting for the part when he was going to give an actual account of the history of Dancehall... but it never came. The experience, while it had every opportunity to be regrettable, was one of the best we all had. We had our true Jamaican cultural experience, right there in the flesh. But instead of a class, it was a performance.

Our final class was memorable in a completely different way. I got to introduce my friends to Kriptic Klique, and have another class with everyone together. In what Colo's class lacked in the history and culture, the second class at the Kriptic HQ made up for it in more ways than one. We stayed at the HQ most of the day, laughing, dancing, and getting immersed into the culture of Dancehall. When class finished, 7ven pulled me aside, and asked me how far I wanted to go with studying this dance form. In this moment of being completely present and immersed, I couldn't help but be 100% candid with him. I told him I wanted to improve my skills, so much so that I could know and dance any Dancehall step at the drop of a hat. I wanted to create choreographies, and have real, uninterrupted knowledge of the culture. When I said this he took my hand, and said that he saw a lot of potential in me to go far because my drive was so strong. He offered me a place to stay next time I came to Jamaica, and a pact to teach me everything I wanted to learn. At that moment, I knew I had no other choice but to return, and gain that knowledge I had so desperately craved. And I did, very shortly after.

Our final pose in front of the famous Kriptic wall

My friends and I golfing around at the Kriptic HQ

When I left Jamaica, and returned back to California, I had thoughts racing through my head at the speed of light. I couldn't get over how I had just had the experience of a lifetime packed into ten days of madness.

My story of my first trip to Jamaica did not start out the way I imagined. The beginning was rocky, discouraging, and full of uncertainty. It made me question every desire and intention I had with pursuing dance, and the specific type of dance that fed me the most. When it was over, every negative feeling I had felt before was reversed, and thrown back into the vault.  I had a new consciousness; a new way of looking at the world, and an even stronger passion for the thing I was already so passionate about.

But, isn't this what pursuing your passion looks like?

Pursuing the thing that you love the most is, most of the time not the easiest venture you will take in your life. I should have known this already going into my trip, because of the experiences I had in the past when I decided to pursue a career in teaching dance. That wasn't easy, so why should this be? In 2017, Jamaica was new to me, a completely unchartered territory where I knew no one. Why did I expect to conquer it immediately? There wasn't a whole lot I could have to done to make those first few days in Kingston easier, but because I stuck with it, and trusted my gut, the experience rewarded me in the end. This story, while unique in itself, began to actually be a pattern that I would see emerge in my journey time after time when I pursued the things that I love.

In fact, it came up again the next two times I returned to Kingston....

My First Dance Class in Jamaica

The very next morning after the party, I started to book more classes with dancers in Kingston. I got some recommendations from the people I was staying with at the hostel, so I felt more confident in these classes than the first one I took. Quite honestly, the classes that I took following after the party, I considered to be my first real experiences. Dancing in the streets of Kingston, I got my first real introduction to the culture and way of life in this new place.

The first class I booked was with Mara Jackhammer, a New Skool female dancer who was part of the group, Jackhammer girls. I sent her a very informal message on Instagram, and she responded telling me to come at 12pm, and gave me the address. Not knowing anything about the part of town she lived in, I jumped right in. I tried to make it so Autoy, my trustworthy driver from the first part of my saga would drive me, but since he was busy, I rolled the dice and called "On Time Taxi." When the driver pulled up, and I gave him the address, he gave me a look like I had just told him to run his taxi into a tree. I wasn't sure why he was acting like that until we pulled into the neighborhood,  and I slowly understood. ( Just a note, I recognize I am telling this part of the story from the perspective of a white foreigner with absolutely no knowledge of this city at this time. My account about this first experience was primarily influenced by my own fears, not the actual environment.)

The neighborhood was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I had traveled to other countries of the world, and seen how other people live, but I had never seen this level of poverty in my life. Everyone was staring at me as the taxi pulled in. When I called Mara to let her know I was there, she left a voice note saying she was at the bank, and would be there soon, which apparently was the catalyst for setting the driver off into an angry panic. All of a sudden, he held nothing back from me, shouting wonderful things like, "You shouldn't have made me drive you to this neighborhood", "I can't leave my car parked in a place like this, how dare you make me do that", ( and the best one I heard) "As a white girl, you shouldn't even be in Kingston. This place isn't for you!" When he finished with his cacophony, a very pregnant Mara came walking up to the window, rescuing me from the horrible angry awkwardness that was sitting inside that taxi.

When I came out of the car, she pulled me over to the side of the street where a few guys were sitting on top of a speaker drinking some juice. I looked around me and saw pieces of metal held up by concrete walls, piles of burning trash, and kids holding hands with their mothers as they ambled down the street. My mind cleared once Mara turned on the music. She gave a brief introduction, then we got to dancing. She taught me her steps, then we combined them in an amazing choreography as the whole neighborhood watched.

A caption of Mara and I dancing in the street for the first time

For the first time since I had walked off the plane, I felt like I was exactly in the right place. I understood why I was there and why learning the steps right from the source. That class was the most amazing class I had taken in my life. We were in the street, sweating, dancing to music that was made RIGHT THERE. It was incredible. I no longer felt scared or disappointed. If anything, I was upset at that taxi driver for making me feel unwelcome and like I was doing the wrong thing.

This was actually taken after the second class with Mara. Notice the crowd of onlookers.

And it only got better from there.....

Jamaica, Round 1, Part 2: My First Party

That moment of me sitting on that couch in the middle of Kingston heat with no one to connect with, was definitely one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life. For some reason, when I've reached those moments before, it's almost as if a switch is automatically flipped and the end result of that endeavor becomes an epic experience, which is further highlighted by the fact that it started out so awkward and terrible. That's how my first trip to Kingston went.

Things slowly began to make sense after that moment on the couch. The owner of the hostel eventually came back and could not have been more welcoming. The girl that greeted me at the front invited me to go to a class with her at Dance Jamaica, the main dance studio in Kingston. The class itself wasn't super great. The teacher came an hour late, and just basically danced for us and expected us to follow her exactly without breaking down anything, but at least I was dancing...right? My friends were due to arrive in a couple days, so I thought I would make the most of my time and book a couple more classes and attend my first real Dancehall party.

My first time going to the Dancehall in Jamaica was a separate experience in itself. First of all, we started getting ready at midnight which included a routine of making an extra strong batch of coffee, caking on makeup, and wearing the least amount of clothes as possible. This routine started at 12AM, so we could make it by 2AM, which apparently was still embarrassingly early for most Jamaicans. We crammed into a taxi which sped off and dropped us at a side street flooding with people, smoking,  and selling food and cigarettes. When we stepped out of the cab, all eyes were immediately on us, and never left until we climbed back in three hours later. I felt immediately out of place at the Dancehall. This party in particular was called Pepperseed Wednesdays which was known for playing Old and Mid Skool tunes. I thought I knew some moves and songs, but when I was there I felt like a stranger. For every song that played, everyone knew all the lyrics, and the dance that went with it. Charlotte, the manager of Belleh House who led our excursion, was friends with Colo Colo, one of the most well-known Old Skool dancers in Jamaica, (who could be picked out of a crowd in an instant with his ten inch long nails, black leather jacket, hiking boots, and posture that would make a retired ballet teacher roll over in her grave). He spent the night half mocking my awkwardness and half hitting on me.

This is a picture of me, Charlotte, and Martina( also a manager at Belleh House)
 at the party that night. Colo Colo's hand is also featured to my left rolling a cigarette.

As undoubtedly uncomfortable the whole night was, I was left with a strong sense of desire, (not to take Colo Colo's up on his advances), but to get to a point where I could feel 100% comfortable in that environment. Where I could be the foreigner who knew all the steps and lyrics to all the songs, and have eyes on me for the right reasons. I could see the foreigners at the party who were seasoned Dancehall tourists, and I was determined to get there. This was the moment where things really started to change. Where that moment on that couch in that hot, sweaty, lonely apartment turned into only a memory of how something magical started, and that agonizing moment at the party became the fuel.

Jamaica..... Round 1, Part 1

When I came back to California from that summer trip to New York, I had the Caribbean on my mind. I knew in reality, I didn't have the money to go, but I didn't care. I had to. I worked extra hard that fall and was able to save up enough money to make a ten day trip to Kingston, Jamaica.

Before I made my trek, I will be completely honest about the fact that I had no idea what I was doing.  Sure, I definitely had my share of adventurous moments in my previous years, but this one probably topped all of them. I did have some acquaintances that I knew in the dance world that had gone before who gave me their share of advice, but none of that seemed to calm my nerves. Most of them gave me warnings heeding of danger. "Don't go anywhere unless you're in a taxi", "make sure you don't leave the house with more than $20 in your pocket", "the classes are expensive", dominated my words of advice. I'm not going to sugar coat it, it definitely felt like I was about to walk into a pit of fire instead of going on a fun dance vacation. My anxiety overpowered my excitement. I thought to myself, "Why am I going again?", and more importantly, "Why did I think this would be a good idea??" After all when you google the 50 most dangerous cities on the planet, you definitely do not need to scroll down that far to get to Kingston. With all good judgement aside, I made my precarious travel plans, and completely winged it.

Despite the fact that I had no budget, no idea how I was going to get around, and absolutely no understanding of patois( Jamaican creole) or Jamaican culture, I surprisingly did make some concrete plans before I left. A friend of a friend originally from San Francisco had moved down there and opened up a hostel for dancers. I figured that was my best bet. If anything went wrong, she would know what to do. I also did have a few friends from Santa Cruz joining me on my journey, (however they too had never been), and had messaged some dancers ahead of time through social media to set up some sort of schedule as best I could.

But nothing could prepare me for what was about to ensue....

When I stepped off the plane at Norman Manley airport all I could feel was heat, exhaustion, and confusion. I had arranged a ride from a driver who was a friend of the hostel owner beforehand. He only communicated in audio messages in a very strong accent, so it was a miracle that I could make out what time he was going to be there. However, between my flight getting delayed two hours, my three hour line in customs, and my lack any trace of cell service, there was no way in hell I was going too be able to meet him in time.

Walking out into the blazing hot sun and collapsing under my bags, I was miraculously able to pull out my phone. Immediately, I had to be on alert. In the 8 seconds it took me to get my phone out of my bag, I was bombarded by a slew of airport taxi drivers waving me down. I was able to creep into a corner with my bags too keep my calm and see if somehow I could get some sort of reception. In a moment of pure marvel, I was able to connect to the one bar airport wifi, and call Autoy ( the driver) through WhatsApp. When he picked up, the only words I could make out was that he was there, waiting, which took me so much by surprise, I couldn't believe it was true. I told him where I was, and saw his car drive up to help me make my escape.

The drive to hostel was literally like being transported to an alien planet. As Autoy spoke in an a language that I didn't quite understand, I gazed out the window to take in my new surroundings. Flashes of bright color sprung up around endless streets filled with vendors, stray dogs, and children. Garbage didn't have a place, and cars didn't seem to follow rules. I've never seen a place where streets could be so packed and empty at the same time. I was so taken aback, I wasn't even sure what to feel. I hadn't slept the night before, but I had never felt so alert.

Before I knew it, we arrived at Belleh House. The hostel was a bright yellow two story apartment building tucked away on a small street off the main road. As Autoy dropped me off in the blazing heat, I rang the bell, and was met by a girl who was a guest at the place. She let me in and told me Charlotte, the host would be back shortly. As I sat in the living room, I fought to keep my eyes open as I took in everything around me and prepared myself for the days ahead. For the first time in a while, I was overwhelmed by a strong sense of unknown....

The view of Belleh House from the street

The view from Belleh House to the street outside

From L.A to New York

When I left Laure's workshop that day there was nothing in my view that didn't look clear. Within only a few weeks I was consistently making trips down to LA not only to train with her, but almost every teacher I could find down there. I'd meticulously comb social media for whatever workshop or class I could find.

I would leave Santa Cruz ( a ten hour round trip drive away), zoom down, take a few classes, then turn right back around that same night to drive home. Often times that meant leaving at 5 A.M. bright and early, getting to LA around 11AM, staying all day, then leaving again at 8PM to reach home at around 2 AM. I'd take three Dancehall classes in a row and splurge on private lessons. I'd walk into a class of professionals and fight to hold my own. I'd return home wide-awake and elated, but mentally and physically exhausted from the long journey; having zig zagged through dark mountains with the occasional stop at a deserted gas station. It was INSANE. Literally everyone in my life thought I was crazy. I knew I was, but I didn't care.

I continued with these charades until the next summer, when my friend and I decided to take a dance trip to New York and visit a friend of ours who was on Broadway. I craved more.We took classes all day every day, training with the best, getting inspired over and over again. If I thought the energy was alive in the Dancehall classes in LA, I hadn't seen anything yet. In LA, you would walk into a class feeling an excited extreme nervousness, and leave feeling accomplished because you just survived a class dancing next to someone who had been in Beyonce's last music video. In New York, you'd leave a class feeling completely transformed; dancing next to the bright lights of the city, and spill out onto the sidewalk completely immersed in the magnetic energy of the streets. I fell in love. When you walk around the streets of Manhattan, you are shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of people who are doing something with their lives, and/or are literally on their way. I kept thinking to myself, I SHOULD BE DOING SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE!

That's my friend, Ruthie who Gina and I went to visit when she was on Broadway. She's now a famous Disney Channel star. Not the point of this piece, but a fun fact!

This photo was taken in a bathroom somewhere in Manhattan. Along with my dance training, it was a really big deal that there was a mural of Beyonce in a bathroom. I had NEVER seen that in my life. 

Okay, last New York picture, I promise. Gina and I made sure we made complete fools of ourselves before we left. 

That's exactly what I did.

I knew that if I wanted to keep taking my study of Dancehall seriously, I couldn't just rely on these infrequent and exhausting trips to these cities inside my own country. I needed a foundation; a basis upon which I could actually study and transform. I needed roots. I needed culture.

I needed to go to Jamaica.....but how?