One of Jamaica's many homeless persons. - Patrick Campbell/Freelance Photographer "She calls out to the man on the street
Sir, can you help me?
I am cold I got no where to sleep
Is there somewhere you can tell me?
He walks and he doesn't look back
He pretends he doesn't hear her
He whistles as he crosses the street
seems embarrassed to be there
oh think twice, just another day for you and me in paradise"
THE WORDS from this Phil Collins hit song, "Another Day in Paradise", could well describe life on the streets in Jamaica where the homeless and the mentally ill come face-to-face with their version of "a living hell."
They go by the names 'Herbs Eye', 'Crow Bait', 'Girlie', or any other name society deems befitting their status they are, seemingly, nobodies devoid of friends, families and sometimes country. For the person living on the street, this is the stark reality no hope, no dreams, no guarantee that there will be a next meal.
Take the case of Girlie who for the past couple of weeks has made the corridors of the Ocho Rios Post Office her home. She has probably been raped more times than anyone can imagine and beaten too. But for her, life goes on. She can't tell her story not that anyone would listen because Girlie is mentally ill.
She strolls down the streets of Ocho Rios every day yelling and cursing, sometimes stark naked and totally oblivious to those around her. Occasionally, in one of her better moods, she will ask a passerby for some money or for something to eat.
Occasionally someone will break the pattern of the countless who simply ignore her pleas and oblige her with something meaningful.
Girlie is also making a comeback of sorts. She was missing for a while last year, at least to those who took time out to notice. She reappeared months later looking battle weary and badly bruised. There was also a noticeable loss of weight. It was later learnt that she was torched by a relative of hers and had to be confined to hospital.
And then there is Sonny. His was a life that had everything sex, money, drugs and more drugs. As the story goes, Sonny was once wealthy very wealthy, but he soon lost it. It all began with the cocaine the main source of his wealth we are told. But by not following the advice from the underworld on "not to get high on your own supply", Sonny started using the drugs. His became a life of snorting cocaine and sleeping with prostitutes. Eventually, he moved from the powder to the crack cocaine and as fast as one could say wow, his supposedly great wealth simply disappeared. With everything by way of money gone and not able to maintain the lifestyle he had become accustomed to, Sonny took to the streets.
He became a favourite target for the taunters who missed no opportunity to ridicule and remind him of how wealthy he was. Sonny stopped bathing and pretty much was left to the mercies of the streets.
He was dismissed as a madman and suffered the same kind of cruel and unusual punishment meted out to people living on the streets. He died nearly three years ago when someone, knowing his craving for drugs, gave him a poisoned inhalant to sniff and that was it for him. Nobody was ever charged for the crime.
There are many stories like Girlie's and Sonny's on the streets which would amount to criminal acts against the homeless and mentally ill but who cares? As far as many people can see, they are simply nuisances who are really somebody else's problem. Why worry about somebody whose address has and will always remain unknown?
