Leonardo Blair, Staff Reporter
JAMAICA'S UNEMPLOYMENT problem has pushed many jobless persons to carve out creative existence and sometimes to resort to illegal activities.
Many are left bitter and have accused politicians of benefiting from their jobless status, some have openly confessed to finding a financial base in the illegal drug trade and others are still searching. Even if the search has gone into yet another year.
When the Hong Kong-based East Ocean Textiles company pulled out of the Kingston Freezone in 2000, Shawna Campbell, 31, was among the 1,500 women who lost their jobs. She is also among the unlucky ones who, three years later, is still searching for one.
Now a stay-at-home mother, Shawna longs for the independence she once had when she worked for her own money. Unemployment is something she will never get used to.
"Imagine one time, when mi just lose the work, him (her common-law husband) used to cuss mi how mi can't go find something fi do. Mi no have no subject fi go look no work and mi no see no factory whey mi coulda go do something right now. Even now sometimes him take it cuss mi but mi just keep quiet now," she adds, speaking from a spotless kitchen.
At one point she says, "Mi couldn't stop eat the way how mi use to fret. Ah so come mi put on so much weight," says Shawna who lives in the Three Miles area of St. Andrew. She can sew but there are no more factories and she believes she doesn't have enough qualifications to put on a resume, so every time she thinks about finding a job she'll tell you all she wants is 'a link'.
She had bought a sewing machine out of her redundancy settlement, to earn some money stitching curtains, but cheap ready-made drapes fished away her customers. Right now she uses the machine to sew her own clothes when they need stitching.
With unemployment figures as of April 2001 standing at 14.8 per cent (almost 164,000 of the workforce) according to the Statistical Institute of Jamaica, one would expect a mad scramble for jobs
among unemployed residents of depressed communities like Allman Town in Kingston.
Allman Town is close-knit with strong People's National Party (PNP) linkages. The streets dividing the tenement yards are narrow and heavily peopled most times. Last week, a news team spent some time with Allman Town residents.
There, a woman selling The Gleaner, with her granddaughter, at the mouth of the community declares that this is all she does. Her granddaughter too.
For another young woman with three children and an unemployed 'babyfather', minimum wage at a popular fast food restaurant is not a way out of her poverty.
"You can't work for $2,000. You have to pay bus fare. You have to pay tax and you have to feed the kids," she says.
There is a gathering in the community as the people were drawn to the discussion.
The conversation revolves around finding decent work. The politicians, some residents said, had promised more work during elections, but now that it's over they are on their own and
unemployed.
There are some persons such as a woman who calls herself Charm, who spoke of her limited work experiences. "If me work and don't get no pay after two weeks me not going back," she says. Charm has been unemployed for the last four and a half years.
"Mi work three month one time and every time the boss waan owe mi. All now mi nuh get all ah mi money. It rough straight up mi ah tell you say it rough," she says of her working days. "Right now mi willing fi work but not fi less than $5,000 a fortnight," she adds.
Charm lives in one of the pockets among a maze of tenement dwellings. Shifty buildings and makeshift bathrooms. Life here is pretty communal for most of the unemployed.
'A LITTLE WORK'
There are times when contractors come to the area and give out "a little work" to the young men of the community, but that too has its problems because at times the wages are late. For that reason some persons have avoided this kind of labour.
But for many of them, however, they feel cheated after decades of supporting political parties, they have nothing to show for it.
"We are tired of depending on politicians," says one woman, who stood among a group showing this reporter the dilapidated tenements which they claim have been in existence since the days of Michael Manley. "They know that if we get jobs, we won't be running to the constituency office anymore. They know that... If we can just get some jobs," she whispers wistfully.
"Last month mi go apply fi a work and them tell mi say them wi call mi. Mi still ah wait," says a mother of three. "This morning me and a friend go walk out the whole a downtown go try find work in the Chineyman store. Everybody tell us no. Me tired fi walk out mi good clothes and shoes now, mi soon naked."
Like children living what they learn, after decades of being manipulated by politics, many of them unable to find jobs say they have found other sources of income.
"Look inna my house. A drugs money buy everyting!" declared one woman. "Mi nuh 'fraid fi show you. If a never the drugs and the US$200 mi friend dem send fram foreign every now and then, mi dead fi hungry," she adds, proudly throwing open the doors to her house of wood and zinc to display the latest designer furniture. Mahogany gleams and electronic gadgets buzz.
"Thank God fi them girl a foreign," she declares. "Send them up with a one ounce or a two ounce. Who fi get ketch get ketch and who fi bust just bust. Everybody have to live," she says.
But then there are the older ones like Johnson. "Whatever comes, I work. I have demands. No matter what. Mi desire is to get a long-term job. Something that can give me a weekly income on a permanent basis," Johnson says. "Me is a man who always work but it hard pon the likkle young yout' dem."
But listen to Monica Tomlinson: "Mi do a likkle cooking and a just hand-to-mouth me a work right now. Anybody want to hire somebody fi go cook fi them or run a likkle canteen or someting? Me willing. I am Monica Tomlinson. Mi serious. I will work. Mi nuh want no politics money."
Names changed to protect
privacy.
