That Section of the Bronx
 
by Scott Neufville

            "Why are you so proud of Jamaica, when you were born in America?"  I'm often asked.

If given the patience and energy, I'd begin saying it all began in 1962 when Jamaica's independence from British colonial rule did little or nothing to improve it's economy, so five years later two young and ambitious Jamaicans named Joyce Dinnall and Bernard Neufville departed from the impoverished island.  They settled and got married in the prestigious United States of America where they would eventually prosper and have three sons... Brian, Scott (myself), and Corey.

Since they refer to parts of Canal St. in New York City as "Chinatown," the section of the Bronx where my older brother and I grew up should be called "Jamaicaland," because all I can see for miles out there are those who followed in my father's migration, away from his third world homeland.  An abundance of bamboo-like sugarcane stalks and raw breadfruit sold on numerous street vends, the occasional bible-quoting Rastafarian shouting for no reason in Jamaican patois, and the mouth-watering aroma of fried ackee, plantain, and salt fish every Sunday morning makes 'that section of the Bronx' an impressive replica of urban Jamaica.

           Though American-born, my own Jamaican identity was made strong from among many inspirations, my uncles Fredrick, Albert (father of Renee Neufville), Cecil, Gilbert; aunts Pearl and Polly; and my father Bernard.

As a police officer in Kingston, Jamaica, Bernard Neufville witnessed many of the island's historic events.  The reburial of Marcus Garvey in Kingston's National Hero Park, and the arrival in Jamaica of Ethiopian Emperor Haille Selassie, who was greeted by thousands of devout Rastafarians, are all too fresh in my father's memory.  "He was so scared when he see all the people, he (Selassie) ran back into the plane!" Recalls Dad with laughter.

           So strong was my pride in my roots that even when I moved to Westchester County in the 1980s, ridicule of my culture did nothing to sway me, as a matter of fact, it made my ethnic identity even stronger.  I revered my roots at a time when it was far from 'fashionable' to be Jamaican, yet I never really anticipated what was to come later in the decade... I was awed. 

           I can almost feel the rhythm of Bob Marley's reggae classic "Buffalo Soldier" as I remember the new wave of Jamaican immigrants that came into the United States like a rumbling cavalry¾ dramatic reinforcements to relieve their exhausted brothers in the cultural battle.  These new arrivals flaunted that unique blend of class and aggression Jamaican's would become known for. Today these characteristics are the foundation of Jamaican cultural identity, and in my opinion, they are also the motives for the respect and envy Jamaican’s command.

Suddenly, it was 'cool' to speak Jamaican patois!   Jamaican food became an exotic curiosity, reggae and dancehall artists became household names, and as for those who had previously made fun of my roots?...Many now tried to convince me they had relatives and other connections to my mother's homeland, if not elsewhere in the West Indies.  Things had changed: now it was fashionable to be Jamaican.

By the early 1990s, I was to leave Jamaica's stronghold in New York and embark on a new journey.  With hard work in my academics, financial support from my parents, and a donation from the Panton Dawkins Scholarship Fund, (compliments of the Caribbean Club of the First Presbyterian Church in Mount Vernon, N.Y.) I was able to attend school northwards in frigid Boston, Massachusetts.  What I saw up there, I didn't expect... Again, I was awed. 

            The late Jamaican reggae artist Bob Marley, once a casual associate of my father, was worshipped like a god to countless multi-national people in New England.  The red, black, and green UNIA colors Marcus Garvey conceived, and Marley carried, was a symbol many recognized.  I even witnessed the curious merging of Hip Hop and Reggae as a single genre in the club scene.  Later I discover that they, like African Americans and Jamaicans, had a common ancestry because it was a Jamaican, who during the early 1970s, created Hip Hop in that section of the Bronx that should be called "Jamaicaland."

Since I too am from that section of the Bronx, I contributed my own creation: JamaicanPride.com.  You see, I believe that the Jamaican people are a remarkable people, but have yet to realize it.  I want them (and their friends) to take that same enlightening journey I did in New York and Boston, and discover the thing that makes Jamaicans remarkable:  Jamaica may be an economically poor country, but it's culture and history are at least as prestigious as that of the United States, and Jamaica's story continues to this day.

So why am I so proud of Jamaica, though American-born?  Well since "home is where the heart is," my heart is in that section of the Bronx where my brother and I were born and raised, they should call it "Jamaicaland."

 Boston Post Rd.