Article first posted on Live Beyond Yourself:

I’m sitting on a plane, flying over Cuba, on my way back to Canada.  My week in Jamaica has exceeded any expectations I could have had.  I am so full.  I think if I had to sum up what I’m feeling, it would be best described by a term I heard one of my Jamaican friends saying the other day – “pure good.”

A year ago right now I didn’t know a single migrant farm-worker in Niagara; I didn’t know where they came from, how they lived, or what they were like.  I could have never imagined the significance of that cold evening, late last March, when a friend took me out to the back of a local fruit farm.  Our church had packed some “welcome kits” and we were there to hand them out to some farm workers who just arrived from Jamaica.  I remember how nervous and anxious I felt as I knocked on the door of the small trailer, not quite sure how to introduce myself, and even less sure if I’d be welcome.  Little did I know that the door that opened, was in fact, a whole new world opening up to me.

One Love – A Jamaican Story of the sacrifices of Jamaica’s Farm workers to Canada

I soon came to learn that most of the local farms had a trailer or small cabin out back, serving as a home for six to eight months each year to hundreds of Caribbean workers.  These were men who leave their families, friends, and community every year for the opportunity to get ahead, and provide a better life for their wives and children.  Working long days, often seven days a week, doing hard farm labour that Canadians aren’t interested in applying for.  Some farms had as few as one worker while others had close to a hundred.  I was shocked to find that many men had been coming to Canada for decades, some for as many as 40 years to the same farm.

Handing out welcome-kits soon lead to on-going farm visits.  Other volunteers from the church started to get involved and within a few months we had connected with over 200 men.  Through the welcome kits and the farms visits that followed, we slowly began to build friendships with our little known “neighbours.”  It seemed like each week someone from the church would comment on how for years they would see these people in the grocery store but would just look down – some due to fear – but most due to simply not knowing what to say.  They would go on to express how awesome it was that now when they are in the grocery store and run into the men, they are able to have great chats and share some laughs.  So much was changing in so little time.

Over the summer our team of volunteers grew to over a hundred people, and we were reaching out to farms all over the township.  Beyond regular farm visits in small groups, each month we would have social events that brought everyone together; a spirited and LOUD dominoes night, a Niagara Falls night that could best be summed up with the word “chaos,” and a Harvest Celebration that even boasted a Caribbean steel-drum band.  It was an awesome summer

Over the course of these months I came to learn a lot about our Jamaican friends.  I learned that the intimidating first impression they often gave through their serious stares and sizeable stature was a wild misjudgment, and through a polite “hello” and simple handshake you quickly realized how fun, animated, and cheerful they actually were.  I found that they were some of the most hardworking men I’ve ever met, and was humbled by the level of sacrifice and commitment they had to their families. I was saddened to find that a lot of the men lived each day with deep loneliness – missing their family and friends back home, and not always feeling welcome here in Niagara.  And I was inspired by their love for God and the freedom they had in expressing it.

One Love – A Jamaican Story of the life and sacrifices of Jamaica’s Farm workers to Canada

It was bittersweet when autumn came and it was time for the men to go home.  On one hand, we were so happy for them to return to their families who they missed so much, but on the other hand we were sad to see our new friends leave.  One thing became clear to me though, that I needed to go to Jamaica and learn more. I needed to actually meet the wives and children I often talked to through very broken and challenging cell-phone connections.  I needed to see the houses that the men talked about improving and making more “storm-safe” each year.  I needed to drive (or be driven) down the narrow and winding mountain roads I heard so much about and saw in pictures the men would pull out of their small zip-lock bags.  I needed to understand…experientially.

Map of Jamaica

Just before Christmas, my ticket was booked.  I was to travel to Jamaica with “Sister Mary Ann,” a 78-year old, modern-day Mother Teresa who had been befriending the men since 1966. It would be her fifth time visiting her Jamaican friends, her second since her husband passed away.  As we began to plan our trip, she would share her stories as we highlighted maps, compiled phone numbers and formalized as many of the details as we could.  It quickly became clear that I was in for quite an adventure.  We were going to be at the travelling mercies of our migrant worker friends, without accommodations or ground transportation booked, we would stay in their homes and trust that our path from coast to coast could be made through a relay of their cars – vehicles that were only considered “broke-in” once they reached 500,000 km.

February 7^th finally arrived and I said sad goodbye to my family, and a much more exuberant goodbye to the -14° weather and icy roads.  As I drove into Sister Mary Ann’s driveway to pick her up, I found that she wasn’t travelling light!  With humanitarian-status approval from the Jamaican embassy, she had about 4 pounds of personal belongings and about 96 pounds of gifts, clothing, medicine and toys.  She assured me (with a wink and a smile) that the bags would get lighter each day.

We were off!

Part Two, to come…very soon