G'morning folks, hope everyone is doing well on this bright, cold, snowy Friday morning! Looking forward to the weekend still, especially because a group of us will be travelling up to Columbus, Ohio for the engagement party of one of our closest friends. The transportation has been worked out, the room has been booked, and we're almost set to go! Anyhow, I don't have much to post this morning, so I thought I'd let off another story on you all, it's entitled "The Bus" and it chronicles some of my more exciting experiences as a young Jamaica commuter! Hope you all enjoy! Have a great weekend and be safe!
The Bus
It was an age of high adventure. A time of epic struggles between good and evil where brave young boys and girls battled fierce, carbon-monoxide gasping creatures with names like Encava, TATA, and ¼ million. OK, fine, I suppose I’m trying a bit too hard to romanticize one of the more traumatic, bittersweet periods of my life…my days as a commuter on the Jamaican bus. I’m not talking about the days of the “Jolly bus” where the government ran the bus service under the name JOS (Jamaica Omnibus Service) nor am I talking about the more contemporary scenario where the government runs the buses under the banner of the Transportation Authority. No, I’m talking about the in-between years when we had neither JOS nor Transportation Authority. I’m referring to a time in the late 80’s to mid-90’s, when the government had culled the JOS from their portfolio and decided it would be in their best interest to contract the service to groups of private individuals. Let me take you back to a time long before the articulated buses from Germany, an era where there were no tokens or swipe cards or conductors sitting in little glass-encased booths collecting fares. Let me tell you of the days of high adventures as a commuter on the Jamaican bus system.
Now, before I can talk about my own adventures as a commuter back in the 80’s and 90’s, it’s important for you to note that all buses had some sort of name in those days. For example, there were buses with names like Caribbean Queen, Israel, Prince Machoperi, Exterminator, African Princess, Viceroy, Shaka Zulu, and Stone Love. Each and every one of these buses had their own unique personalities and the drivers and conductors that operated these machines were oftentimes regarded as celebrities in our eyes. One of the most popular buses that ran the Half-way-tree to Papine route was a bus named Stone Love. Stone Love gained its popularity for a number of reasons. For one, it was named after one of Jamaica’s popular sound system. Secondly, the conductors were pretty decent guys, plus the owner used to hire some of the hardest drivers on the road back in those days. But, the most important hook for Stone Love was the fact that it had one of the best sound systems back in the day and they always seemed to have the latest new dancehall tunes, which was a big plus for most young boy or girl.
Such was Stone Love’s popularity that boys from J.C. would actually walk up to Papine to get a seat on the bus and then spend the better part of their afternoon riding back and forth from Papine to Three-Miles, listening to the music and dancing. Yes, it was like a club in Stone Love back in those days! There were some buses that we would never take, no matter how late we were, or how urgently we needed to arrive at our destination. For example, there was a tiny bus on the route which didn’t really have much of a name, but we J.C. boys dubbed it the “Patty Pan”. The bus was extremely low, really slow, and had no music or entertainment whatsoever. It was so low in fact that a person of average height found it quite difficult to stand at full height in this bus. But the main reason why this bus was a nuisance was because it was all sheet metal and it tended to attract heat, coupled with the fact that the engine box was right inside of the bus, next to the driver’s seat. The seats were hard and uncomfortable, much in contrast to the plush, cushiony ones found in buses like Stone Love.
I had a friend we used to call Naggozed, for no better reason than because he used to live in Naggo’s Head, Portmore. That boy new the specifications for each and every bus that ran on the Half-way-tree to Papine route and he could tell you every detail from what each bus horn sounded like to when the buses had been modified to increase their performance. Such was our dedication to the buses back then! Now, I wouldn’t say that I was very picky when it came to which bus I took; I just wanted to hop on one and know that it’d get me from school to Half-way-tree in time for martial arts class, though I must admit that I’ve avoided the “Patty Pan” a few times.
Now, getting into a bus was a completely different story altogether. For the most part, the probability of getting a seat in a bus coming from Papine was slim to none, because people would oftentimes wait at the bus depot in Papine where the bus terminated and, as the bus was unloading, they would struggle bravely against the great surge of rushing, annoyed people trying to get off the bus. The more adventurous ones would grab on to the bus window and pull themselves into the bus. Sometimes, when you had a huge backpack, or other equipment such as a T-Square for Technical Drawing class, it was quite inconvenient to try and get into the bus, so you’d look out for a friend or classmate and pass your bag to him through a window. The only slight disadvantage with that is that there was no guarantee that you’d actually get on the bus and you’d better hope that the person you handed your stuff to was trustworthy enough! One of the most impressive things to see was when the odd occurrence of an empty bus arrived into a bus terminus. It was amazing to see men, women, and children alike chasing the moving bus, hopping on to the steps, then pulling themselves into the vehicle by using the guard rail or the door as a level of sorts. Such were the things that had to be done just to get into the bus.
The conductors themselves were interesting folks. For one, they were masters at taking a bus that could legally seat 32 individuals and have standing room for 28 other passengers hold twice that amount or more. This task was easier to accomplish than one would think. Logically, the 32 seats would become filled quite rapidly. Once the seats were filled, the conductor would force as many people as possible on both sides of the aisle, which would be 28 or more, depending on how tightly packed the individuals were against each other. Next, a second row of people would come in and stand behind the group already inside the bus. Sometimes, depending on the width of the aisles, a fifth row could be made. Of course, there was quite a bit of spaces on the steps of the bus to hold quite a few additional people. The concepts of personal space and physical comfort were quite foreign to the typical Jamaican commuter back in those days. Now, when the buses were loaded with three times more than the prescribed capacity, it meant that many conductors and drivers could easily make a profit by skimming from the total fares collected, which still wasn’t bad business for the bus owners, since they were making supernormal profits anyway.
As a young boy growing up in a homophobic nation, one of the most frightening prospects of getting crammed into a bus is that you may either find yourself pressing against another male, which we usually avoided like the plague, sometimes having to resort to astounding acts of agility and amazing feats of strength just to keep your body at least one inch from the other person. On the other hand, if you have a man standing behind you, you’d still have to attempt similar feats of flexibility, since there’s no guarantee that he would be able to avoid pressing up against you. This sometimes entailed tilting your pelvis and arching your back, much to the discomfort of the person sitting in the seat below you, who more times than not, would probably spend the better portion of the ride becoming familiar with every aspect of your groin area. On the other hand, if it was a woman standing in front or behind you, then the one-inch gap was not as important!
Now, the closeness issue on the bus was sometimes good and sometimes bad. For example, if you were lucky to be on a bus like Stone Love and there was a really nice girl standing in front of you and the music was just right, then both of you would probably enjoy a nice little bumping-and-grinding session all the way to your destination (though sometimes if her destination happened to be further than your destination, then you might actually stay a bit longer), listening to the music from the likes of Shabba Ranks, Josey Wales, Pinchers, Professor Nuts, and General Trees. Sometimes, there were a few freaks on the bus that would make the experience less than pleasant for some women. For instance, one morning I was on a bus and I saw a strange looking Rastafarian get on. It seemed somewhat unusual that the bus was quite empty, yet he chose to stand right behind an elegantly-dressed office-styled woman. The Rastafarian kept on giggling and jerking up and down, causing the people to wonder what he was up to. Suddenly, he laughed out loud and the woman screamed out in horror. All this time he had been rubbing the juice from a mango on the lady’s expensive jacket. Realizing what he had done, he forced his way through the front of the bus and ran off, with a sly, toothless grin on his face.
Another experience that I will never forget is the day that I hopped on to the step of a bus because I was running late for training and simply didn’t have sufficient time to wait for a less crowded bus. I ended up standing right behind a short, chubby woman with short thick Jeri curls. Now in the early 90’s, it was a big thing to have Jeri curls, like Michael Jackson, even though it was a goopy, greasy, nasty mess. It wasn’t unusual to see men and women walking around with paper towels folded around their shirt collars held in place by paper clips, an inelegant solution to the dilemma of “Jeri Juice” ruining the back of your work shirt or jacket. Now, the woman in question seemed unable to support her own weight, and she leaned the bulk of her bodyweight into my chest. I wasn’t too concerned, since I had a good grip on the guard rail by the step and I knew that the closed bus door was strong enough to hold our combined weight. Besides, I had been working out with weights for a couple months now, and I was pretty strong and plus, the driver was playing a few Sanchez tracks, which helped to ease the discomfort of the ride.
Most of you who’ve ever driven on Old Hope Road know that right after the Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant you come to a deep round-about and you probably know that most drivers would probably be braking up and gearing down at or around the Kentucky entrance in order to actually make it around the sharp corner. Well, not this driver, he decided that he had sufficient skill to make it around without slowing down. The surprising thing is that he did, but not without those of us on the step have a heart-wrenching moment as we saw the vehicle tilt down at such a sharp angle that you could literally count the grains of asphalt in the road. The lady in front of me lost her balance and fell back into me. At the same time, I struggled to tighten my grip on the guard rail and brace my legs against the door. Her head flew back and connected me square in the mouth, giving me an ample mouthful of the dreaded “Jeri Juice”. I hacked and I coughed and I spat, but nothing could get the god awful plastic chemical taste out of my mouth. I didn’t go to training that afternoon; instead I hopped off the bus at Liguanea and walked home spitting all the way, a huge dark splotch of “Jeri Juice” embellishing the front of my navy blue uniform shirt.
One of the worst things that one could do on a bus was forgetting his or her bus fare. Aside from getting a sound tongue-lashing from the ‘ductor and his cronies (sometimes it was impossible to determine how many conductors were on one bus) you would oftentimes find yourself unceremoniously ejected from the vehicle, which could be good or bad, depending on how dangerous the area in which you were thrown off was. Don’t get me wrong though, sometimes some conductors made folks get away with “free rides”, so they weren’t all bad. Now, back in the day, it was really cheap to take a bus and 50 cents could probably get you most places you needed to go. However, there were some people that made it a habit of trying to get out of paying for rides. For instance, there was a little guy who used to ride the bus all the time and he’d get his bus fare by picking the conductor’s pocket and then paying him back with his own money, telling him to keep the change! Another gentleman who always seemed to take the same bus I took in the morning had an even better scheme. He was always immaculately dressed in a business suit with a nice looking tie and he spoke with in almost too-perfect English with just enough of a hint of a British accent to sound like a man of great distinction. His game was simple; he’d always tender a 100 dollar bill to the conductor, who would never have that much change in the morning, especially for something as small as 50 cents! Day in, day out, I watched this man perform the same trick and get away with it. His trick lasted only for a time though, as one morning a conductor, who’d gotten wise to his plans set up for him. As he stepped into the bus, “Good morning, can you possibly break a Concord?” To which the conductor replied, “Sure man, no problem!” The look of shock on the gentleman’s faces as the conductor presented him a bag full of 1 cent coins that totaled up to exactly 99 dollars and 50 cents was perhaps the most amusing I’ve ever seen. When all the passengers began to laugh at him was the first time I’d ever seen a black man blush! He always had his 50 cents bus fare after that.
In order to be a good commuter, you had to develop a sixth-sense and an almost cat-like set of reflexes in order to warn you of dangers in the bus. For example, if you hear two people arguing loudly, then you’d better move as far away from them as possible, since you’re never quite sure when fists, guns, knives, or acid will come in to play, therefore you had to make sure that you could get away from them and off the bus as quickly as possible if need be. It was amazing to see how quickly 60 or more people crowded together in a packed bus could find so much additional empty space to get out of the way or hide when a fight broke out in a bus. One of the biggest dangers to commuters at the time was the constant threat of pickpockets and other petty thieves preying upon unsuspecting victims. There were a few ground rules that you had to follow. First, you’d never put your wallet in your back pocket or even in your backpack, unless you didn’t have anything of value in there. Next, you’d never want to wear much jewelry, particularly gold chains or expensive watches, since they were the first things to catch the eyes of the thieves. In addition, you’d want to stay as close together to your friends or classmates as possible, and always be vigilant for suspicious movements. But above all else, if someone comes to you with a knife, acid or, less commonly, a gun, give him whatever he wants.
Sometimes no matter how perceptive or vigilant you are you can still fall prey to the sleight of hand artist. For example, my friend Ronny, who was as alert as they come, was one day standing in a bus when a man came up right next to him. Ronny considered himself to be a “sweet boy” or ladies man, so he was busily whispering a long string of “lyrics” in the ears of a girl from Mona High. At that time, it was a fashion trend for boys to sometimes have afro-picks in their back pockets, particularly given the way we wore our hair in the flat-top “Kid ‘N Play” style back in those days. After all, you’d never know when your hair would get a little bit messed up and you’d have to comb it out quickly before you went to meet that special lady (or even before you had a remote chance of encountering some fine young ladies). Well, while Ronny was busily talking to the young lady, Mr. Pickpocket was busily pulling the comb from his left back pocket to use as a tool to pick his wallet from his right back pocket, all within the space of a few seconds. Poor Ronny, didn’t realize that he’d lost his wallet until the conductor came around demanding bus fare and he realized that both his wallet and his comb had been stolen. Fortunately for him, the girl liked him, and was willing to pay his fare in addition to hers.
One of the most frightening experiences for me on the bus was when I had taken a number 27 bus from EXED Community College to see my mother at work in New Kingston. Somewhere between the intersection at Stanton Terrace and Hope Road, two men got on the bus and went to sit all the way in the back. For some reason, I had decided that I didn’t want to sit in the bus that day, even though there were only 10 people or so in the bus, so I had decided to stand at the very front of the vehicle, next to the driver and the conductor. From the corner of my eye, I began to notice the men moving from seat to seat, though it seemed odd that one would always sit next to someone and the other would sit behind them. As the bus rolled along Lady Musgrave Road, I heard someone in the back scream out “Tief, Tief!” and I turned around just in time to see both men running full-tilt toward me with their knives drawn. It turns out that they had been robbing folks on the bus all along, threatening to cut them if they made any noise. As I saw the men running towards me, I panicked and hopped from the moving vehicle, just missing the edge of the first man’s knife blade by an inch or two. Suddenly, a third man emerged from the back of the bus in hot pursuit of the thieves. The man never caught up with them, and they made off with a few hundred dollars and some jewelry, but thank God no one was injured during the hold-up.
The emergence of the Mercedes buses yielded a great new set of opportunities for us boys. Buses like Stone Love and Shaka Zulu, though entertaining, could never compete with these buses when it came to size, comfort, and raw power. Some of us boys used to have an amusing time when we invited girls out and told them that we’d be traveling in a Mercedes. Of course, they were less than impressed when we walked them over to a shiny, white Mercedes bus and paid their fare as well as ours. Of course, they’d be angry, but they couldn’t call us liars either…they were riding in a Mercedes after all. One of the distinct advantages of these Mercedes buses was that they were the perfect large-capacity people movers and so impressed was the government with their design that they took it a step further and ordered several of the larger, articulated versions of those vehicles. It was amazing seeing the drivers handle these huge, twin buses with the giant accordion-looking pivot point in the center. Nothing was more amusing than standing inside the pivot point and seeing it twist and turn as the driver maneuvered through the windy streets of Kingston. In fact, the fleet of Mercedes buses was quite an upgrade from the Encava’s and TATAs that we were used to, though we still loved the vibes that could be only found on a bus like Stone Love.
Eventually, I grew up and began to rely less and less on the bus, since I had earned my drivers license by then and either drove myself or relied upon the kindness of other friends with automobiles. Later, after I migrated to the United States, I lost complete touch with the Jamaican bus system, though every year when I return home I’m more and more impressed to see how the transportation system has reformed and expanded and the buses no longer seem to be as overcrowded anymore, though I suppose the high availability of relatively cheap imported automobiles from Japan helps to alleviate some of the burden on the transportation system. The government has stepped in and taken charge of the bus system once more, which can be either good or bad depending on your perspective. Looking back at these memories of the Jamaican bus system, I have to say that they were certainly bittersweet periods of my life and I like to think that these experiences have somehow helped to make me a better person, more appreciative of the less affluent aspects of Jamaican social life. Though I’m at an age now where I’d rather not take the bus, I can look back at these memories and smile, for those were truly days of high adventure.
It was an age of high adventure. A time of epic struggles between good and evil where brave young boys and girls battled fierce, carbon-monoxide gasping creatures with names like Encava, TATA, and ¼ million. OK, fine, I suppose I’m trying a bit too hard to romanticize one of the more traumatic, bittersweet periods of my life…my days as a commuter on the Jamaican bus. I’m not talking about the days of the “Jolly bus” where the government ran the bus service under the name JOS (Jamaica Omnibus Service) nor am I talking about the more contemporary scenario where the government runs the buses under the banner of the Transportation Authority. No, I’m talking about the in-between years when we had neither JOS nor Transportation Authority. I’m referring to a time in the late 80’s to mid-90’s, when the government had culled the JOS from their portfolio and decided it would be in their best interest to contract the service to groups of private individuals. Let me take you back to a time long before the articulated buses from Germany, an era where there were no tokens or swipe cards or conductors sitting in little glass-encased booths collecting fares. Let me tell you of the days of high adventures as a commuter on the Jamaican bus system.
Now, before I can talk about my own adventures as a commuter back in the 80’s and 90’s, it’s important for you to note that all buses had some sort of name in those days. For example, there were buses with names like Caribbean Queen, Israel, Prince Machoperi, Exterminator, African Princess, Viceroy, Shaka Zulu, and Stone Love. Each and every one of these buses had their own unique personalities and the drivers and conductors that operated these machines were oftentimes regarded as celebrities in our eyes. One of the most popular buses that ran the Half-way-tree to Papine route was a bus named Stone Love. Stone Love gained its popularity for a number of reasons. For one, it was named after one of Jamaica’s popular sound system. Secondly, the conductors were pretty decent guys, plus the owner used to hire some of the hardest drivers on the road back in those days. But, the most important hook for Stone Love was the fact that it had one of the best sound systems back in the day and they always seemed to have the latest new dancehall tunes, which was a big plus for most young boy or girl.
Such was Stone Love’s popularity that boys from J.C. would actually walk up to Papine to get a seat on the bus and then spend the better part of their afternoon riding back and forth from Papine to Three-Miles, listening to the music and dancing. Yes, it was like a club in Stone Love back in those days! There were some buses that we would never take, no matter how late we were, or how urgently we needed to arrive at our destination. For example, there was a tiny bus on the route which didn’t really have much of a name, but we J.C. boys dubbed it the “Patty Pan”. The bus was extremely low, really slow, and had no music or entertainment whatsoever. It was so low in fact that a person of average height found it quite difficult to stand at full height in this bus. But the main reason why this bus was a nuisance was because it was all sheet metal and it tended to attract heat, coupled with the fact that the engine box was right inside of the bus, next to the driver’s seat. The seats were hard and uncomfortable, much in contrast to the plush, cushiony ones found in buses like Stone Love.
I had a friend we used to call Naggozed, for no better reason than because he used to live in Naggo’s Head, Portmore. That boy new the specifications for each and every bus that ran on the Half-way-tree to Papine route and he could tell you every detail from what each bus horn sounded like to when the buses had been modified to increase their performance. Such was our dedication to the buses back then! Now, I wouldn’t say that I was very picky when it came to which bus I took; I just wanted to hop on one and know that it’d get me from school to Half-way-tree in time for martial arts class, though I must admit that I’ve avoided the “Patty Pan” a few times.
Now, getting into a bus was a completely different story altogether. For the most part, the probability of getting a seat in a bus coming from Papine was slim to none, because people would oftentimes wait at the bus depot in Papine where the bus terminated and, as the bus was unloading, they would struggle bravely against the great surge of rushing, annoyed people trying to get off the bus. The more adventurous ones would grab on to the bus window and pull themselves into the bus. Sometimes, when you had a huge backpack, or other equipment such as a T-Square for Technical Drawing class, it was quite inconvenient to try and get into the bus, so you’d look out for a friend or classmate and pass your bag to him through a window. The only slight disadvantage with that is that there was no guarantee that you’d actually get on the bus and you’d better hope that the person you handed your stuff to was trustworthy enough! One of the most impressive things to see was when the odd occurrence of an empty bus arrived into a bus terminus. It was amazing to see men, women, and children alike chasing the moving bus, hopping on to the steps, then pulling themselves into the vehicle by using the guard rail or the door as a level of sorts. Such were the things that had to be done just to get into the bus.
The conductors themselves were interesting folks. For one, they were masters at taking a bus that could legally seat 32 individuals and have standing room for 28 other passengers hold twice that amount or more. This task was easier to accomplish than one would think. Logically, the 32 seats would become filled quite rapidly. Once the seats were filled, the conductor would force as many people as possible on both sides of the aisle, which would be 28 or more, depending on how tightly packed the individuals were against each other. Next, a second row of people would come in and stand behind the group already inside the bus. Sometimes, depending on the width of the aisles, a fifth row could be made. Of course, there was quite a bit of spaces on the steps of the bus to hold quite a few additional people. The concepts of personal space and physical comfort were quite foreign to the typical Jamaican commuter back in those days. Now, when the buses were loaded with three times more than the prescribed capacity, it meant that many conductors and drivers could easily make a profit by skimming from the total fares collected, which still wasn’t bad business for the bus owners, since they were making supernormal profits anyway.
As a young boy growing up in a homophobic nation, one of the most frightening prospects of getting crammed into a bus is that you may either find yourself pressing against another male, which we usually avoided like the plague, sometimes having to resort to astounding acts of agility and amazing feats of strength just to keep your body at least one inch from the other person. On the other hand, if you have a man standing behind you, you’d still have to attempt similar feats of flexibility, since there’s no guarantee that he would be able to avoid pressing up against you. This sometimes entailed tilting your pelvis and arching your back, much to the discomfort of the person sitting in the seat below you, who more times than not, would probably spend the better portion of the ride becoming familiar with every aspect of your groin area. On the other hand, if it was a woman standing in front or behind you, then the one-inch gap was not as important!
Now, the closeness issue on the bus was sometimes good and sometimes bad. For example, if you were lucky to be on a bus like Stone Love and there was a really nice girl standing in front of you and the music was just right, then both of you would probably enjoy a nice little bumping-and-grinding session all the way to your destination (though sometimes if her destination happened to be further than your destination, then you might actually stay a bit longer), listening to the music from the likes of Shabba Ranks, Josey Wales, Pinchers, Professor Nuts, and General Trees. Sometimes, there were a few freaks on the bus that would make the experience less than pleasant for some women. For instance, one morning I was on a bus and I saw a strange looking Rastafarian get on. It seemed somewhat unusual that the bus was quite empty, yet he chose to stand right behind an elegantly-dressed office-styled woman. The Rastafarian kept on giggling and jerking up and down, causing the people to wonder what he was up to. Suddenly, he laughed out loud and the woman screamed out in horror. All this time he had been rubbing the juice from a mango on the lady’s expensive jacket. Realizing what he had done, he forced his way through the front of the bus and ran off, with a sly, toothless grin on his face.
Another experience that I will never forget is the day that I hopped on to the step of a bus because I was running late for training and simply didn’t have sufficient time to wait for a less crowded bus. I ended up standing right behind a short, chubby woman with short thick Jeri curls. Now in the early 90’s, it was a big thing to have Jeri curls, like Michael Jackson, even though it was a goopy, greasy, nasty mess. It wasn’t unusual to see men and women walking around with paper towels folded around their shirt collars held in place by paper clips, an inelegant solution to the dilemma of “Jeri Juice” ruining the back of your work shirt or jacket. Now, the woman in question seemed unable to support her own weight, and she leaned the bulk of her bodyweight into my chest. I wasn’t too concerned, since I had a good grip on the guard rail by the step and I knew that the closed bus door was strong enough to hold our combined weight. Besides, I had been working out with weights for a couple months now, and I was pretty strong and plus, the driver was playing a few Sanchez tracks, which helped to ease the discomfort of the ride.
Most of you who’ve ever driven on Old Hope Road know that right after the Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant you come to a deep round-about and you probably know that most drivers would probably be braking up and gearing down at or around the Kentucky entrance in order to actually make it around the sharp corner. Well, not this driver, he decided that he had sufficient skill to make it around without slowing down. The surprising thing is that he did, but not without those of us on the step have a heart-wrenching moment as we saw the vehicle tilt down at such a sharp angle that you could literally count the grains of asphalt in the road. The lady in front of me lost her balance and fell back into me. At the same time, I struggled to tighten my grip on the guard rail and brace my legs against the door. Her head flew back and connected me square in the mouth, giving me an ample mouthful of the dreaded “Jeri Juice”. I hacked and I coughed and I spat, but nothing could get the god awful plastic chemical taste out of my mouth. I didn’t go to training that afternoon; instead I hopped off the bus at Liguanea and walked home spitting all the way, a huge dark splotch of “Jeri Juice” embellishing the front of my navy blue uniform shirt.
One of the worst things that one could do on a bus was forgetting his or her bus fare. Aside from getting a sound tongue-lashing from the ‘ductor and his cronies (sometimes it was impossible to determine how many conductors were on one bus) you would oftentimes find yourself unceremoniously ejected from the vehicle, which could be good or bad, depending on how dangerous the area in which you were thrown off was. Don’t get me wrong though, sometimes some conductors made folks get away with “free rides”, so they weren’t all bad. Now, back in the day, it was really cheap to take a bus and 50 cents could probably get you most places you needed to go. However, there were some people that made it a habit of trying to get out of paying for rides. For instance, there was a little guy who used to ride the bus all the time and he’d get his bus fare by picking the conductor’s pocket and then paying him back with his own money, telling him to keep the change! Another gentleman who always seemed to take the same bus I took in the morning had an even better scheme. He was always immaculately dressed in a business suit with a nice looking tie and he spoke with in almost too-perfect English with just enough of a hint of a British accent to sound like a man of great distinction. His game was simple; he’d always tender a 100 dollar bill to the conductor, who would never have that much change in the morning, especially for something as small as 50 cents! Day in, day out, I watched this man perform the same trick and get away with it. His trick lasted only for a time though, as one morning a conductor, who’d gotten wise to his plans set up for him. As he stepped into the bus, “Good morning, can you possibly break a Concord?” To which the conductor replied, “Sure man, no problem!” The look of shock on the gentleman’s faces as the conductor presented him a bag full of 1 cent coins that totaled up to exactly 99 dollars and 50 cents was perhaps the most amusing I’ve ever seen. When all the passengers began to laugh at him was the first time I’d ever seen a black man blush! He always had his 50 cents bus fare after that.
In order to be a good commuter, you had to develop a sixth-sense and an almost cat-like set of reflexes in order to warn you of dangers in the bus. For example, if you hear two people arguing loudly, then you’d better move as far away from them as possible, since you’re never quite sure when fists, guns, knives, or acid will come in to play, therefore you had to make sure that you could get away from them and off the bus as quickly as possible if need be. It was amazing to see how quickly 60 or more people crowded together in a packed bus could find so much additional empty space to get out of the way or hide when a fight broke out in a bus. One of the biggest dangers to commuters at the time was the constant threat of pickpockets and other petty thieves preying upon unsuspecting victims. There were a few ground rules that you had to follow. First, you’d never put your wallet in your back pocket or even in your backpack, unless you didn’t have anything of value in there. Next, you’d never want to wear much jewelry, particularly gold chains or expensive watches, since they were the first things to catch the eyes of the thieves. In addition, you’d want to stay as close together to your friends or classmates as possible, and always be vigilant for suspicious movements. But above all else, if someone comes to you with a knife, acid or, less commonly, a gun, give him whatever he wants.
Sometimes no matter how perceptive or vigilant you are you can still fall prey to the sleight of hand artist. For example, my friend Ronny, who was as alert as they come, was one day standing in a bus when a man came up right next to him. Ronny considered himself to be a “sweet boy” or ladies man, so he was busily whispering a long string of “lyrics” in the ears of a girl from Mona High. At that time, it was a fashion trend for boys to sometimes have afro-picks in their back pockets, particularly given the way we wore our hair in the flat-top “Kid ‘N Play” style back in those days. After all, you’d never know when your hair would get a little bit messed up and you’d have to comb it out quickly before you went to meet that special lady (or even before you had a remote chance of encountering some fine young ladies). Well, while Ronny was busily talking to the young lady, Mr. Pickpocket was busily pulling the comb from his left back pocket to use as a tool to pick his wallet from his right back pocket, all within the space of a few seconds. Poor Ronny, didn’t realize that he’d lost his wallet until the conductor came around demanding bus fare and he realized that both his wallet and his comb had been stolen. Fortunately for him, the girl liked him, and was willing to pay his fare in addition to hers.
One of the most frightening experiences for me on the bus was when I had taken a number 27 bus from EXED Community College to see my mother at work in New Kingston. Somewhere between the intersection at Stanton Terrace and Hope Road, two men got on the bus and went to sit all the way in the back. For some reason, I had decided that I didn’t want to sit in the bus that day, even though there were only 10 people or so in the bus, so I had decided to stand at the very front of the vehicle, next to the driver and the conductor. From the corner of my eye, I began to notice the men moving from seat to seat, though it seemed odd that one would always sit next to someone and the other would sit behind them. As the bus rolled along Lady Musgrave Road, I heard someone in the back scream out “Tief, Tief!” and I turned around just in time to see both men running full-tilt toward me with their knives drawn. It turns out that they had been robbing folks on the bus all along, threatening to cut them if they made any noise. As I saw the men running towards me, I panicked and hopped from the moving vehicle, just missing the edge of the first man’s knife blade by an inch or two. Suddenly, a third man emerged from the back of the bus in hot pursuit of the thieves. The man never caught up with them, and they made off with a few hundred dollars and some jewelry, but thank God no one was injured during the hold-up.
The emergence of the Mercedes buses yielded a great new set of opportunities for us boys. Buses like Stone Love and Shaka Zulu, though entertaining, could never compete with these buses when it came to size, comfort, and raw power. Some of us boys used to have an amusing time when we invited girls out and told them that we’d be traveling in a Mercedes. Of course, they were less than impressed when we walked them over to a shiny, white Mercedes bus and paid their fare as well as ours. Of course, they’d be angry, but they couldn’t call us liars either…they were riding in a Mercedes after all. One of the distinct advantages of these Mercedes buses was that they were the perfect large-capacity people movers and so impressed was the government with their design that they took it a step further and ordered several of the larger, articulated versions of those vehicles. It was amazing seeing the drivers handle these huge, twin buses with the giant accordion-looking pivot point in the center. Nothing was more amusing than standing inside the pivot point and seeing it twist and turn as the driver maneuvered through the windy streets of Kingston. In fact, the fleet of Mercedes buses was quite an upgrade from the Encava’s and TATAs that we were used to, though we still loved the vibes that could be only found on a bus like Stone Love.
Eventually, I grew up and began to rely less and less on the bus, since I had earned my drivers license by then and either drove myself or relied upon the kindness of other friends with automobiles. Later, after I migrated to the United States, I lost complete touch with the Jamaican bus system, though every year when I return home I’m more and more impressed to see how the transportation system has reformed and expanded and the buses no longer seem to be as overcrowded anymore, though I suppose the high availability of relatively cheap imported automobiles from Japan helps to alleviate some of the burden on the transportation system. The government has stepped in and taken charge of the bus system once more, which can be either good or bad depending on your perspective. Looking back at these memories of the Jamaican bus system, I have to say that they were certainly bittersweet periods of my life and I like to think that these experiences have somehow helped to make me a better person, more appreciative of the less affluent aspects of Jamaican social life. Though I’m at an age now where I’d rather not take the bus, I can look back at these memories and smile, for those were truly days of high adventure.
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