Walmart Jamaican Style Mon

September 16, 2007

Jamaica was one of the best vacations I have ever taken. It was a journey filled with contrasts, letting my hair down in the cool evening breeze on the beach to traipsing in the sweltering heat to duty free shops in search of that perfect, affordable designer something, actually anything.

Vain, but frugal me. I said my goodbyes to the friendly staff who refused to take a dime in tips. You see, I was staying at an all-inclusive place. They refuse to accept small change and I don’t have to carry it in my purse. It’s a win-win situation.

After my stay at the resort I was all ready to meet the world with renewed zest and vigor. The cab ride from Ocho Rios to Montego Bay was expected to last over an hour, owing to road construction.

We passed mansions and ramshackle tenements, children smartly dressed in school uniforms and some running around with muddy, matted hair,barely covered. I pulled out a news magazine from my bag to bring myself up to speed with the world.

The first article to catch my eye was about Walmart’s rise in the retail industry. Its marketing strategy included stocking live crabs and turtles in China and having Brazilian soccer star Pele’s autograph on replica jerseys, which sell for $750 online.

Mom and pop stores were upset and protesting. At this point, I looked out of the window and my eyes fell upon a store sign. I was shocked and I had to do a double take. The sign on the side of the store, actually a shack, read ‘Walmart’.

I requested the driver to stop and ran across the street armed with my camera and video recorder. As far as I could see, this place could barely contain my kitchen dinette set. The big box store had definitely gone too far this time. Of course, the anti climax was seconds away when I saw the word ‘future’ a little above the sign.

It was obviously a tourist lure but I did not want to leave without talking to Ziggy, the storekeeper. I asked him to say a few words into my recorder. Theatrically, he picked up a Rasta head walking stick in one hand, made a ‘V’ peace sign with his other and said “one world, love, peace and brotherhood”.

As I was leaving after having purchased a pretty pink conch shell, he called out to me “say my hello to Tendulkar when you reach home.” My mind flitted back to the cricket playing star of my teenage years, one on whom girls in my class swooned over.

As I walked away thinking about Ziggy’s entrepreneurial charms, another car screeched to a halt in the distance. The passenger lowered his sunglasses and raised his binoculars. I smiled. Irie Mon!