I was washed with emotion and confusion. I was hurt and outraged and enraged. I was devastated. The rape and murder of Khanice Jackson had struck me down and hurt me all so deeply. I couldn’t quite put it into words. It felt and still feels immensely unfair. The more that was revealed about the incident, the more it hit me; it could’ve been any one of us. 

The more I thought about it, was the more I thought about every single move I had made in the past two weeks, the past month…the past year. I was running back every event. Every time I left my house and had gone back home. Every time I was by myself, the pharmacy, the supermarket, the gas station. Every time I’ve ever been home alone. Every time a bike rode past me on the street. And it all just felt completely unfair. 

Why should her mother have had to get that call? Why did her family have to endure this? Why did she? 

I couldn’t shake it. The news was released on Friday, and I felt broken. I tried to power through it because it was my friend’s birthday I needed to be my happy self for her. And I managed to do it, that Friday evening. But, the following Saturday morning, when we were going to the country to continue the birthday festivities, I couldn’t hold it. The first thing I did was open Instagram, and I just broke down in tears after seeing her face everywhere. I can usually find the words to say, something hopeful, something of consolation, not this time though – I couldn’t. I just could not. 

That morning I shared my fears and concerns with a friend of mine, who replied that I just have to be grateful for life and be as careful as possible. 

And I told him, “that’s like telling a deer to be careful in hunting season.”

I got it together. I tried desperately the whole weekend to get it together. In the end, we were having a good time; still, I felt very drained; burnt out.

On Sunday morning, I was lying on the beach. The sun was blazing. The waves were crashing against the shore. The tide was high, and the wind was whipping. Music was playing low in the background, and I was surrounded by friends, the perfect Sunday if there ever was such a thing.

There was barely anyone in the water. It was quite choppy. But there was one little boy, playing by the shore, trying to catch the waves. He was enjoying himself, unknowingly jumping further and further into the rough water. I was watching him, wondering if anyone else was too. I kept looking around to see if any adult was going to run to get him. 

After a while, I turned to the person beside me. He was more of an acquaintance, just someone staying at a place near me. I said to him, “Are you seeing that little boy? Where are his parents?”

He glanced over at him and then back at me and said, “Mi nuh business. He’s not my child.”

I stared at him and paused in disbelief.

In that moment, all the emotions I had tried to suppress the whole weekend rushed over me in a split second. 

It dawned on me today that his response signifies one of Jamaica’s biggest problems.

So, because he’s not your child, you can’t be concerned? Till it happens to you or your family, you don’t care? And that is where Jamaica has gone so wrong. This culture of selfishness where people have become self-centred and self-consumed is why so many crimes go unsolved and “unseen”; because people have that narrative. That little boy was not relevant to him because he was not his. He did not belong to him. But are we not all humans? Is it not a human instinct to show care for an innocent child? This individualistic way of thinking and living – was this how it always was?

I said it before: “It’s like telling a deer to be careful in hunting season” — that’s exactly what it’s like if we refuse to consider the bigger picture and look out for our fellow citizens in this space that we all share.