Ganja, Suh!

Recently in Cayman, there have been reports in the press about the police mounting roadblocks and seizing a variety of “weapons”, some of which might have legitimate lawful use. This has sparked a debate on the radio call-in talk shows as to what powers the police actually have, and reminded me of an incident in Jamaica involving a co-worker. No, true, a no me. 

Around 1980, I was in charge of a project on the North Coast that involved  research diving using Scuba gear. My primary dive buddy, George, lived in St Ann, but was originally from a remote area of St Mary. One weekend he took some time off to go visit his father who still lived backabush. He left Friday evening on his Honda XL100 trail bike, due to return Sunday evening and be back at work, bright and early, Monday morning.

 

Monday morning comes, and no George, no message, nothing. This was very unlike George, who was extremely reliable.Well 10:00 O’clock rolls around, and finally here comes George, on foot, no bike in sight.  So, waahappen? First off, the visit to his father went well. On his departure, he received a present, an entire rucksack full of ganja; green, mind you, for medicinal purposes, not the dry type that is used as a drug. He only had a couple sticks of the latter, and that was to carry for a friend. George did not mess with drugs!  He did not get far before the bike broke down. Despite efforts to revive it, he eventual had to leave it in someone’s care, and hike to the main road to catch a minibus. By the time he was on his way again it was quite late.

 Near to St Ann’s Bay, the bus was stopped in a joint police/military roadblock. A policeman demanded that everyone get out of the bus, while soldiers with automatic rifles stood in the background. The cop then started inspecting the luggage in the back of the bus. “A who rucksack dis?” asked the cop. George stepped forward. “Is my own”. “Wheh you have in deh?”. “Ganja, Suh”, returned George truthfully.  Sucking his teeth, the cop retorted “A lie you a tell”, but George insisted, “no, is true”. The cop gets nervous, pulls his gun and calls another cop over. “Check ina dat bag” he orders. The junior cop does so, and immediately confirms George’s declaration. All of a sudden, there are two cops with drawn firearms, and half a dozen soldiers pointing M16s at George. “A weh you gun deh?” demands the first cop. “Hold on, hold on”, says George, “Me a no Gunman. You ask me wah in a de bag, and me tell you de truth”. Then he remembers he is carrying his dive knife, and thinks it best to declare this. The knife is seized, George is handcuffed, and he, the knife and the Ganja are put in a police car and driven to the St Ann’s Bay lockup.  George is then put in a cell, to await the arrival of the Sergeant.

While waiting for the Sergent, George gets talking with one of the guards, who seems sympathetic about the big fuss over a few pounds of green ganja. Soon they are chatting like old friends. Up to this point, he has not actually been physically searched, and he remembers that he still has a couple sticks of dry Ganja in his back pocket. He takes a chance, and calls the guard over. “Hold this for me nuh?” He asks; “Me no want dem find dry weed pon me”. The guard is happy to accept the ganja, and no more is said about that. 

Later that night, the Sergeant arrives, and is brought up to date on George, the rucksack full of green ganja and the knife. Nothing is said about the couple sticks of weed. George is interrogated about the source of the ganja. “Me find it ina de bush” is all he offers in explaination. No way is he going to point the finger at his own father! Then they get on to the subject of the knife, and George explains about his job as a diver on a research project. Clearly, the Sergeant is impressed that George is no career drug dealing bad bway, and eventually decides to release him without charge. No report to write, no time in court, no need to account for a large bag of ganja! George is brazen enough to ask for his knife back, but the Sergent tells him he cannot let him out in the night with it, but he can collect it in the morning. Me, I would have stayed soooo far from that police station, but the next morning, George took the bus back to St Ann’s Bay and returned with his dive knife, albeit late for work!

Nothing like that could ever happen in Cayman, right?