The Wrong Path Taken

The year was 1980 I had just moved from North East St. Catherine as a fresh-faced young adult who had pre­vi­ous­ly grad­u­at­ed high school.
Edward Seaga had just trounced Michael Manley at the polls and the nation looked toward a new future free from trib­al pol­i­tics, a future of hope.

I moved to upper Marl road where I stayed with my sib­lings and step­dad on Hyde Park Road.
I would lat­er enter the Port Royal police train­ing facil­i­ty but was to lat­er leave to begin train­ing at the Jamaica Police Academy as the very first batch of recruits to begin train­ing and grad­u­ate from the new­ly mint­ed old school of agri­cul­ture.
I thought it was strange that the police nev­er seemed to have any­thing built for them, they always seemed to occu­py facil­i­ties oth­ers had vacat­ed, but I digress.

After grad­u­a­tion, I was sent to the old west street facil­i­ty, bet­ter known as the beat and foot patrol divi­sion, after a six-month stint I was one of a few offi­cers ever to be trans­ferred to the Mobile Reserve who were not trained specif­i­cal­ly for that divi­sion, anoth­er first.

I did­n’t like it there one bit but it even­tu­al­ly grew on me as I made the then high­ly respect­ed Ranger’s squad.
My love of busi­ness, my pro­fes­sion today, began around then when I pur­chased a small bar from a lady who oper­at­ed the bar right there where she lived on Plantain Avenue behind the old New Yorker Factory on Waltham Park and Bay Farm Roads.

A younger Ninjaman

It was there that I met Desmond Ballantine oth­er­wise called (Ninjaman). Ninjaman was a bud­ding DJ then, every Friday and Saturday night we had the sound sys­tem African Star, based on Marl Road play­ing at my lit­tle joint.
Ninjaman fol­lowed that Soundsystem then. He would walk up to the bar wear­ing a full-length dress coat in the siz­zling Jamaican heat, his trade­mark I guess?

In the time since those ear­ly days when I was a young cop and Ninja man was a bud­ding disc jock­ey try­ing to make a name for him­self much water has flown under the bridge.
Despite the many suc­cess­es in his rise to the top of the dance­hall pyra­mid, Ninjaman nev­er seemed to be able to extri­cate him­self from the beguil­ing ten­ta­cles of crime.

Ninjam man did not have to choose that path, sure he lived in the com­mu­ni­ty of Marl Road a some­times grit­ty com­mu­ni­ty as did I. He arrived from St Mary as I arrived from St Catherine around the same time.
The choic­es we make are our own not a func­tion of where we come from.

That is the rea­son I have no sym­pa­thy for Desmond Ballyntine (nin­ja man) on his con­vic­tion for mur­der.
A life is a very pre­cious com­mod­i­ty.
Each per­son gets a sin­gle life, in my esti­ma­tion, it is an egre­gious injus­tice, a ter­ri­ble trans­gres­sion to take some­one’s life unless it is in defense of your own.

It is now time that the Artical Don, stand like a man and face his pun­ish­ment. After all, he will be liv­ing his life regard­less of the penal­ty they mete out to him.
An option he and his son Jahneil took from Ricardo Johnson in 2009 when they uncer­e­mo­ni­ous­ly snuffed out his life.
Desmond Ballentine and his son will nev­er receive the jus­tice they deserve. Under the Jamaican shit-stem of jus­tice, they will not be exe­cut­ed as they should be for tak­ing the life of Ricardo Johnson.
They will receive a slap on the wrist upon which they may very well appeal, who knows? Some mon­ey may change hands and even­tu­al­ly they case may get tossed on some minor tech­ni­cal­i­ty.

Welcome to Jamaica.….……