“ In the midst of the pressures and demands of work and its extensions, I stopped for a brief moment. Engineering aside. Deadlines aside. For just a brief moment. Then the awesomeness of the space hit me. The buildings simple, sprinkled with gravel around prescribed paths to doors of the past. Standing in mid-piazza, arms outstretched, head flung towards the sky and donning smiling eyes, I twirled around and imprinted on my mind a panoramic view of the cultural history that cemented the buildings together. No mortar could have done a greater job in melding the years and the people together in such audaciousness as is evident in these structures. Intertwined in the doors and the wall and the floors of each room is a familiarity of home- but this- this is not mine. These walls don’ t know me, yet they welcome me as a friend. A sistren. Emanating from them is a definite oneness and comfort- a concrete connection that seems to bridge the gap between the ones who once lived here... and me. These floors are the foundation of the things they stood { up } for, grounding their conglomerate ideas about life and justice and love. The ceiling sheltered their heads at night, but gave way to them as they catapulted to heights not reached before as they made audible marks on the world. The whole world. From within this space. And the awesomeness of everything, and that in between, now indelibly imprinted on my mind’ s eye( and ear) hit me … and I feel no pain. In the midst of the pressure and demands of work and its extensions, I stop for a brief moment. Trench Town Culture Yard.”
Kamille Jackson
“ In the midst of the pressures and demands of work and its extensions, I stopped for a brief moment. Engineering aside. Deadlines aside. For just a brief moment. Then the awesomeness of the space hit me. The buildings simple, sprinkled with gravel around prescribed paths to doors of the past. Standing in mid-piazza, arms outstretched, head flung towards the sky and donning smiling eyes, I twirled around and imprinted on my mind a panoramic view of the cultural history that cemented the buildings together. No mortar could have done a greater job in melding the years and the people together in such audaciousness as is evident in these structures. Intertwined in the doors and the wall and the floors of each room is a familiarity of home- but this- this is not mine. These walls don’ t know me, yet they welcome me as a friend. A sistren. Emanating from them is a definite oneness and comfort- a concrete connection that seems to bridge the gap between the ones who once lived here... and me. These floors are the foundation of the things they stood { up } for, grounding their conglomerate ideas about life and justice and love. The ceiling sheltered their heads at night, but gave way to them as they catapulted to heights not reached before as they made audible marks on the world. The whole world. From within this space. And the awesomeness of everything, and that in between, now indelibly imprinted on my mind’ s eye( and ear) hit me … and I feel no pain. In the midst of the pressure and demands of work and its extensions, I stop for a brief moment. Trench Town Culture Yard.”