On Tuesday, February 1, when a Gleaner team spoke with Pearleta Smith in Middle Quarters, St Elizabeth, about changes in that community since 1962, she said nothing had changed. “It still the same, I don’t see no real change. It is still the same,” was her quick response.

She was one of a few vendors the team saw along the road leading to the square, which itself was bereft of any commercial activity. The shrimps and the humans seemed to have disappeared upstream the little water source running nearby. That was a far cry from yesteryear, when the district, known as the ‘Shrimp Capital of Jamaica’, was overrun with sellers and buyers.

Apart from the ‘swims’ (shrimps) there were bammy, fish, fruits, cooked food, etc, in this must-go-to place in the ‘breadbasket parish’. Its location, along the main road to Black River, makes it easily accessible. It cannot be missed. It was also a popular place for tour operators to take tourists.

The distinct tastes of the peppered shrimps and crayfish are the pulling factors, but things and times have changed. The shrimp-selling business in Middle Quarters has been shrinking gradually, barely afloat. Thus, Pearleta’s response was not entirely accurate. Things have taken a turn for the worse in a place that is well-known throughout the Jamaican diaspora.

Apart from the struggling shrimp-selling industry, there is nothing significant to sustain the development of the community, which has a serious water shortage problem for years going. One reason for the slow sales is the infrequency of visits by tour buses, and the arrival of the COVID-19 pandemic took away some of the flames from under the shrimp pots.

Another challenge is the ever-escalating prices from the fishermen ,who get their catches from the various water sources in the region, all the way to Black River. The vendors have to absorb the increases, because buyers are not willing to pay more. This is a negative for those who might be considering selling shrimps for a living.

For years, that endeavour has been the main source of income for people living within and outside of the community. Houses have been built from it, cars have been bought from it, education has been financed by it; great reasons to keep the industry alive. But, the younger folk are not interested in employment in the industry, thus breaking the generational involvement.

“It nuh easy, enuh. Rain come wet yuh, sun come bun yuh, so yuh wouldn’t like yuh kids them to have the same rough life that yuh guh through. Yuh would want them to have a better life,” Smith explained.

She had followed in her mother’s footsteps, literally, running from vehicle to vehicle for over 30 years, but has no blood relative to grab the baton from her. Also, she said she has lost two sisters, who were fellow vendors, who died earlier this year as a result of COVID-19 complications.

She is crying out for alternate employment opportunities in the community for the youths, including her son, who she said has five CXC subjects under his belt.

“We really want a call centre to help the young people them ...more jobs ... . just come into the community and give them some form of encouragement ... keep a session for all the young men in the community ... to groom them, to show them how to became a man, to achieve. give them a push to achieve independence,” Smith pleaded.

Achieving independence is what Michael Samuels, the lone male vendor the team saw, is doing. He is not averse to his children joining him in the business if that is really what they want to do. Yet, the mentality of the young men towards the selling aspect of the industry, according to Samuels, is another factor why the industry is losing traction. They regard it a job for women. For them, it is not an option.

“A whole heap a bash dem bash mi when mi out yah a sell, say mi a man, mi fi guh look adda work duh, a woman fi inna de business,” he said, “But, it shouldn’t be like that. Yuh need man fi come inna de business, come help the ladies, to show them how to prepare the shrimps ... dem need man fi guide them.”

Thus, he is not deterred by that gender-role notion. “Mi neva listen to dem, mi just duh mi ting, mi neva give up; a it a mi living fi now,” Samuels declared. He got into the business about four years ago when his partner, who was a vendor, migrated. He would love to see more tourists trafficking into that legendary place, where life, like the shrimps and crayfish, is salty and peppery.