#Jamaica-Call-Center

[theofficegurus-blog]

Get Exquisite Call Center Services in Jamaica

https://theofficegurus.com/locations/jamaica/ - At The Office Gurus, they customize their Jamaica Call Center services to ensure that they deliver a world-class customer experience to each one of their strategic partners. Visit https://theofficegurus.com/ today.

[contactcallcenter]

Why Jamaica is the Best Location for Call Center Outsourcing

In today's globalization economy, a lot of businesses are looking for outsourcing to enhance their customer service operations. In this context, there are a variety of options available, and from them, Jamaica has emerged as the best location for call center outsourcing. Its overall combination of cultural affinity, a well-equipped workforce, and technological capabilities make Jamaica an ideal choice for the companies seeking to step up the ante when it comes to customer service. In this blog, we will be discussing why Jamaica is the best call center destination: we are providing insights for businesses that are considering outsourcing their customer support.

Overview: The Growing Appeal of Jamaican Call Centers

As companies continue to make stellar promises regarding good customer service, outsourcing has emerged as a beautiful option. From its rich culture and strong commitment to customer satisfaction, Jamaica is building on its grounds as the outsourcing hub. The nation's call centers not only ensure the delivery of excellent service but also interpret and understand the nuances of customer experience management. Whether you're a start-up or an established entity, looking into the best call center in Jamaica might just be the difference between making your business dream a reality or not.

Key Advantages of Offshoring to Jamaica

1. Highly Qualified Employees

The country boasts a large population of people conversing in English. Since education is given importance, the country delivers employees who can accurately process and solve customer inquiries.

- University Degree: The call centre representatives are mostly university degree holders in related fields of their employment, thereby considered professional.

- Training on a Large Scale: Jamaica's outsourcing companies train employees thoroughly so that they develop all aspects of customer service.

2. Cultural Fit

As one of the reasons why Jamaica will outsell most of its competitors by relating with the customers even better due to sound communication, Jamaican agents are naturally very friendly and hospitable.

- Cultural Knowledge: Agents typically possess cultural knowledge so that your dealings will be more associated with theirs.

3. Cost-Efficiency

Calling services to Jamaica saves money through a low cost of living. The Company can earn more money with minimal operations cost but high-quality service.

- Cheap Labor: It tended to be even cheaper than some of the destinations most popular for outsourcing

- Pricing Structures: Agencies operating in Jamaica can offer flexible pricing models customized according to your business needs.

4. State-of-the-Art Technology and Infrastructure

Call centers in Jamaica are equipped with state-of-the-art technology to ensure hassle-free operations. Gradually, the BPO in Jamaica is embracing technological innovation that gives better means of delivering services.

- Reliable IT Infrastructure : High-speed internet provides fast results through its state-of-the art systems.

- AI Integration : Various companies use AI to facilitate streamlined process handling as well as customer experience management.

 Answer:

5. Customer Experience Management Focus

The competitive marketplace forces businesses to manage customer experience in such a way that it's unique and distinct. Of course, this kind of call center stands out as specifically creating positive customer interactions.

- Proactive Support: Agents are urged to anticipate the needs of customers as solutions come forward at the right time.

- Continuous Improvement: Feedback loops are continuously created for improvement and refinement in service delivery, resulting in high satisfaction for customers.

Insights and Data

According to recent statistics, Jamaica is fast taking a substantial position within the global BPO scene. In the year 2020, the World Bank approximated the revenue generated by the Jamaican BPO industry to be about $1.5 billion. The growth in call centers forms a big chunk of this number, proving that Jamaican call centers are giving good value to international clients they serve.

Further, research shows that the companies that make investments in customer experience management can actually realize 300% ROI. With call center outsourcing through a firm like Jamaica's, an organization can literally tap into this potential and reach for the stars in customer care.

Conclusion

Holding much promise for the provision of diverse benefits for companies looking forward to amelioration of their customer care functions, the choice of Jamaica as a destination for call center outsourcing offers numerous opportunities. Jamaica scores very high in points like a skilled workforce, cultural compatibility, cost efficiency, and focus on customer experience management, under which are the premium positions increasingly being sought after in the global BPO landscape.

It is time for business owners to explore the best call center in Jamaica to change and move forward with a huge step in elevating the customer service. With professional agents, advanced technology, and serious commitment to customer satisfaction, Jamaican call centers are your strategic outsourcing partner. So if you're considering outsourcing companies in Jamaica, now is the perfect time to explore exciting possibilities.

[carrergrowth]

Stress Management: How to deal with call center stress

The world of customer service can be gratifying. You connect with people from all walks of life, help them solve problems, and leave them feeling heard and valued. But let’s face it: working in a call center can also be incredibly stressful. Stress is a real and significant issue, and you need to understand how to manage call center stress effectively to maintain your well-being and continue delivering exceptional service.

Let’s explore the reasons behind it and how to deal with call center stress to emerge feeling empowered.

Understanding Call Center Stress

Why are call centers so stressful? Several factors contribute to the pressure cooker environment often found in call centers. Here are a few of the big ones:

High Call Volume and Workload: Feeling constantly bombarded with calls and struggling to keep up can leave you overwhelmed and drained.

Demanding Metrics and Performance Pressure: The pressure to meet specific metrics like call times and customer satisfaction scores can be a constant source of anxiety.

Difficult Customers: You will undoubtedly encounter angry, frustrated, or unreasonable customers. These interactions can be emotionally draining and leave you feeling helpless.

Lack of Control: Feeling like you have little control over your schedule, workload, or how customers treat you can be incredibly frustrating.

Lack of Recognition: Not receiving regular feedback or recognition for your hard work can be demotivating and lead to feelings of insignificance.

These constant stressors can lead to a range of physical and emotional symptoms, including:

Anxiety

Burnout

Headaches

Muscle tension

Difficulty sleeping

Tips for Managing Call Center Stress

Now that we have identified the sources of stress, how to cope with call center stress?

Let’s explore some practical strategies to handle stress in call centers and keep yourself feeling composed:

Establish Boundaries

The stress of working in a call center can take a toll. Set clear boundaries between your work life and personal life. Don’t check work emails outside of work hours and resist the urge to answer calls when you're off the clock. This mental separation helps you decompress and recharge, allowing you to return to work feeling refreshed and ready to tackle any challenge.

Practice Stress-Relief Techniques

Coping with customer service stress doesn’t have to be complicated. Develop a personal toolkit of stress-relieving techniques you can readily access throughout the workday. Deep breathing exercises like the 4-7-8 technique (inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 7, exhale for 8) are a great way to calm your nervous system quickly. Progressive muscle relaxation, where you tense and release different muscle groups, can also be very effective. 

Seek Support

Don't bottle up your frustrations! Talking things out with a trusted friend, family member, or therapist can be incredibly cathartic. Building a supportive network allows you to vent your frustrations in a safe space, receive valuable advice, and gain a fresh perspective. Don't hesitate to reach out to colleagues within the call center. Sharing experiences and strategies with fellow customer service professionals can foster a sense of camaraderie and help you realize you're not alone in facing these challenges.

Take Regular Breaks

Even the most dedicated employee needs time to step away and recharge. Make the most of your breaks by getting up and moving around. Take a brisk walk outside, stretch your legs, or do simple desk exercises. Use mindfulness apps or calming music during breaks to truly disconnect and clear your head.

Focus on the Positive

Shift your perspective! Instead of dwelling on negative interactions, savor the positive ones. Make a mental note of the times you were able to resolve a customer's issue or leave them feeling genuinely helped. Focusing on the positive aspects of your job can boost your mood and remind you of the impact you're making. Here's a bonus tip: keep a "positive customer interactions" journal to record and revisit these moments when feeling overwhelmed.

Practice Time Management

Feeling overwhelmed with your workload is a significant contributor to call center stress. Develop practical time management skills to prioritize tasks, delegate when possible, and meet deadlines efficiently. Learn to say no to additional tasks if your plate is already full. It will allow you to be more productive and provide better customer service.

Engage in Professional Development

Investing in professional development is a great way to deal with call center anxiety. Stay up to date on industry trends, product knowledge, and best practices in customer service. Learning new skills and mastering existing ones can boost your confidence and make you feel more prepared to handle challenging situations. Look into online training resources, attend industry conferences, or explore certification opportunities offered by your company.

Advocate for Workplace Wellness

Don’t be afraid to champion staying healthy in customer service. If your call center doesn't already have wellness programs, suggest on-site yoga classes, meditation sessions, or healthy snack options in the break room. Propose flexible work arrangements or explore implementing stress management workshops for employees. By advocating for workplace wellness, you're not just helping yourself but contributing to a more positive and productive work environment for everyone.

Conclusion

Learning how to manage call center stress is a continuous process, but with the right strategies, you can navigate the challenges and thrive in your customer service career. Remember, prioritizing your mental and physical well-being is not a sign of weakness – it's necessary for long-term success. Searching for call center jobs in Jamaica? Join HGS can help! We make finding the perfect job smooth and hassle-free. If you're skilled and interested in customer service, apply today!

[wardingoffevil]

Bobby McKenzie as a Dad

Omg this is one of my favorites! Bobby as a dad gives me brain rot. Fatherhood was meant for Bobby. I wanted to save him for last but I couldn’t wait. I finally finished this

Note: Please don’t attack me if we have differing opinions. Be respectful or don’t interact.

🧁 It was a rollercoaster ride for Bobby when his kids were born. He definitely tried to get the mom, nurses, and doctors to laugh while putting on the gown, gloves, mask, and wrapping a stethoscope around his neck. He may have tried to lighten the mood but inside he was a nervous wreck. Bobby’s a crier. He sobbed for each birth. Full on ugly crying.

🧁 Bobby wants a lot of kids, I’d say about 3-4, if not more than that. It doesn’t matter if they’re all girls, all boys, even number of both, odd number of both, he’s happy regardless. A baby around his chest, a toddler wrapped around his left leg, a seven year old putting icing on the fresh cupcakes out of the oven—that sort of chaos is Bobby’s bliss.

🧁 All of Bobby’s kids inherited his pretty freckles.

🧁 There’s no Bobby as a girl dad or a boy dad—he’s the same dad to all his kids: energetic, lovable, silly, and supportive. He’s just happy to be a dad. Period.

🧁 Bobby is the child-at-heart type of father. The type of father that loves to see his kids use their imagination, their creativity. The type of father that doesn’t see “weird” or “eccentric” kids. He sees children being children. He may be an adult, but his childlike sense of wonder and curiosity still flows through his veins.

🧁 Bobby’s eldest daughter’s named Paisley.

🧁 Chelsea designed the nurseries. Bobby helped a lot with ideas and quirks. They’re an amazing interior design team and Bobby thinks he may have a future in it if his bakery fails (it won’t).

🧁 Bobby has no problem at all checking on the baby during the night. He knows the drill. Even if he gets home late, even if he has to be up in three hours. He’s making sure his children are alright.

🧁 He named cupcakes after his children at his bakery.

🧁 Nap time isn’t just for kids in the McKenzie house. Bobby likes to join in because it gives him an excuse to watch cartoons and nap.

🧁 Bobby calls Gary a lot asking him for advice, telling him what curse word he taught his toddler to say, planning their next “dad’s day”, etc. They were best mates in the villa and it remained the same outside the villa. If they’re not texting, they’re FaceTiming.

🧁 You’re insane if you think each of his kids don’t get their own unique boops from him, complete with sounds.

🧁 Bobby makes all the kids’ lunches every day before school. Something different every day, too. Complete with a cupcake/cookie and a smiley face Post-It note from dad.

🧁 There’s always some kind of music playing in this house at all times, the genre varies from day to day.

🧁 Bobby sings “You Are My Sunshine” to his kids. With a guitar or without.

🧁 Bedtime stories are reserved only for Bobby. Sometimes he’ll read their favorite books, sometimes he makes the story up on the spot. But his favorite story to tell is “The Adventures of LongBob Cupcake.” He tells the kids that it’s based on true events.

🧁 The McKenzie’s (including his parents and sister) do go to Jamaica, once a year, to visit Bobby’s nan. Everyone looks forward to it.

🧁 Bobby never gets mad at his kids for throwing parties while he’s gone. All he cares about is the kitchen not getting trashed.

🧁 Bobby’s another loud and proud dad that attends every single activity for his kids. Definitely can hear him shouting over all the other dads, and he’s always front row center when taking videos. His social media accounts are flooded with his kids’ things.

🧁 Gary, Rahim, and Noah still hang out with Bobby. Bobby loves when everyone comes to visit because it gives him an excuse to bake and to try new recipes out on them. Gary eats anything, so really he tests the recipes on Rahim and Noah.

🧁 Bobby is the father that every kid dreams of having. He’s so loving, so accepting, so supportive of his children. He is never NOT proud of them.

There are so many Bobby pages on here that are amazing, but one in particular sticks out the most: @ravenadottir (currently on hiatus), and it can be found here. There’s all sorts of information/route guides/headcanons for Bobby. She even has an amazing fic for him as well (Paisley Cuddle is a must-read if you haven’t yet). 🖤

[fatehbaz]

Julius Scott’s legendary study tells [...] of the unrest of “masterless” communities, as he terms them, in the late eighteenth-century Caribbean and its implications for the Atlantic World. This unrest was undergirded by what he terms a “common wind” of seditious political news circulating through an increasingly mobile and interconnected region. He deftly sets the context [...] to imperial tensions that culminated in uprisings and revolutions within [...] the French, British, and Spanish Empires. [...] He builds what is this field-defining work from a triangulated analysis of three central hubs of the colonial Caribbean in terms of [...] prosperity in the plantation economy, and political importance to these aforementioned empires: Saint-Domingue [Haiti], Jamaica, and Cuba. But he also explores similar occurrences within [...] Martinique and Guadeloupe for the French, Venezuela and Trinidad for the Spanish, and Dominica and Grenada for the British. He also includes [...] the engagement of the newly formed United States in this network, reinforcing the broader Atlantic impact of the common wind’s radical currents.

---

Chapter 1 explores the upheaval afoot in the mid-1700s colonial Caribbean through a closer look at the movements of a range of actors including enslaved runaways, military deserters, contraband smugglers, free people of color, and poor whites hustling in the islands’ urban centers and surrounding countrysides.

A variety of settings - including the fringes of plantations, maroon settlements, town-based markets, taverns, hospitals, barracks, and wharves - might presumably, if read with the archival grain, illuminate the map of state control. Instead, in Scott’s analysis, these represent the contours of the working class’s unlawful movements and ultimately their fraying of the colonial order, anticipating what Stephanie M. H. Camp [...] would aptly name [...] the “rival geography” of slave society.

---

Chapter 2 shows how sailors’ illicit forms of mobility [...] blurred the bounds between land and sea in this narrative of popular dissent. Their movements [...] as social beings and political dissidents bled into and helped sustain similar kinds of illicit commerce and socializing [...]. Chapters 3 and 4 demonstrate how the common wind consistently blew subversive ideas into and around the Caribbean, much to officials’ chagrin. Scott here homes in on the politically volatile era from the late 1770s through the late 1790s, which saw declarations of war, drastic changes in slavery policy [...] and the emergence of U.S., French, and, most significantly, Haitian revolutionary uprising. [...] [E]nslaved communities everywhere in the region followed as intently as they could as the campaign of the enslaved rebels in Saint-Domingue began in 1791. [...] Political news, no matter how hard officials in the colonies and the metropoles tried to block it, spilled into all levels of society [...]. What flowed through all of these channels animated questions about master-slave relations, mercantilist policy, individual rights [...]. Scott carefully traces the influence of the unfolding Haitian Revolution on well-planned but eventually thwarted uprisings of enslaved people in the Venezuelan port city Coro, the Dutch colony of Curaçao, and the parish of Pointe Coupee in then Spanish Louisiana, all in 1795. He also illuminates the multiple instances of inspiration in the 1790s evidenced in enslaved communities throughout the United States [...].

---

Essentially Scott reveals that the Age of Revolutions cannot be understood without comprehending black resistance in times of war and peace. The tale of Phebe, one of many enslaved Jamaican female runaways who became an itinerant higgler hiding in plain sight in urban spaces like Kingston, or the story of the 1790 mutiny of four enslaved sailors who overtook the Saint Kitts sloop the Nancy with respective origins in the Caribbean, West Africa, and the U.S. South, which Scott called a “microcosm” of the Atlantic, are but two of multiple narratives he includes to show that enslaved people [...] actively built and sustained those circuits via their multilingualism, their savvy, and above all their dedication to achieving a state of masterlessness [...].

This could be achieved not just through formal manumission processes, but through running away and re-creating new lives and livelihoods [...]. The [...] knowledge that these dissidents obtained in their labors allowed them to escape to lives not “off the grid,” but rather in the centers of commercial and state activity, ensconced in communities of opposition and poised to obtain news that prepared them well for their next moves in their albeit precarious existence. [...]

Scott complicates earlier framings of the oppositional working class as strictly of European origin [...]; [...] Scott’s unpublished dissertation [...] influenced the interventions made in Linebaugh and Rediker’s The Many-Headed Hydra [...] years later. [...] He centers enslaved people within the revolutionary Atlantic not just as workers [...] but also as strategic thinkers, and he does so long before it was popular to do so in this field of history. [...] [H]e demonstrates how so many ordinary enslaved women and men regularly engaged in quotidian forms of fugitivity across various imperial territories of the Caribbean [...]. The dissertation also came several years in advance of the still pivotal call advanced by Michel-Rolph Trouillot’s 1995 Silencing the Past, about the denied centrality of the Haitian Revolution to the Age of Revolutions in its time and in retrospect. Scott’s work undeniably influenced many Atlantic historians [...]; it is also a genuinely exciting read.

---

All text above by: Natasha Lightfoot. "The Common Wind: A Masterful Study of the Masterless Revolutionary Atlantic". The American Historical Review, Volume 125, Issue 3, pages 926-930. June 2020. At: doi dot org slash 10.1093/ahr/rhaa230 [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[ingek73]

1. Morocco

Wanting to emulate the long and graceful silhouette of the Moroccan Djellaba, this look features a long scarf over the shoulder to complete an all red look with a hint of green, akin to that of the Moroccan flag.

2. Jamaica

This look takes direct inspiration from the design of the Jamaican flag as well as the colors.

3. USA

The classic red white and blue, with classic denim. The look itself is “Made in America” as it features American icons such as Ralph Lauren, and nephew Greg Lauren, as well as one of the most iconic American brands, Coach. The look also contains accessories from Chrome Hearts as well as a hint of the Brooklyn Based streetwear brand Kidsuper.

4. Mexico

This look takes inspiration from the traditional charro suit, which is a type of suit originally worn by the horsemen of the Charrería, and often associated with the Mariachi. The look also features two rings in the shape of a skull, refrencing the Mexian skull, the Calavera, which represents death and rebirth and is a symbol of Mexican holiday “el Día de los Muertos” , the Day of the Dead.

5. France

This look Features French Fashion giants Balmain, Louis Vuitton, and Hermès, the latter responsible for arguably the most popular designer bag of all time, the Birkin. This look Features the iconic Haut à Courroies 50 in Crocodile, one of the most coveted and financially consuming bags from the legendary french house.

6. Italy

Inspired by classic Italian menswear, this look features Italian fashion giants, Giorgio Armani, Brunello Cucinelli, Salvatore Ferragamo, and Ermenegildo Zegna whilst incorporating the colors of the Italian flag.

7. Palestine

Initially the idea was to create a look drawing inspiration from a traditional Palestinian garment called a Thawb, a long ankle length garment, which is typically long sleeved. Upon my research I discovered hundreds of Palestinian athletes had been killed recently amongst the atrocities ongoing in Gaza. Understanding the strength and courage it would take to perform at a world stage given a genocide in ones own country, I wanted to make a look that feels like a human embodiment of the flag itself but most importantly, I wanted something that felt beautiful and free.

8. Canada

Consisting of popular Canadian brands Dquared2 and Canada goose, this look takes direct inspiration of the Canadian flag design, down to the squared brooch in the center of the vest. Stylistically, something you’d want to wear during a Canadian winter.

[paisholotus]

Prologue

-January 4th, 1992-

Leilani's pov

As I was getting my hair and makeup done, I nervously tapped my foot against the chair. I sighed, looking over at my sisters, who were also getting their hair and makeup done.

 

I was looking down at my feet bouncing up and down, not paying attention to Monae trying to get my attention. "LANI!" I jerked my head toward her, who was staring at me with concern. "It'll be OK, girl. Stop worrying." She said, squeezing my hand in comfort.

 

Tonight will be our debut performance and interview on VideoSoul. To say the least, I'm nervous. They claimed we'd be interviewed with a group called Jodeci. We've never heard of them.

 

My sisters and I are an independent group from Baltimore, MD. We rap and sing, and I would definitely describe us as versatile since we try to incorporate a little bit of everything into our music. My family is originally from Jamaica. My mother is Jamaican, and my father is Haitian; we moved to America when I was just a baby, and I have two sisters and three brothers.

 

I've always had a passion for music. I grew up in church, and that's where my passion for music stemmed from. My family and I have come a long way, and the fact that my sisters and I are on VideoSoul is something I could have never anticipated.

 

Backstage, the crew fitted our ear pieces and handed us our microphones.

 

As the commercial break ended, we watched the monitor as one of the producers waited behind the curtain, waiting for our cue to enter the stage.

 

"Wassup, y'all, this is Donnie Simpson, and you're watching VideoSoul." Before we walked out there, I took a few deep breaths, and we said a quick prayer.

 

"We got a hot new group that's going to perform tonight, and I'm going to have the pleasure of interviewing them right alongside the bad boys of R&B, Jodeci."

 

As I watched the producers count down from ten, my heart was in my throat.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, please put yo hands together for LMC!" When the producers signaled for us to enter the stage, I took a big breath and stepped across it.

 

We made our way over to the three seats in the center of the stage and sat down while taking in the cheering audience. I gave my sisters a quick look before nodding and turning to face the crowd. I started grinning widely as soon as the music started. "All right, let's blow these people away."

[jedifarmerr]

Wasteland Masterlist

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC (established backstory, no y/n or physical descriptions)

Summary: Sentenced to a life underground after a nuclear attack, what was said to be a quick and painless process somehow ended up taking 200 years. Waking up alone with everyone else still frozen, a search for help and answers turns upside down when four mysterious men come into the picture.

Rating: E (warnings: language, food & eating, mentions of death.)

Word Count: 5k

Chapter 10

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look.

Frankie watched her relief morph into confusion as Preston went over the Council’s stipulations. She was clearly not expecting this. Perhaps, they should’ve told her outright why they started calling her Blue, but she never questioned it. Never even mentioned it aside from a slightly confused look. 

He assumed she understood, but it seemed she thought the alias was more temporary, rather than possibly permanent. 

They knew that if people found out the truth about her it’d tear through the Commonwealth like a grass fire. Uncontrollable. Unpredictable. One big mouth and within a month, Jamaica Plains would be roaring with the news. 

The chances of Vault-Tec catching wind of it was slim, but not impossible. Even a 1% chance posed too much risk. Sanctuary would seriously be fucked. That wall would be as worthless as wet mud against an all-out synth brigade. 

Truthfully, Frankie was more concerned about her safety. He wasn’t an idiot, and definitely not a hypocrite. He could realize she’d be a hard sell to some – people like Tom, who wouldn’t take the word of a Vault-Tec employee’s kid. Everyone knew those people would want concrete proof, some hard evidence that they didn’t quite have just yet. Without it, there would be riots demanding her head on a stake, and there was bound to be one crazy enough to take matters into their own hands. 

Frankie wasn’t gonna let that happen. She was their responsibility. 

“Do you accept?” Preston finally asked her and the room went still and quiet as a tomb. She gnawed on her bottom lip, toying with the hem of her shirt. 

The red rug she stood upon was like her own little island. She looked so lost in the center of the room. So helpless and small and so utterly alone that it made his skin feel tight. He supposed - she was alone in this world. Everyone she loved was either dead and gone or deceived her. Her entire life was one big facade. She must’ve been so fed up with all these secrets and lies and cover ups. 

For a moment he worried she might say no, but she inevitably folded. She nodded and he didn’t know if she thought there was much of a choice. This was so much bigger than her - than all of them. He wondered when Tom would finally realize that. 

Preston appeared to notice her distress and quickly assured her that he’d take the blame if her cover got blown. As long as her true identity didn’t leave this room, they didn’t anticipate that happening anytime soon. 

If ever. 

Unless they could figure out how to crack into the cryogenic pods, she would always be Blue. If her and her dad were as close as she said, then he’d be desperate to find her. The synths in Lexington had been looking for her, after all. Somebody had noticed she was missing from the vault. 

In order to avoid any suspicion, she would need to integrate herself into Sanctuary immediately. There would be no special treatment. Just like everyone else, she would need a job. 

Stable hand? Greenhouse worker? Waitress at the town tavern? No - no - no. Each one was axed for one reason or another. 

Suddenly, Tom cleared his throat, his eyes fell on Frankie. 

“What about your mom?” he asked – challenged. “Last I heard, no one’s taken Susan’s spot since she retired.” 

Frankie’s mouth watered, he nearly spat the sour taste in his mouth onto the cheap lino tile. He could not believe Tom was using his mom as bait. Out of anyone, Tomy knew how protective Frankie was of her, how tender a spot that was, and yet…

Whether to prove his point or get his way, Frankie didn’t know Tom’s motive, but either way it was low, even for Tom.

No - especially for Tom. As if bringing up his dad wasn’t enough, Tom had gone for the jugular. 

Preston straightened, his chair howling through the hall. He hesitated before saying, “It is just your mom and Yovanna. If they did catch onto anything, I’d trust they’d be discreet.” 

“Exactly.” Tom’s chin cut through the air. “Whaddaya say Fish?” 

Frankie looked at Blue, and she gave him a weak smile. She expected him to say no, he realized. She’d even seemed to accept it, and he instantly felt bad. Even though he had his reasons, he’d been the least welcoming, by far. 

Everyone on the Council was staring at him – Tom’s gaze was searing. Usually, Frankie would back down to him. He could tell Tom thought he would concede here, as well. And three weeks ago, Frankie would’ve without question. He would’ve said not a fucking chance – that was too far, too much, too personal. 

But, everything was different now. Tom had asked if he trusted her, and he did. He meant it when he nodded. 

Frankie folded his arms across his chest before saying, “Okay.” 

Tom’s lips thinned with silence. He didn’t say a word, nor did he have to. Frankie could tell he was pissed – the vein on his forehead was thick and throbbing. Still, Frankie didn’t budge. Not this time. 

“Is that a yes?” Preston asked – speak now or forever hold your peace. 

“Yeah,” Frankie confirmed and Tom didn’t look at him again for the rest of the day. 

—

That night, at the welcome home party, Preston announced there’d be a new face in town. The Council had thought it would be best to roll out the story before anyone laid eyes on her. This way, they could get ahead of it. Control the narrative, so to speak. 

They had crafted up a perfect poke-proof cover story; something no one could cross-examine. 

It’d been decided she would come from a survivalist bunker, way north of Diamond City. Over the years, an especially hard last few months of attacks – bloatflies, ghouls, and ants, had dwindled their numbers. By the time their unit found them, the survivors were few and mostly wounded. The entire compound was in absolute shambles. Despite their open offer, she was the only one who took them up on it. She had no reason to say, having buried the last of her family just before they arrived. 

All night, Frankie had to navigate an overly curious crowd. Lost in the crush of questions, he barely had a moment to catch his breath or even catch up with the people he actually wanted to. He’d hoped for more than a few seconds alone with his mom to tell her about the arrangement, but instead, he’d have to tell her over breakfast. 

Probably better that way. No distractions.

The next morning, Frankie arrived at his mom’s shop. Bay’s Soaps. The powder blue sign hung above a hinged glass door. He went around back, up the stairs and knocked twice before letting himself in. 

Cast iron pans sizzled on the stove top. The smell of eggs, beans, and frying sausages brought back memories of his childhood. Every morning, his mom used to get up extra early just to cook him a hearty breakfast before school. 

“Pollito!” His mom kissed him firmly on both cheeks. The food on her apron smeared across his worn t-shirt as she hugged him, a tad tighter than usual. 

Most of the time, his missions only kept him away for a month – maybe two. Their unit in particular had a reputation for being timely, effective and efficient. It was rare for them to be more than a few days late, unless something went terribly wrong. Like that one mission over a decade ago. 

Frankie shuddered, recalling the bad operation. Them, along with two other units had been sent to scope out a lead past Weymouth, but only made it as far as Quincy. Shit went south so quickly. A pack of ghouls had busted free of an apartment building. The scar that ran down Pope’s spine came from that day – a ghoul’s long fingernail, sharper than a knife, sliced him right down the middle. 

He could still remember those screams – the harsh crack and wet slashing of flesh. Brutal. Bloody. A gruesome scene – three young soldiers mangled beyond recognition. Their squadron captain had insisted on bringing them home for a proper burial. They had wrapped their carcasses in dusty, dirty sheets and tied it shut with copper wire. The whole trek back, his ears had buzzed with swarming bugs. 

The oven dinged and his mom pulled away with an affectionate pat on his cheek. As she finished up, he brewed them a fresh pot of coffee, poured out two cups, then took a seat. 

Of course, his mom made way too much food for two people to eat. The bistro table was spread thin with heaping platters that meant days of leftovers. 

“Saw Susan last night. Sounds like she’s enjoying retirement. Have you found anyone to replace her, yet?” Frankie eased into the conversation. 

“No luck.” She sighed – Susan had retired even before he’d left. “You wouldn’t happen to be interested, though would you?” 

Frankie chuckled, shaking his head. He shuffled the scrambled eggs on his plate with his fork. “But the new girl - Blue - she’s looking for a job.” 

His mom hooked up an intrigued brow as she continued to stir a little milk into her coffee. 

“I don’t think she’ll give you any problems. She’s smart, catches on quick.”

“What else’s she like?” She probed, trying to appear casual as she took the mug in both her hands and brought it to her lips. Coy, though, had never been her strong suit. Her eyes gave her away. 

Frankie speared a sausage onto his fork, and ate it whole. He needed a moment to figure out how to answer that. Blue was supposed to be a girl from bumfuck, so he couldn’t say she was a spoiled brat, even though she was sometimes. He couldn’t say that she was charming or even sweet when she wanted to be without his mom getting the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was her meddling. 

Still, he had to give his mom something. At least a crumb, or else she would keep hassling him until he spilled. 

Frankie swallowed – shrugged. 

“She’s…funny, I guess. She’s got a lot of opinions. If you let her, she’ll probably talk your ear off. She can sometimes be a little stubborn, but that might just be with me-” 

“Do you two get along?” She interrupted – confused, her brows slightly knitted. 

“For the most part.” 

“Meaning?”

It’s complicated. “Sometimes, we get on each other’s nerves.” 

She pursed her lips – eyes squinted with suspicion. 

“What?”

“I swear, I better not hear that you were mean to that poor girl.” She jabbed an accusatory finger towards his chest. “Think you were raised better than that-”

Frankie scoffed, “Trust me - she’s not innocent.”

She made a face – not totally convinced. Ultimately, she waved it off. “I guess, I’ll see for myself, now. Won’t I?” 

“Guess so.” He grinned then felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Even though he didn’t have much choice, he still hated lying to his mom. 

He wondered how she would react if she knew who Blue really was. 

—--

For a few days, you were to remain a ghost. Just long enough to give the Council time to get their ducks in a row and the story to sink in and travel. 

The Welcome Home party had served as a perfect diversion, so no one had spotted you. Kasumi had been nice enough to offer up the apartment above her garage. While it wasn’t much bigger than your freshman year dorm room, at least, it didn’t smell like that weird bean soup your roommate always used to heat up in the microwave. 

This place had only been vacant since this summer when Kasumi’s daughter moved out after getting married. The space wasn’t really meant for two. You supposed the tight squeeze wouldn’t be terrible for people in love, but you were holed up in here with Frankie.

Three days. He must’ve been assigned as your guard or maybe he thought you’d take off and run again if he left you alone because he barely let you out of his sight.

It was impossible to ignore him, either. You couldn’t just pretend or forget he was here when his body swallowed the doorways. He was too damn broad for this place. 

The two of you fought like territorial kangaroos over the boxy kitchen. Shoulder jabs, bumping elbows, you’d snap at him whenever he got too close after the first night when he nudged you in the arm while you were stirring spaghetti sauce. It was a huge mess. Globs of red splattered over the secondhand apron, under the storm-gray cabinets and even a little on the pastel yellow walls. He claimed it was an accident, but his schoolboy snicker made you think otherwise. 

In order to keep you entertained, he brought over a deck of cards, but would only play speed, which he annoyingly called Spit! 

And even worse, he won 90% of the time. 

After a few losing rounds, you’d pout and demand a different game. He’d taunt you, call you a sore loser until you gave him a rematch. You wanted to smack that stupid smirk off his face when he’d win again. 

But for all that you cursed and griped and grouched about him, you hated even more when he left. All alone, there was no TV - no radio to fill the silence. You’d betrayed your family, and could not stop reeling with it. 

What did you do? What have you done? 

Second-thoughts slithered in, and you found it impossible to stop your head from spinning. You didn’t know who to trust anymore. You’d blindly believed your dad, and didn’t want to make the same mistake again. 

What if these guys were wrong? What if they were the ones lying?

If you let it, these doubts would consume you. Instead of being swallowed whole by anxiety, you were intent on busying yourself. 

Sadly, the bookshelves were depleted and anything left had seemingly been forgotten for good reason. However, you noticed a thick layer of dust on the encyclopedia. Underneath the sink in the kitchen, there was a basket full of rags and sponges and cleaning supplies. 

You’d scrubbed every square inch and surface in this apartment until your fingertips were pruny and raw as leather. The 24-piece china set was freshly polished, the hand-painted goldfinches and delicate butterflies now shining in the spotless glass hutch. Afterwards, you’d taken to rearranging the furniture and jilted knick-knacks and leftover decor. 

Frankie, much too perceptive, seemed to notice. 

On your last night of temporary house arrest, he’d left to pick up dinner. 45 minutes, and multiple trinkets had shifted around the room like haunted figurines. You’d caught him eyeing the porcelain pigs on top of the mantle, the hourglass in their previous spot on the second row of a built-in shelf. 

For a moment, you thought he was going to say something, but instead - he unpacked the food and laid it out on the coffee table. After dinner, he had grabbed the deck cards from the side table without mentioning the change of vase. 

That night, he hung around longer than usual. 

One more game. Go Fish this time. Ever play Slap Jack? Is the sink still acting funny? I’ll fix it. 

He did leave, eventually. Just not until your eyelids were stuck at half-mast, your words sluggish and slurry from needing sleep. 

The next morning, he was at your door bright and early, ready to take you to the first day of work. 

—

You hadn’t really been able to see much of the town. Kasumi had smuggled you from the Council building at night, so you made a few things out in the dark. The windows in your apartment didn’t offer much of a view. 

After Diamond City, you expected a town of steel houses. Surprisingly, Marblehead looked nearly identical to before.

As you walked in the middle of the street, you could finally scope out the cottages and colonials that still lined the narrow, windy roads. On a sunny day like this, you would’ve anticipated a traffic jam, a bad headache, but there was no honking. No SUV’s hogging up space. Not even a single car in sight. 

It was peaceful. It was nice. Strange, but nice.

During the walk, Frankie explained how people got around the old-fashion way: foot, bikes, and horseback. There was even a carriage taxi service that seemed very on brand with the 18th century architecture. 

Frankie led you onto the main street and you looked around at the familiar storefronts. Suddenly, you noticed everyone was staring at you. The street buzzed with whispers and glances. 

There had been some lingering looks and stares in Diamond City but it was much more crowded, denser. You could slip into the masses and disappear, but not here. Your arrival had been announced, everyone was expecting you. 

You averted your eyes to the cracked sidewalk, feeling very self-conscious. The insecurity reminded you of second grade when you were the new kid in school and had to stand in front of the class to introduce yourself. All the kids had stared at you. Nora had threatened to spit on them if she caught them looking too long again. For that comment, she had to walk laps at recess for the rest of the week.

These people, though, scared you more than a classroom full of eight-year-olds.

Frankie must’ve noticed them staring too since he inched closer, the hair on his arm tickled your skin and you could smell his soap in the air.

“They’re just curious,” Frankie whispered. “It’s not everyday someone new shows up.” 

Still, Frankie straightened. He had on just a plain black t-shirt and jeans and still looked uncommonly intimidating. Even without a gun strapped to his back, it seemed like nobody wanted to fuck with him. He glared at one shopkeeper and it put the fear of God into them, they immediately turned away and went double-time on raising their sun-salt dull awning. 

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of warmth at his protectiveness. But you supposed it was his job, after all, to keep you safe. 

“Have you fought a lot of people or something?” You lightly nudged his shoulder with yours. A tiny smile toyed with his lips. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Frankie guided you into a cape cod building that was wedged between a tailor and a sub shop. It used to be a funky cafe with fancy latte art and slam poetry on Wednesday that Nora dragged you to one night. 

Luckily, the soap shop didn’t smell so potent that your eyes watered like at Bath & Body Works. There was a fresh scent of lemongrass and citrus and something else flowery. 

“Pollito?” A woman’s voice - his mom, you guessed - shouted from the back.

“Little chicken, huh?” You looked him over. “I see it.”

“Funny,” he grumbled when the back door swung open. It was definitely his mom. 

She came and greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks, and he slung his arm around her shoulders. It was sweet, but also shocking to see him be so affectionate. At times, he’d rest his arm on Benny or Santi’s shoulder, he’d hugged Piper goodbye, but other than that, it wasn’t a side you often saw from him. 

His mom fished out a pair of glasses from her apron and slipped them on. She rapidly blinked as if surprised. She looked you up and down as Frankie introduced you. 

“Josefa.” She shook your hand. “But everyone calls me Pepa.” Her eyes were warm and doe-like, that same shade of earthy, dark brown as Frankie’s.

She had a perfectly round face - plump cheeks and a button nose. Truly, she was a beautiful woman, though much softer than Frankie. He must have inherited his striking, sharp angles from his father. His aquiline nose. That divot in his bottom lip. A square jaw that you swore was carved from stone. Even though he could be such a grouch, he really was quite attractive. 

You wondered if you would ever meet his dad. Was he still around? Or was he long gone? You had enough common sense not to ask. 

You made a turn about the shop, in particular admiring the back wall that resembled a beehive of sorts with hexagonal boxes in honey-golden wood that each stored a wicker basket brimming with a colorful assortment of soaps. 

Pepa must’ve noticed you staring because she proudly boasted, “Frankie built that. And all by himself, too.”

He’d never mentioned being into carpentry, but it was clearly more than just some throwaway hobby. This was high quality. 

“I gotta admit, I’m impressed.” 

Frankie’s lips parted as if he couldn’t believe those words just came from you. “Is that a compliment?” 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

Pepa gave you a quick tour of the store. In the back, there was a kitchen with ample counter space to make soap, along with a pantry, now used for curing. The shop wouldn’t open for another hour and a half, so Yovanna had not come in yet. She was the one who did the cold-process, whereas Pepa was exclusively liquid. 

For the last few months, the two of them had been splitting your job, which would be manning the counter and packaging. It seemed easy enough, given that you had worked retail, just two summers ago. 

Frankie offered to stick around and help stock the shelves, just until Yovanna arrived. Pepa happily agreed, on the condition that he didn’t get in the way of your training. 

She started with the register which, at first, you pretended to act clueless on how it worked. You’d pause for a few seconds as if trying to recall her instructions. Every once in a while, you’d hit the wrong button. Pepa was relieved to hear that your compound was big on education, so you knew basic math. Frankie couldn’t help but grin behind her back at your bold-face lie.

She was demonstrating how to package the soaps when Yovanna showed up. The woman was fucking gorgeous - perfectly arched eyebrows and skin as golden as Frankie’s. Her long, dark hair was pulled into low, messily braided pigtails that pretty much no one else except for her could pull off. 

For some reason, you found yourself unable to look away as Frankie wrapped his big arms around her tiny frame. You could see his lips moving, but his voice was far too hushed for you to hear. His chin rested on her shoulder and he glanced up. 

Shit. 

Abruptly, you turned away and returned to studying Pepa’s hands. 

When Yovanna finally came over, she politely introduced herself before heading into the kitchen. She was somehow even more beautiful up close. 

Frankie finished up with the last few baskets before asking if you were going to be okay. Despite your thumbs up, he appeared hesitant to leave. Pepa offered him a reassuring smile, and he tugged his cap over his eyes, gave a single wave goodbye before heading out the door. 

—

All morning, there were faces pressed up against the glass like you were a Saks Fifth Avenue mannequin during the holiday season. 

The customers could rarely hide their surprise when you spoke in complete sentences. It was hard not to notice their furtive looks and pitiful glances, even on occasion you caught Pepa and Yovanna staring. 

It seemed like despite Preston’s best attempts to make your compound sound grand - a whole neighborhood of doomsday preppers instead of a few families - everyone expected a girl with seven fingers and missing toes and teeth. Perhaps, they imagined Mystique. Or someone with a single eye like a cyclops. 

Whatever they imagined, it was certainly not you.

Around lunch, you spotted Frankie outside on the sidewalk. He was storming towards the pack of teenagers peeping in through the window like an angry bull. The kids dispersed like terrified ants. 

Quickly, you went back to wrapping the bar of soap in cream parchment before he could notice that you saw. He’d undoubtedly ask about them if he noticed you looking. You really didn’t want to talk about being the town freak show. 

The out-of-tune bell above the door rang as you tied a perfect, hemp string bow around the soap. 

He glanced around the shop - it was only you on the floor. After the morning rush died down, Pepa and Yovanna retreated into the kitchen. Soon, one of the two would wander out to check-in, as long as they heard the bell.

“Well, look who couldn’t stay away,” you said with a playful grin. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” His steps echoed over the hollow laminate floors as he moved towards you. “Just wanted to see how things were going.” 

“What? Did you not have anything better to do?” 

“Than this?” Frankie shook his head. 

He clipped his aviators onto his shirt collar as he approached the checkout counter. His palm slid easily over the smooth butcher block - the same honey-gold as the boxes on the wall behind you. You wondered if he also made this with his own two hands, sanded it down and stained it. 

Frankie’s eyes dipped over your outfit. “Nice apron.” 

You huffed at his sarcasm. “I look like a Starbucks worker.”

“What the fuck is a Starbucks?”

“Coffee shop.” You pointed across the street. “There used to be one where Willy’s Good Juice is now, whatever the hell that is.” 

Frankie grimaced. He wrinkled his nose like he was about to be sick. “Some advice: don’t ever drink that shit. You’ll regret it.”

“Noted.” You had the same visceral reaction when anyone mentioned Mango Burnetts. 

Yovanna stepped inside the room. When her gaze landed on Frankie, she gave him a mischievous smirk. She leaned back, her body propping open the door. 

“You’re right,” she yelled over her shoulder into the kitchen. “It is him.” 

Frankie let out a huff of annoyance, narrowing his eyes at her as if she was his tattletaling little sister. The pointed look reminded you of Alice, though she never smiled at you afterwards. Instead, she’d call you a rat and a blabber mouth or simply a bitch, even though she was the one tormenting a kid. 

She seemed to enjoy ripping up your coloring books and decapitating your stuffed animals and dolls until dad forced her to buy a new one with her own allowance. 

As Pepa slid into the room, she squeezed past Yovanna, then put her hands on her hips. She looked serious, squinting at Frankie before turning to you. 

“Is he bothering you?” Her tone was light - her lips twitched and there was no real malice in her eyes. She was messing with him. 

“When is he not?” You asked and Frankie scoffed. He was not as much as the rest of you. 

“How’re my employees suppose to do their job?” Pepa tsked her tongue at Frankie. “I swear between you and Santi.” 

Santi? 

You glanced at Yovanna, who was twirling her braid around her finger and giggling like a girl with a crush. Was something going on between her and Santi?

Mary had said the guys didn’t technically date, but perhaps she was wrong. After all, Will clearly had feelings for Curie, judging by the smile on his face when he saw her in the Council hallway. He’d cradled the back of her head, holding her tightly in his arms as if he could not bear to let her go. Label or not, there was something going on there.

You didn’t know about Benny, but during his visits this week, he did talk an awful lot about some guy named Keith. 

You wondered - did Frankie also have someone here?

—-

Since he was already there, his mom suggested that he take Blue out for lunch – at Polly’s. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked her and she shrugged. 

“I could eat.” She hung up her apron, then he guided her next door into the sandwich shop. 

Past the lunch rush, the narrow dining room was practically empty. Just a few people eating at the counter, who all turned and stared at her without any shame. God – what was wrong with these people? As she looked over the menu, he gave them a hard glare. Immediately, their gazes dispersed around the restaurant – to the retro wood paneled walls, mustard lino floors, and the half-eaten plates on the beige formica bar top. 

After ordering at the register in the front, they found a table tucked away in a corner. His jeans scratched against the cracked leather cushion as he slid into the booth. Silently, she examined the ceramic-cow salt & pepper shakers, the out of commission tabletop jukebox and its list of songs. He would’ve asked if she knew any of them if they were alone. 

The cushion squeaked as she leaned back. “So, what have you been up to today? Other than missing me, of course.” 

He rolled his eyes at the last part, before answering. “Nothing really. Ran some errands – helped Pope fix up his fence. How’s work been?” 

“Good. Your mom’s been great, so has Yovanna.” She glanced down at her water cup and twisted it around in circles. “Are she and Pope like a thing?” 

“A thing?” What the fuck did that mean? 

She snorted at his confusion. “Are they like - together?” 

Frankie tilted his head from side to side as he figured out how to answer. Technically – no, they weren’t together in the traditional sense of boyfriend-girlfriend. In their line of work, it was hard to maintain a normal, healthy relationship. 

His first and only girlfriend was his highschool sweetheart. Lacey. Charming Lacey with long, golden hair and dimpled cheeks. Striking summer grass eyes that had never seen the cruelty of the wasteland. She was born in the safety of the walls of Sanctuary unlike him. 

After his first mission, she told him it was over. She wanted a family – a husband who would be around to help raise the kids, not someone who was constantly in-and-out, who she didn’t know whether they were alive or dead. It was almost word for word what Molly had said to Tom after she found out she was pregnant with Tess. Tom wasn’t ready to retire, but he didn’t have much of a choice. 

“Sorta,” Frankie finally answered. “It’s complicated.” 

“Same with Will and Curie?” 

Frankie nodded and she hummed thoughtfully. He waited for her to push for more information, but she didn’t. 

Instead, she sat silently with her hands clasped neatly on the table. Her brows slightly furrowed, appearing to be deeply in her own head. He didn’t think she had a crush on Santi or Will. At least, she never acted like it. If he had to guess anyone, it’d be Benny only because of how well they got along. 

Still, something was bothering her. He’d become exceptionally well-versed in her facial expressions, her subtle and not-so-subtle shifts in mood, and with her – silence never meant anything good. 

“What is it?” He nudged and she didn’t answer. She could be so goddamn obstinate. “What’re you thinking about?” 

She must’ve realized he would not let this go as she let out a sigh. She glanced at him and then at the painted seahorse above his head. 

“I guess I’ve started to realize how little I know about you,” she whispered. “All of you.” 

“We could say the same about you.” He winced when the words left his mouth. It sounded more demining than he intended. 

“It’s different and you know it. You guys have lives, all I have is…memories.” She stared down at her lap as if defeated. “None of it really matters anymore.” 

“That’s not true.”

“Fine.” She harshly scoffed. “It’s irrelevant. Better?”

He shook his head in disagreement, but that was all the denial he could muster. He wouldn’t go as far as to say it didn’t matter, but it did no longer exist. The life she knew had been extinct, after all, for two centuries. 

“Order 43!” 

Frankie signaled for her to stay, then went and grabbed the two baskets from the bar. He plopped back down, sliced his sandwich down the middle, then did the same to hers without thinking. Wordlessly, he pushed the basket across the table to her. 

“Thank you,” she said, then awkwardly lifted her sandwich up to her mouth and took a bite. 

Frankie sucked a little mayo off his thumb. “So, what is it that you wanna know? About me - us?” 

For a moment, she appeared stunned. Her cheeks were full – there was a drop of sauce on her lips. She licked it off, and his eyes followed the pink of her tongue. 

She swallowed. 

“Anything.” She shrugged. “Like, what’s your favorite color?” 

“Seriously?” He snorted – out of everything. 

She picked up a fry and pointed it at the center of his chest. “Judge all you want, but it can tell you a lot about a person.” 

“You would think that,” he said before answering. “Green.” 

“What kind of green?” There was a crisp crunch as she chomped on the fry.  

This was ridiculous, but if it would make her feel better. “Dark green, forest green. What about you?” 

“This might be a little cliche, but pink. Not hot pink, though. Soft pink, like cherry blossoms or peonies.” 

For the rest of lunch, she continued to ask trivial questions. 

Dogs or Cats: dogs. 

Favorite Holiday: Christmas. 

Birthday: August 23rd. 

“Virgo,” she said, like suddenly everything about him made perfect sense. 

She wiped her mouth with a napkin, then slurped the last of her water. 

“Last one - if the world never ended, what would you’ve wanted to be?” 

Easy. “A pilot.” He’d been obsessed with the sky ever since he was little. 

He could remember spending hours on the cold floor in his bedroom, flipping through faded illustrations in children’s books. He wished and hoped and prayed that one day – he could see it for himself. 

Suddenly, he thought about having to tell her about that part of his life. How would she react? He couldn’t stomach another bite and lightly shoved away his basket. 

Frankie knew he would have to tell her, but not right now. Not at Polly’s. Not anywhere in public. 

But soon. 

If he had learned anytime from last time, it was better to tell her before someone else let it slip. 

[sistahscifi]

Happy Publication Week to Nalo Hopkinson for Jamaica Ginger and Other Concoctions!!!

From an introduction by Nisi Shawl to a dream like utopia, this collection of short stories and essays is a true gem. Sistah Scifi Siblings that attended Sistah Scifi Series at San Francisco Public Library earlier this month got early access to the masterful work. 

📸 Credit to @the.smashbot.diaries I am a big, big fan of Hopkinson's work so when I saw that she had a new book coming out this fall I squealed with delight! 

📸 @brisbookish ✌🏽💗🖖🏽#HappyPubDay to #JamaicaGingerandOtherConcoctions by @nalohop !!!

📸 @tachyonpub Thank you to Sistah Scifi and SF Public Library for a lovely event! From left to right: Shawna Sherman manager of the African American Center, author Michele Tracy Berger, Isis Asare of Sistah Scifi, and Nalo Hopkinson calling in from Vancouver

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#sistahscifi #NaloHopkinson #MicheleTracyBerger #BookLovers #DollSeed #BrownGirlInTheRing #MidnightRobber #JamaicaGingerandOtherConcoctions #SanFranciscoPublicLibrary #B2WTOURS #Instatour 

@tachyonpub @b2weird @sfpubliclibrary

[mtaartsdesign]

Sam Gilliam’s painted aluminum wall sculpture “Jamaica Center Station Riders, Blue” (1991) at Jamaica Ctr-Parsons/Archer (E,J,Z) station, in the late artist’s words, "calls to mind movement, circuits, speed, technology, and passenger ships.” Composed of a large ellipse and an armature that holds it, the work build upon the language of his iconic draped paintings. Gilliam is known for this experimentation with material, form, and spatial interplay. His draped, beveled-edge, and tondo paintings are on view at Pace Gallery in “The Last Five Years” through October 28.

📸1: MTA A&D, 2: Pace Gallery

[innsyn]

Just a quick bit of worldbuilding here - naming places.

The Coaban region of Hu is inspired by the Caribbean. But the modern names of many Caribbean islands were chosen by Europeans (ie, Colombus and co) - whereas on Hu the cultures remained independent, so the names should have an indigenous vibe.

I'm not going to name all 700 islands... the smaller islands can be named as needed... but I'm going to start with the Big 6.

Cuba The name Cuba is thought to come from the Taíno language - it may be translated either as 'where fertile land is abundant' (cubao), or 'great place' (coabana). I've already used this root as my new name for the whole region - Coaban - so I need a new name for the largest island. I've gone for Quisqueya, meaning Mother of All Lands.

Hispaniola A European name that evolved from La Isla Española ('The Spanish Island'). Haiti is derived from the indigenous Taíno-Arawak name for the entire island of Hispaniola, which they called Ay-ti ('land of mountains'). I want to make the second largest island the administrative capital, so it becomes Caciqueya, mean Land of the Chiefs

Jamaica Derived from the Arawaken work Xaymaca (meaning land of wood and water). That doesn't need much alteration, but I'm switching the spelling a little, so for me, it's become Xaymaqua. This will be the cultural center.

Puerto Rico A European name meaning 'Rich Port' because of the gold they found in its rivers. Original Taino name was Borikén/Borinquén, which (maybe) meant Land of the Noble Lord. I'm sticking with Borinquen for this one and making it the trade center.

Andros Island Before the English called it Andros, the Spanish called it Espiritu Santu, but before that the Lucayans called it Habacoa/Babucca. I'm calling it Habuqua and making it the traditional center.

Trinidad Another European name, after the Trinity. The indigenous name for the island was Ka-iri or I-ere. I'm going for Karuquera, meaning land of beautiful waters, and making it the military center.

Quick reference:

Quisqueya = largest island Caciqueya = admin capital Xaymaqua = cultural center Borinquen = trade center Habuqua = traditional center Karuquera = military center

[mariacallous]

Mark Nelson took the call in an immigration detention center—a place that, to him, felt just like prison. It had the same prison windows, the same tiny box rooms. By the time the phone rang, he’d already spent 10 days detained there, and he was wracked with worry that he would be forced onto a plane without the chance to say goodbye to his kids. So when his lawyers relayed the two options available under UK law—either stay in detention indefinitely or go home wearing a tracking device—it didn’t exactly feel like a choice. “That’s being coerced,” says Nelson, who moved from Jamaica to the UK more than 20 years ago. He felt desperate to get out of there and go home to his family—even if a GPS tag had to come too.

It was May 2022 when the contractors arrived at Colnbrook Detention Center, on the edge of London’s Heathrow Airport, to fit the device. Nelson knew the men were with the government’s Electronic Monitoring Service, but he didn’t know their names or the company they worked for. Still, he followed them to a small room, where they measured his leg and locked the device around his ankle. Since then, for almost two years, Nelson has been accompanied by the tag wherever he goes. Whether he is watching TV, taking his kids to school, or in the shower, his tag is continuously logging his coordinates and sending them back to the company that operates the tag on behalf of the British government.

Nelson lifts up his trousers to reveal the tag, wrapped around his leg, like a giant gray leech. He chokes down tears as he describes the impact the device has had on his life. “It’s depressing,” he says, being under constant surveillance. “Right through this process, it’s like I’m not a human anymore.”

In England and Wales, since 2019, people convicted of knife crime or other violent offenses have been ordered to wear GPS ankle tags upon their release from prison. But requiring anyone facing a deportation order to wear a GPS tag is a more recent and more controversial policy, introduced in 2021. Nelson wears a tag because his right to remain in the UK was revoked following his conviction for growing cannabis in 2017—a crime for which he served two years of a four-year sentence. But migrants arriving in small boats on the coast of southern England, with no previous convictions, were also tagged during an 18-month pilot program that ended in December 2023. Between 2022 and 2023, the number of people ordered to wear GPS trackers jumped by 56 percent to more than 4,000 people, according to research by the Public Law Project, a legal nonprofit.

“Foreign nationals who abuse our hospitality by committing crimes in the UK should be in no doubt of our determination to deport them,” a Home Office spokesperson tells WIRED. “Where removal isn’t immediately possible, electronic monitoring can be used to manage foreign national offenders and selected others released on immigration bail.” The Home Office, the UK’s interior ministry, declined to answer questions on “operational details,” such as whether GPS coordinates are being tracked in real time and for how long the Home Office stores individuals’ location data. “This highly intrusive form of surveillance is being used to solve a problem that does not exist,” says Jo Hynes, a senior researcher at the Public Law Project. GPS tags are designed to prevent people facing deportation orders from going on the run. But according to Hynes, only 1.3 percent of people on immigration bail absconded in the first six months of 2022.

Now, Nelson is the first person to challenge Britain’s GPS tagging regime in a high court, arguing that the tags are a disproportionate breach of privacy. A judgment on the case is expected any day now, and critics of GPS tagging hope the decision will have ripple effects throughout the British immigration system. “A judgment in Mark’s favor could take quite a lot of different forms,” says Jonah Mendelsohn, a legal officer at data rights group Privacy International. He adds that the court could force the Home Office to stop tagging migrants altogether, or it could limit the amount of data the tags collect. “It could set a precedent.”

The GPS tags are part of an intensifying surveillance regime that migrants and refugees are now subject to in the UK, the US, and Australia, says Mendelsohn. “There is so much tech that’s being rolled out and used almost in an experimental lab-esque way,” he says, pointing to how migrants arriving in Britain on small boats have been told to hand over their phones and pin codes or fitted with bar-coded wristbands. “GPS tracking is just one aspect of that.”

Allegations that the tags are prone to malfunction also aggravate the stress people feel while wearing them, Mendelsohn says. By law, the tags can’t be removed. But they still need charging, either by being plugged into a socket or a portable battery pack. Nelson’s first tag would run out of battery every two hours, he claims, meaning he could never travel far from a plug socket—failure to charge a tag can count as a breach of immigration bail conditions, risking return to a detention center.

The battery was just one in a series of problems, Nelson claims. Between November 2022 and May 2023, he believes his tag was no longer logging his GPS coordinates, with his legal team at Wilsons Solicitors arguing this proved the tag was redundant and should be removed. But until now, the Home Office has refused to take off the tag. “[They said] the law is the law and I’m subject to the law,” says Nelson. “So I’ve got to wear this broken tag whether it works or not.” The company that monitors and maintains the tags on behalf of the government since 2014, Capita Business Services, did not reply to WIRED’s request to comment.

Nelson might have been the first person to challenge the GPS tagging regime in court. But others were close behind. British law firm Duncan Lewis Solicitors is representing another four people forced to wear GPS tags, ranging from EU citizens to people who arrived in the UK on small boats. “Such surveillance of vulnerable individuals is not necessary in any democratic society, and we are proud to represent these claimants in their fight against this poorly run and dystopian regime,” says Conor Lamb, who works in the public law department at Duncan Lewis.

One of the people whom Duncan Lewis is representing is a 25-year-old former asylum seeker from Sudan who arrived in the UK via a small boat and has no criminal history, according to his lawyers. The tag brought up painful memories of being bound and tortured during his journey to the UK, they argued in court. After two psychiatric reports were submitted to the government, the tag was taken off and his data deleted. Despite that, the man, who uses the pseudonym ADL, remains part of the court case in order to challenge the practice of tagging new arrivals.

Meanwhile, Nelson is still waiting for his tag to be taken off. He’s frustrated that he has to wear the tag despite already having served his time in prison. “Before all of this, I was social,” he says. Now, he says, he’s too self-conscious to go out much, in case others see the tag and mistake him for the perpetrator of a violent crime. He describes how the tag has left him feeling “up and down,” as if he has no good choices left. “In order for me to see my family and to be part of my family, I’m still being forced into 24/7 monitoring, someone watching me and watching what I do, every day.”

[that-soccer-guru]

Catalina Usme, Daniela Arias and Daniela Montoya speak to the press after Morocco loss

Catalina Usme:

You have to have patience. It is 5 minutes in victory and 5 minutes to analyze defeat and let it go. In the emotional sense I mean, NOT let it go in what we did and didn't do. We will have to regroup, and it is good for this to happen to us! No one said it would be easy, no one said the road would be wonderful and spectacular and we would be kissing each other to triumph every time! This is the way this game goes. God willed it for things to go this way. I believe this is the way it was meant to happen. Our first half was bad, it was awful for everyone. The penalty play is unfortunate, it is very unfortunate, but it happens! It can happen to anyone! Now, on the way home, we have to sit and breathe, be calm. We made it out in first place, that was one of our objectives. Now we have to recalculate and move forward.

Daniela Arias:

It was a nervous play. I feel like I went on top of her and I ended up pushing her, but I didn't mean for it to be bad or to become a penalty. In my mind I knew that VAR forgives no one, and it is a play without intention but...[oh well]. They called it a penalty, I was surprised, but I was conscious that I had touched her, and in the area you can't just let those details go. It was a bad half, it took us a long time to find ourselves. I am an auto-critic, I mean, we lost because of my penalty, a penalty I committed! But I also know that we needed the ball, we needed to find patience. Morocco basically baited us, gave us the ball a lot, but we didn't make our decisions fast enough. We had to play more on the wings, because the center-field was crowded. I don't know, but it happens, and we have to move on.

Daniela Montoya:

It's good for this to happen to us. Now we have to correct as a team, and well, we have to give this what it's worth! Qualifying in first is very important, especially seeing the teams that didn't make it.

And there you have it folks. Gracious in victory and gracious in defeat. Now, time to breathe and prepare!

Colombia will face one of the other darlings of the World Cup, Jamaica, on Tuesday the 8th at 4AM EST

[deadpresidents]

January 22, 1973: Triumph and Tragedy

At the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City, a young man from Texas won a gold medal in heavyweight boxing while an old man from Texas proudly watched from the White House in Washington, D.C. As a teenager growing up in Houston's rough Fifth Ward, George Foreman was spending his days and nights fighting in the streets and committing petty crimes.  Foreman had little education, few role models, no direction and found the crippling poverty that he lived in to be unbearable.  Then, in 1965, he heard of the Job Corps. One of the foundations of Lyndon B. Johnson's War On Poverty, the Job Corps was created in 1964 to provide vocational training and technical education, free of charge, to students aged 16 through 24.  For many young Americans, the Job Corps as an opportunity.  For George Foreman, it was a path to superstardom and success. After beginning his Job Corps training in Oregon, Foreman was stationed at a center in California where a Job Corps supervisor named Doc Broadus encouraged the 6'4" Texan to consider boxing.  Just three years after he signed up for the centerpiece program of LBJ's Great Society, George Foreman was representing his country in the Olympics. To this day, Foreman credits the Job Corps for saving his life.  Later, he would proudly declare that "Job Corps took me from the mean streets and out of a nightmare lifestyle into a mode where the most incredible dreams came true." Following Foreman's gold medal victory at the 1968 Olympics, he was invited to the White House by President Johnson and became a proud symbol of a Great Society success story.  At the White House, President Johnson asked Foreman when he thought he'd win the world championship and Foreman recalled that "I told him I hoped it would be quick, as I needed the money.  He laughed about that." As LBJ headed into retirement in Texas, George Foreman embarked on a successful professional boxing career and with a 37-0 record, he prepared to fight for the undisputed heavyweight championship against the undefeated champion -- Joe Frazier.  Foreman started going by the nickname "The Fighting Corpsman", paying tribute to his Job Corps roots because "it had been President Johnson's Job Corps which changed my direction in life.  I thought all those Job Corps men out there would see that one among them was making it, and maybe it would help them believe they could as well." The Fighting Corpsman was a heavy underdog on January 22, 1973 as he challenged Joe Frazier for the world heavyweight championship in Kingston, Jamaica.  Most boxing reporters and students of the game thought that the match wouldn't last very long and they were correct.  Foreman dominated Frazier, knocking him down six times in two rounds before the referee finally stepped in and stopped the beating.  As millions watched the fight on television, sportscaster Howard Cosell made one of the most famous calls in history, "Down goes Frazier!  Down goes Frazier!  Down goes Frazier!".  At just 24 years old, George Foreman -- the Fighting Corpsman -- was the heavyweight champion of the world. The victory was George Foreman's, but no one would have taken more pride in the results of that fight than the architect of the program that turned Foreman's life around, Lyndon B. Johnson.  Sadly, Johnson never saw the fight.  Just hours earlier on the very day that Foreman won the title in Jamaica, Lyndon Johnson suffered a fatal heart attack at the LBJ Ranch near Johnson City, Texas.  As fans were filing into the arena in Jamaica, Lyndon Johnson died en route to a hospital in Texas. For the new champion, the victory was bittersweet.  "I felt robbed that night while winning it as I had hoped he would be able to read what happened in Jamaica which could never have been possible had he not had that Job Corps idea and that it would include me."  In 1983, George Foreman donated the championship belt that he won on the day of LBJ's death to the LBJ Library in Austin, Texas where it is on display today -- a memento from a coincidental day 50 years ago when two Texans were united by accomplishment and cemented in history.

[kestrellady]

Reading Around the World Challenge

Read one book set in every country around the world

Ongoing Total: 49/195 Setting and Author: 34/195 Setting Only: 15/195

The StoryGraph Challenge Link

My guidelines for this challenge:

Books should be set primarily or entirely in that country. (No travelogues counting for multiple countries.)

Fiction is preferred, but memoirs are acceptable. No history books.

Magical Realism and Fantasy are acceptable, so long as the country is named and recognizable. (No high fantasy inspired by the country.)

Authors should be from that country, living there for a majority or large portion of their lives and closely identifying with the country.

Diaspora and descendant authors are on a case-by-case, with the above criteria in mind.

Please feel free to send me suggestions! I read primarily in English, but can also do intermediate Spanish, so I'm interested in adding some Spanish language books to the list. Let me know if you disagree with my characterization of any authors or have suggestions for an author from a particular country.

Full list under the cut.

Setting and Author

Afghanistan - The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini Not generally a fan of literary fiction, but I actually didn't hate this! A more hopeful ending than I expected.

Albania - The Ghost Rider by Ismail Kadare This did not end at all how I expected. A quick and fascinating read.

Algeria - The Stranger by Albert Camus & The Meursault Investigation by Kamel Daoud Interesting to read these two together, and glad to have the literary background, but not really my thing.

Angola - A General Theory of Oblivion by Jose Eduardo Agualusa, Trans. Daniel Hahn A bunch of intertwined stories centered around Angola's independence and the following decades. I'm not sure I would call this magical realism, but it kinda has that feel to it.

Antigua and Barbuda - A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid Fascinating long essay that is a must read for tourists, particularly those traveling in the Caribbean.

Argentina - Mouthful of Birds by Samanta Schweblin Collection of horror and adjacent short stories.

Armenia - Three Apples Fell from the Sky by Narine Abgaryan, translated by Lisa C. Hayden A dying village on a mountain finds a reason to keep going. It's got that slight fairy/folktale feel to it that commonly gets called "magical realism."

Australia - The Things She's Seen by Ambelin and Ezekiel Kwaymullina Surprisingly sweet and wonderfully clever. Really enjoyed this one!

Cambodia - Music of the Ghosts by Vaddey Ratner This is a really lovely novel about healing after tragedy and finding your home again after it's been destroyed.

Colombia - Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez I preferred 100 Years of Solitude, but this is the novel more firmly set in Colombia.

Cuba - The Tower of the Antilles by Achy Obejas A volume of short stories exploring life in Cuba and in the US as an immigrant from Cuba. Not my favorite short story collection, but there were a couple that were really evocative.

France - The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas Read an abridgement that made me want to go back and read the unabridged version. Liked this better than The Three Musketeers.

Ghana - Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi Literary, but enjoyable! The back and forth twining of the storylines was used to really good effect.

India - A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth This is billed as a romance, but don't believe it. It's long, the links between the storylines aren't always clear, and it's a "realistic" ending.

Ireland - Dubliners by James Joyce These are... meh? More like vignettes than short stories. And very "everyone is unhappy."

Italy - The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco This was really interesting! I feel like I need to read it again to really get all the twists and turns.

Japan - The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa This was so sweet! And bittersweet. Just generally lovely.

Kenya - Unbowed by Wangari Maathai An interesting memoir by a remarkable woman.

Malawi - The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind by William Kamkwamba and Bryan Meler A fascinating story of how ingenuity, persistence, and small changes can profoundly change a community.

Malaysia - The Ghost Bride by Yangsze Choo I really liked this one! A good spooky mystery with great fantasy/folklore elements.

Mexico - Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia Loved this book! Great horror story.

Netherlands - The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank Important, but sad work.

New Zealand - Quiet in Her Bones by Nalini Singh Thriller filled with interesting if not always likeable characters and a somewhat unreliable narrator.

Nigeria - Noor by Nnedi Okorafor Not my favorite of Okorafor's works, but a fascinating near-future sci-fi.

Norway - Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset Not a happy story, but well written and engrossing, even at over a thousand pages.

Pakistan - Unmarriageable by Soniah Kamal A retelling of Pride and Prejudice set in Pakistan. I loved the way that Pakistani culture was woven through and enhanced the original plot and themes. A really good read!

Poland - Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk Interesting mystery if not ultimately quite my thing.

Russia - War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy Yes, I did read the unabridged version. Yes, you should definitely find the abridged version.

Rwanda - Our Lady of Kibeho by Immaculée Ilibagiza First hand accounts of a little known Marian apparition in Rwanda.

Singapore - Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan Enjoyed this and its sequels. Less a romance and more intertwined stories of a family dynasty.

Switzerland - Heidi by Johanna Spyri Classic children's novel.

Syria - The Map of Salt and Stars by Zeyn Joukhadar Sad and lyrical. A great exploration of the legends and towns of North Africa. (This one barely counts as mostly set in Syria.)

United Kingdom - Persuasion by Jane Austen Lots to choose from, but officially using my favorite Jane Austen.

United States of America - The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne Weird story, beautiful prose.

Setting Only

Austria - The Star of Kazan by Eva Ibbotson Read this as a kid and remember really liking it. Should probably find one that I actually remember....

Canada - Hatchet by Gary Paulsen Very formative of my childhood, so I had to include it.

China - The Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan I remember this being one of my favorite's of Amy Tan but not much more.

Cyprus - Othello by William Shakespeare Apparently this one counts? This play has good speeches but is not great for a modern audience.

Democratic Republic of the Congo - The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver Had to read this for class in high school and can't say I enjoyed it.

Egypt - River God by Wilbur Smith Definitely one of my favorites out of my Wilbur Smith phase.

Greece - The Magus by John Fowles Really weird book that's on the BBC Top 100 books for some reason?

Romania - Hunting Prince Dracula by Kerri Maiscalco Book 2 in this YA series with main characters and a romance I love.

Solomon Islands - Devil-Devil by Graeme Kent This was a really fun mystery that centers the clash of traditional, modern, and colonial societies.

South Africa - The Woman Next Door by Yewande Omotoso Fun little neighborhood drama.

South Korea - Wicked Fox by Kat Cho Really enjoyed this YA novel set in Seoul. Good fantasy and interesting moral dilemmas.

Vatican City - Angels and Demons by Dan Brown Easily my favorite Dan Brown. Though the sequels get a little off the rails. (Not sure anyone counts as a native of Vatican City?)

Vietnam - The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien Short stories inspired by the author's time in the Vietnam War.

Yemen - Don't Be Afraid of the Bullets by Laura Kasinof A budding journalist describes her experience in Yemen during the Arab Spring.

Zimbabwe - A Girl Named Disaster by Nancy Farmer Loved this book as a kid, it's one that really stuck with me over the years.

To Be Read

Andorra, Azerbaijan, The Bahamas, Bahrain, Bangladesh, Barbados, Belarus, Belgium, Belize, Benin, Bhutan, Bolivia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Botswana, Brazil, Brunei, Bulgaria, Burkina Faso, Burundi, Côte d'Ivoire, Cabo Verde, Cameroon, Central African Republic, Chad, Chile, Comoros, Costa Rica, Croatia, Czechia (Czech Republic), Denmark, Djibouti, Dominica, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, El Salvador, Equatorial Guinea, Eritrea, Estonia, Eswatini, Ethiopia, Fiji, Finland, Gabon, The Gambia, Georgia, Germany, Grenada, Guatemala, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, Guyana, Haiti, Honduras, Hungary, Iceland, Indonesia, Iran, Iraq, Israel, Jamaica, Jordan, Kazakhstan, Kiribati, Kuwait, Kyrgyzstan, Laos, Latvia, Lebanon, Lesotho, Liberia, Libya, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Madagascar, Maldives, Mali, Malta, Marshall Islands, Mauritania, Mauritius, Micronesia, Moldova, Monaco, Mongolia, Montenegro, Morocco, Mozambique, Myanmar, Namibia, Nauru, Nepal, Nicaragua, Niger, North Korea, North Macedonia, Oman, Palau, Palestine, Panama, Papua New Guinea, Paraguay, Peru, Philippines, Portugal, Qatar, Republic of the Congo, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Samoa, San Marino, São Tomé and Príncipe, Saudi Arabia, Senegal, Serbia, Seychelles, Sierra Leone, Slovakia, Slovenia, Somalia, South Sudan, Spain, Sri Lanka, Sudan, Suriname, Sweden, Tajikistan, Tanzania, Thailand, Timor-Leste, Togo, Tonga, Trinidad and Tobago, Tunisia, Turkey, Turkmenistan, Tuvalu, Uganda, Ukraine, United Arab Emirates, Uruguay, Uzbekistan, Vanuatu, Venezuela, Zambia

[pacific-coast-hockey]

article under cut

Jasper Weatherby's grandpa worked with Martin Luther King Jr., his grandmother marched in Selma, now he hears his calling

Jasper Weatherby remembers the conversation.

His brother, Kevin, was about to make a cross-country drive from their father Dicken's home in Vermont to their mother Lucinda's home in Ashland, Ore., for the first time.

Before hitting the road, Dicken sat Kevin down to have an important talk.

He told Kevin to be extremely careful on his drive and instructed him, if he gets pulled over by an officer, to make sure his hands are in full view at all times. He gave him a general idea of which towns to stop in, and said to be careful even when filling up with gas.

It caught Jasper's attention, because he had driven across the country numerous times during his hockey-playing career. He had completed that Oregon-to-Vermont journey himself. But nobody told him these things.

"The only thing my dad ever said to me was 'don't speed,'" said Jasper, a junior center on UND's hockey team.

Jasper knew why things were different, though.

He's white. Kevin is Black.

Although brothers have grown up together since the Weatherbys adopted Kevin 16 years ago, Jasper is keenly aware of prejudices and racial inequities that exist in America, and why things can be different for them.

"Kevin is the friendliest guy you'll ever meet," Jasper said. "He's the nicest guy I know. When I was young, I was oblivious to a lot of stuff, because I never understood why anyone would treat us any different.

"Our dad is such a good dad and cares so much that he thinks about those things. But it's messed up that he has to say that. That hit home for me. I thought, 'How am I going to help this? Am I going to do something more?'"

Since the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis police custody in May, Weatherby's normally quiet Instagram feed has been filled with posts and stories supporting racial justice and the Black Lives Matter movement.

He participated in a Black Lives Matter march in Grand Forks. He visited Floyd's memorial in Minneapolis to pay his respects. He protested back home in Ashland, Ore. He has tweeted support for the movement and has led discussions among his UND teammates.

Few college hockey players have been as outspoken as Weatherby this summer. And if you know his life story, his family's history, you understand that Weatherby has been raised for this moment, shaped by civil rights fighters that line his family tree.

Weatherby's grandfather, Ralph Temple, fled the Nazis as a 7-year-old Jewish boy growing up in London. In America, he became a civil rights lawyer, who fought Jim Crow in the courtroom, became a member of the NAACP Board of Directors, worked underneath Thurgood Marshall at the Legal Defense Fund and alongside Martin Luther King Jr., on a couple of cases.

Weatherby's grandmother, Ann Macrory, was a pioneering civil rights lawyer, who participated in the famous Selma to Montgomery march, stood in the National Mall watching King give his 'I Have a Dream' speech and fought for things such as housing equality and immigrant rights.

His mother, Lucinda, grew up in Washington, D.C., protested apartheid at the South African embassy and successfully lobbied her high school to divest from any companies that had South African ties.

And there's his brother, Kevin, who the family adopted at age 8 from Costa Rica. Through DNA and ancestry research, they determined that Kevin is the descendant of an enslaved African from Nigeria, who was taken to Jamaica.

They've all had significant influences on Jasper, who hopes to use his platform as an NHL draft pick of the San Jose Sharks and a key player on UND's No. 1-ranked team to shine a light on race issues and make any advances possible.

"My grandma always said, 'It's never the wrong time to do the right thing,'" Jasper said.

Fleeing the Nazis

Jasper's grandfather, Ralph Temple, was dodging bombs at age 7.

Growing up in London in 1940, nightly Nazi bombings became so common that his family slept in an air raid shelter for six weeks. Sometimes, the bombings occurred during the daytime, too.

"I remember my mother, with me in her arms, running with many others in the streets amid the din of explosions, to the tunneled public shelter in Beaumont Street Park," Ralph wrote in his memoirs . "After the raid, it was strange to see houses sliced open and their insides exposed, the profiles of the different floors, the furniture, scattered clothing and belongings, piles of rubble."

Ralph's mother agonized about whether to flee to America, where she and Ralph could get in because of a family connection. Doing so meant they would have to leave behind Ralph's father, because he was being called into the Royal British Army.

They did, though, and settled in Miami. They weren't reunited with Ralph's father for 10 years.

"It was a terrifying experience to have to flee," Ralph's son, Johnny, said. "He carried with him a deep, deep rage at the Nazis. I think any injustice would remind him of what he, a Jewish person, had to experience fleeing while bombs were falling. My dad could lose his temper, a frightening rage, and it always had the flavor of being bombed by the Nazis."

After graduating from Harvard law school, Ralph went to work underneath one of the most impactful lawyers in American history, Thurgood Marshall, at the NAACP Legal Defense Fund. Marshall had just successfully argued the Brown v. Board of Education decision, which ruled segregation in public schools unconstitutional.

In 1964, Ralph spent two weeks in St. Augustine, Fla., working on cases to uphold the 1964 Civil Rights Act. He worked with Martin Luther King Jr., who had been arrested in St. Augustine months earlier, on a case.

Ralph continued his civil rights work with the American Civil Liberties Union. He worked extensively on behalf of protesters' rights and on ending racially discriminatory practices.

"My dad was deeply patriotic to the United States," Johnny said. "To him, the United States had saved his life and saved his family and saved other Jewish people. He bought into this notion of freedom and justice for all. He bought it hook, line and sinker. That was part of the reason he was so outraged by the treatment of African Americans. He did a lot of work with racial justice, because injustices against Black people reminded my dad of the Nazis."

In 1980, Ralph met Ann Macrory, who already had four children, including Jasper's mother, Lucinda. They met through their civil rights work, where Ann also had a deep background.

Marching in Selma and beyond

Ann, Jasper's grandmother, was attending law school at Georgetown in Washington, D.C., during the heart of the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s, and soon became deeply involved.

On Aug. 28, 1963, she stood in the National Mall watching Martin Luther King Jr., give his famed 'I Have a Dream' speech during the March on Washington.

Less than a year after graduating with a law degree in 1964, she watched on TV as Alabama State Troopers brutally beat protesters, led by John Lewis and Hosea Williams, on the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Ala. That event became known as Bloody Sunday.

Compelled to act, Ann, age 25, drove to Selma. There, she joined protesters in their five-day march to Montgomery and the steps of the state capitol in support of voting rights. Ann recalled walking alongside a Black woman, helping hold her baby, as they marched through Dallas and Lowdnes Counties. At times, racist locals yelled at them.

Ann also fought for civil rights in the courtroom. She helped launch the Washington Lawyers Committee for Civil Rights Under Law and served as co-director for 20 years, fighting for immigrant rights, housing equality and judicial selection committees.

"My mom was my hero growing up," Lucinda said. "I was so proud of the work she did. She stuck up for people who didn't have as much as we did. . . for all the disadvantaged. That was inspiring."

Protesting apartheid

Lucinda, Jasper's mother, was immersed in civil rights from the beginning.

Although the family grew up in a wealthier Washington, D.C., neighborhood, Lucinda's mother, Ann, and father, Patrick, sent her and three siblings across town to attend a nearly all-Black school for kindergarten.

"My parents wanted us to get the experience of being the ones who were different," Lucinda said.

Every Christmas, their family would invite a financially struggling family over to join them. Whenever they went on vacation, they'd bring an inner-city family, who had never left the boundaries of D.C., along with them.

There was protesting, too.

Ann once took Lucinda to the South African embassy to protest apartheid.

Soon after, Lucinda lobbied her high school's administrators to divest from any companies that dealt with the South African government during apartheid. School administrators agreed.

Jasper's childhood

Jasper was born in January 1998 in Oregon, where his parents, Lucinda and Dicken, had settled. By that time, Ralph and Ann were married and living in Oregon, too.

So, Jasper grew up surrounded by civil rights fighters, who heavily influenced his life. Lucinda and Dicken raised Jasper to educate himself, read the news, be aware of issues and to build bridges with others.

Jasper was always engaged. At just 5 years old, he would challenge Ralph in debates. Ralph, the powerful and dynamic ACLU litigator who took on the Jim Crow South, would not let Jasper off the hook. In his thunderous, bellowing voice, he would argue back.

"You would think a kid would shrink and be terrified," Lucinda said. "But he wouldn't."

They would go back and forth. After a while, Lucinda would hear a pause as Jasper thought.

"Then," Lucinda said, "you'd hear Jasper say, 'Good point, grandpa.'

"It was the cutest thing."

Ralph's civil rights work continued in Oregon.

"He would go after any signs of injustice or racism," Jasper said. "If he read something in the paper, he'd go out and protect minority families, homeless people, anyone he thought the law was failing. I was really young and didn't really grasp what he was doing all the time, but it's one of those things you look back and wow, he was a powerful man who was doing the right thing."

The family made several trips to Costa Rica as Jasper was growing up. They did not stay at the common tourist destinations on the Pacific Ocean side. They stayed in a shack without electricity on the Caribbean Sea side, near a reservation where the indigenous Bribri people lived.

Jasper always fit in with the local children.

"He would run around and want to hang out with them all day long," Lucinda said. "It was an experience for him being in the non-majority. He was the only White kid. He fit right in. He would be hugging them and swimming with them and playing with them."

One of the children in the pack of friends was Kevin, whose mother was Bribri. Kevin grew up on Telamanca reservation in Costa Rica before moving to Cocles.

Jasper gets a brother

Kevin was staying with his aunt, a friend of Ann's, at the time. Through that connection, Lucinda and Dicken learned that Kevin had been bouncing around between homes in Costa Rica and was looking for a permanent home.

They went through a lengthy process that took over a year to adopt Kevin.

"I was super excited," Kevin said about the idea of moving to the United States with the Weatherby family. "I feel like most of what I saw (about America) was on television. I was thinking about big cities. So, I was surprised when I went straight to a farm. I envisioned more of a city. But I grew up in Costa Rica in jungles and beaches, so a farm isn't too distantly far from that. It was a really beautiful area."

Kevin only spoke Spanish at the time. He had four months to learn English in order to start third grade.

There was a big adjustment to American life, too.

"There were a lot of social aspects I wasn't used to," Kevin said. "I wasn't used to being tucked in (before bed). That's not really how Latin culture is. I remember thinking hot tubs and saunas were so weird. 'You guys do this for fun?' Come winter, I figured it out. I had never seen snow before. It was a big adjustment."

Kevin, who is two years older than Jasper, is extremely outgoing, very curious, can hold a conversation with anyone -- something that has served him well while working jobs as a barista and bartender. He's currently pursuing a degree, potentially in a medical field like physical therapy.

Kevin's talents span many different areas. He speaks English, Spanish and French. He plays guitar and writes his own songs. He can play piano. He has acted in plays. He's an outstanding dancer. He's into poetry. He paints and draws. He lifts weights and excelled in sports growing up, especially soccer.

"I always joke that I stuck with hockey because he was better than me at everything else," Jasper said.

George Floyd sparks a movement

In addition to growing up with a diverse group of friends, Jasper also was exposed to activism as a child.

He joined family members at environmental and prison reform protests growing up. As he got older, he became more and more aware of the role his grandparents played in the Civil Rights Movement.

"I remember thinking that was so long ago," Weatherby said. "Then, I started thinking about how it's not that long ago. Then, it was like, 'Oh my God, this stuff is still happening.'"

Weatherby was driving from Oregon back to Grand Forks in early June as the country erupted in protest over the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis police custody. When he arrived in Grand Forks, only a few teammates were in town, including his roommates, Jacob Bernard-Docker and Mark Senden.

They discussed the Black Lives Matter movement together. They watched Ava DuVernay's documentary, 13th, which explores the history of racial inequality in the American prison system.

When a Black Lives Matter march was organized in Grand Forks, Weatherby, Bernard-Docker and senior Peter Thome attended it together.

UND players have been discussing ideas on how to keep the movement going during the upcoming hockey season, one in which the Fighting Hawks will likely start as the No. 1-ranked team in the nation.

"We've had some healthy conversations," said Weatherby, the 6-foot-3, 212-pound center who had 10 goals and 18 points last season. "What more can we do? It's time for a change to happen. We're in a great spot with our platform.

"I think people thought that the impact of slavery and segregation ended when the Civil Rights Act was passed, but I think that's so not true. What you're seeing with mass incarceration, people being moved into projects, going to bad schools and being set up for failure is very real and it's still happening. I think with hockey, I'm in an interesting place where maybe I can use this platform to address a group of people who might not be as exposed to it."

For the time being, he continues to offer his thoughts on social media. Weatherby's Twitter bio reads, "Black Lives Matter." His Instagram page has just one collection, labeled "BLM."

A message on Instagram

Johnny Temple, Ralph's son, lives in Brooklyn, N.Y., and is the founder of Akashic Books, a publishing company. Among the company's specialties is publishing books from African-American authors and other Black authors from the African diaspora.

One of those books is "We Matter: Athletes and Activism," which was written by former NBA player Etan Thomas. Johnny interviewed Thomas, one of the first athletes to speak out against the War in Iraq, about his book. Johnny said he's struck by athletes who are willing to put their careers on the line to speak out.

"I've been impressed by how compelled (Jasper) is to speak about injustices when he sees them," Johnny Temple said. "That's something my father had. Jasper seems to not just be someone who wants to do the right thing, but feels emotionally compelled to speak up when he sees something that isn't right."

It was late one morning this summer when a personal message landed in Weatherby's Instagram inbox.

It was from a UND student, who had noticed Weatherby's activity on social media.

"I don't know if you'll ever get this and I don't know why I'm sending this," the message started, "but I had an urge to say thank you. As a black student that attended UND, I've never felt comfortable on this campus so seeing you use your voice for the movement honestly makes a difference."

It was validation for what Weatherby has been doing.

Ralph and Ann have both passed away. Ralph died in 2011. Ann died in January.

But their legacies, carried from London to Washington, from St. Augustine to Selma, from Ashland to Vermont, are living on through Jasper in another moment of racial reckoning.