By Caitlyn Bishop

In Jamaica, women don’t have asses, they have ‘boompahs’. That is, ‘bumpers’ only pronounced with a demeaning Patois accent. Implying, why yes, like my car, my ass is big enough to absorb the shock of a rear-end collision without compromising its integrity. This makes perfect sense if you find yourself at any party in Jamaica anywhere, ever. I found this fun piece of trivia out while working on a coffee farm in the parish of Westmoreland, from a Jamaican man who managed the farm. As we wove through the large stands of Arabica blossoms together one morning, he declared something most unprovoked after examining me in my work pants.

“You will never have a Jamaican boyfriend, Skateland!” First of all, Skateland? He had no idea how to pronounce my name, but that’s another story. Also, what? What reason could he possibly have for this absurd claim? “Your boompah is not big enough!” Yeah, that was definitely true, but I wasn’t about to let him win. I tried to retort with as caustic of a response that my women’s Carhartt-clad self could come up with, but it didn’t make a bit of difference to him. I was just another American with a tiny hiney incapable of finding love in a land where gigantic-assed ladies roamed free.

According to him, It didn’t matter if you were the dumbest Jamaican woman to ever prance the shores of Montego Bay, as long as you had an ass that burst forth mightily from your swimsuit, you had a pretty good chance at landing a top-notch Jamaican lad who would buy you all the Red Stripe your heart desired. This got me thinking. Given my shortcomings, what kind of boyfriend could I score on this island? A drug dealer? Some guy working part-time at the Bob Marley museum in Kingston? Nobody?

This wasn’t the end of his spiel, however: If I did want a Jamaican boyfriend, the solution was simple. All I had to do was walk into downtown Montego Bay and find the nearest butt-implant clinic.

Yes, they exist, and yes, I got directions.

Thank you, Jamaica.