Day 1: Oct 24

It is 3:00 pm as I drive onto the campus at the University of the West Indies armed with a timetable of classes printed from the UWI’s website for me by a recent graduate.

I drive pass the security post and am given a ticket by one of two security guards. Not once did he make an attempt to look at my face even though I partially rolled down the window of a dark-tinted car and took the ticket.

I look at the ticket and on the back it clearly states that vehicles are parked at owners’ risk. It does, however, say if the ticket is lost you will be fined.

I get out the car and begin my first day as an unofficial student.

I am not displaying a student ID. But after all, I am like hundreds of other students who are not wearing any either. Dressed in jeans and trainers I blended in just fine.

I walk pass the Department of Social Sciences. A female security guard with a two-way radio is seated on a metal chair in one of the many parking lots in this area. She doesn’t look up as I pass.

I step into the halls immediately facing some of the faculty offices. I see two campus security guards. They are wearing bright orange neon jackets and they, too, are carrying two-way radios. They pass me by.

I continue my trek. I must familiarise myself with the lecture rooms and the various classrooms. I pass by almost 10 times …no one even seems to notice me. A group of students sit under a tree. I join the group and listen. No one thinks this odd. I am not noticed.

It is 3:35 pm and I am waiting for a 4:00 pm class to begin. I might as well scout some more. I go to a class, GT22A at SR5 …they are showing a video. I pop in for a brief second then leave. Don’t want to be late for class. But then again, it is a toss up between the next session of GT 22A which continues until 5:00 or I could do EC20A.

While I wait, I say, I may as well attempt to check my e-mail. I wait for a good 15 minutes in line with some other students at the Faculty of Social Sciences. A computer is free. I take my seat… oops…I guess my 1998 ID will no longer work… well I don’t know, since I can’t remember the password.

It is 4:25 pm, and I hate going to classes late, so I might as well go on a tour to check out how accessible it is to get on hall. I go to Taylor Hall – my first stop. I will just observe today. The security guard buzzes each person in. No ID is required. Guess I will try tomorrow.

I am on my way to Mary Seacole Hall, an all-female hall …the same thing happens, males and females are buzzed inside …the security guard never raises an eyebrow. I will try my luck tomorrow.

I stand for 10 minutes outside and observe …no one thinks that strange.

I may ride the campus bus… and get on with the group of students not required to show their ID. Well, that I will do tomorrow as well.

Anyway, it is 5:00 pm and I must get to my Sociology class – SY14G (2). I get in just five minutes before the lecturer and choose my seat among the 50 or so students. No one even looks in my direction. The lecturer comes in. Today, the lecture is on Social Stratification and she is also preparing the class for revision for an exam on Thursday.

One student sits next to me and asks if I knew what time on Thursday was the exam. I tell her the lecturer has promised to give us that information later. She leaves. I begin taking notes on what it is that makes us different. Is it race, sexual orientation, gender, class?

I did, however, find it somewhat amusing that she begged the students to remember to put their school ID numbers and not passport or driver’s licence number on the exam papers as have been done on many occasions before.

The lecturer is randomly asking students questions in preparation for the exams. I don’t know too much about sociology and since it is near time for my Master’s class I have to go.

It is 6:05 pm and I walk into the Master’s class, albeit an hour late, and take a seat in the middle row. Not a strange stare, not even a glance. The lecturer, Dr Tabbot, is instructing his students about advanced research methods.

It is 6:40 pm and I have to go…I pack up my notes and walk out…nothing is said.

It is really dark as I walk outside the parking lot. I hurriedly walk into the lit area and leave campus in anticipation of my second day at school.

Day 2: Oct 25

I get on campus at 2:00 pm. I do prefer afternoon classes. Today, I am going to attempt to take some pictures of the classes I attend…will that actually work?

I walk to the bookstore, check in my bag and am given a number. I go up to the cashier and buy a pack of batteries for the digital camera.

I am on my way to Taylor Hall. I get to the buzz door and the security stops me. “Your ID does not say Taylor Hall, does it?” she asks.

“No,” I reply.

“Then come and sign this book,” she says.

“What is your name?” she asks.

I tell her.

“Who are you going to see?”

I give a name off the top of my head.

“What is your ID number?” she asks.

I dig into my purse and find the ID number of a colleague. I tell her. She doesn’t ask to see the ID. She writes it down.

“What room number?” she asks.

I stumble. “I think I may be at the wrong place,” I reply.

She smiles and says “no problem” and I leave.

I will return tomorrow, armed with a room number and see how far on hall I will get.

I walk to Irvine Hall. A lone female security guard sits at the buzz gate. I sit outside for 10 minutes, waiting to see what students are required to do. They come up and are buzzed in. I leave because I am running late for class.

I get there in the nick of time to slip into my SW23A class in room SR16, the same room in which Kingsley ‘Ragashanti’ Stewart lectured on the night he was kidnapped. The lecturer is at the board with some students. I choose a seat in the middle of the room.

From that angle I can take a nice picture. I shoot two pictures. No one notices. I switch seats and one person asks if the register had gotten to me. I say ‘no’. The lecturer calls the name of a student and asks if that person was in the room. No one responds. He asks “does anyone know this person?” Still no response. He gives up.

It is time for some students to do a presentation on the Moyne Commission. At the end of their 15-minute presentation, one student points out that they had merely outlined but not discussed what the Commission was all about. She then gets up and leaves. Some other students follow shortly after.

It is my time to go too. I step outside and walk across to the Social Sciences computer lab.

There is no waiting in line this time and I walk to an empty computer. Not even a glance from students. I take out my paper containing the ID number and password, previously given to me, and attempt to log on. But alas, it doesn’t work… guess I won’t be able to mail this report from campus today after all. But I can still take pictures. I take out the digital camera and take a few shots.

In the parking lot close to SR16, close to where construction is taking place, I observe two policemen with high-powered weapons. I draw closer, stand and watch. One of the policemen reads a newspaper. The other talks with a friend. I take a few pictures and pray the quality is good.

“Wish I knew why those police are here,” I think aloud. The reason is soon revealed to me when three mature female students converge on the steps above me and start speaking to each other.

“It is getting real serious around here,” says one. “You don’t see the police dem have to be here.”

“What for?” asks another.

“You don’t hear that the bwoy dem come for extortion money already and that is why them have to call in the police to monitor the construction site.”

“Really! Well a guess anywhere you have a little building a go up you have to deal with these extortionists.”

Says another: “Here really getting serious. You never hear about the girl last week who was sitting under a tree studying in the night and she say a bwoy come up to her and pull out a knife long like me hand and say to har ‘you nuh know say it nuh safe fi yu to be out here dem time a night ya? Man wi cut out yu belly’. Me say, the girl gather up her things real fast and make a run for it. It is a good thing him decide not to do her anything that night.”

“The university going to have to do something about this,” the other one quips. “All the little piece a paper that them give you when you coming in they have no way of checking who it is given to.”

“Well, for all I know, you can come in a Lada and drive out in a Benz and nobody would notice,” says one of the ladies.

One makes the suggestion that a scanning system needs to be put in place for licence plates. While yet another suggests that the security should become familiar with those cars that come on campus regularly.

It is time for them to go, and so must I.

Day 3: Oct 26

It is my last day at UWI, at least for now. Today I will attempt to get on the halls. I still can’t believe I will be able to gain entrance but I must try. The lone female security guard sits in the guard room at Taylor Hall. She buzzes each student as they come and go. I walk up to the door and she buzzes me in. I can’t believe it. I walk through to the male dorms, up and down the stairs. Some room doors are ajar and the occupants are nowhere in sight. I take pictures.

No one questions my action. I get lost, ask for directions, I am told and I proceed.

Fortunately though, at the girls’ dorm, there is another security guard who stands at the gate. Reminds me of a maximum security prison. I make no attempt to get into that dorm. It does appear to be a much more intimate setting and the guard appears to know everyone on that block. I, however, take some pictures of doors pretty close to the fire escape, being left ajar.

I walk back to the security post and leave the same way I came. I am on my way to the library. Well, they certainly won’t be letting me in there, I say to myself. Afterall, there are signs posted everywhere to say you must present your ID. But the sole female security guard on duty does not object when I tell her I have forgotten my ID. She says ‘okay, go ahead’. As I pass through the turnstyle, I heard another girl behind me tell her the same story. “I am going to stop letting you guys through without your ID, but go ahead,” says the guard.

I walk throughout the library, even taking pictures in some areas. Still no one notices me. I walk back out with my book and camera in hand. I am not stopped at the checkpoint.

I must get to Irvine Hall. At least this one must present some challenge, I think. I walk up to the buzz gate and waited.

The security guard buzz me in. I walked up and down the hallways. Once again, some doors are ajar. I could easily slip inside and close any of the doors before the occupant realises what had happened. A lone security guard is inside but he is watching some boys play a game of dominoes. He too does not notice as I walk around and peer into rooms. After 10 minutes, I leave the same way I came.

I return to Mary Seacole Hall. I go to the gate and go inside as some other students are going in. But once I get inside I discover that there is yet another buzz gate being manned by a stern-looking guard. I wait for the perfect opportunity and slip inside just as someone is buzzed in. I hasten to the end of the hall.

However, because the hall is unfamiliar to me, I pause, not sure which direction to go. The guard notices my hesitation after I am standing there for a good minute.

“Do you live on this hall?” she asks.

Upon hearing ‘no’, she redirects me through the gate to log my information with the guard. “You are not allowed to just walk on this hall like that,” she says as I walk out.

I stand at the entrance to Mary Seacole and wait for the school bus to Liguanea.

Once again, an identification card is required, but I just follow the many others who are boarding without theirs. I get on, take a seat and the bus drives off. Still, nothing said, so after proving my point I get off at the next stop.

It is almost 5:00 pm, and I must get to Ragashanti’s class on time. I hear he is a stickler for time. I sit outside with a few other students waiting on another class to leave the room. They leave just as he arrives and I walk inside the class behind him and take a seat. No one notices me. “Is there anything we need to cover before we move on?” were his first words to the students. A moment after the response, the loudest coming from me, he begins telling the story of his abduction.

Outside of the story, the course SY27D, which is an introduction to dancehall, is quite intriguing and I must say I am sorry I won’t be there for the exam this Thursday, considering I feel quite prepared to write my essay on the dancehall world view.