ALL he wants is a place to call home.

Evicted from beneath the St Catherine bridge, which forms part of the Highway 2000 infrastructure, where he has sought refuge from the elements for several months, 27-year-old Andre is the best candidate to tell you, things are not always what they seem.

“Dem want call mi madman, nuff people a call mi madman an’ seh mi no have no sense, [but] mi can read 10 times betta dan dem, a juss somebody mi waan teck mi up and seh dem can build mi back,” he told the Jamaica Observer.

Clad in a cozy red sweater, which has seen better days, his unkempt hair in small plaits fluttering with the wind, he rifled through the little bag of items this reporter presented to him with the glee of a child, reading the labels and nodding in appreciation as he shared how the streets became his home.

“Mi lose mi father from mi a young baby. Di man dem come and jus’ start shoot up mi daddy as him come outta di car, right a Red Pond inna Spanish Town,” he said.

He could not recall just how old he was, but the memory of that moment has never left him.

“Mi a come outta di house fi meet him, everything happen so fast,” he said sharing how after the killing he darted back inside the house and stayed there “until police come tek mi up and put mi a home”.

“Mi still memba everything, mi end up a Mount Olivet Boys’ Home inna Mandeville. When mi go ova di home and dem a tell mi fi talk, mi couldn’t talk, and mi just a bawl,” he told the Observer.

That home became his refuge until he turned 18 and had to leave.

The memories of his life there made him grin broadly as he told the Observer he was saving to purchase a cellular phone to call the only place he had really ever called home.

“Mi miss up deh, innuh, but yuh haffi jus’ go. First thing, Christmas yah now, wi woulda have everything; wi woulda have wi game and wi present, everything wi want, but right ya now mi nah enjoy nutten,” he said, losing his upbeat tone for the first time during the interview.

Leaving the home plunged him into a downward spiral marked by abuse at the hands of his “stepmother”, whose St Ann home he fled after a near-death experience.

“Di amount a disadvantage mi get, si all di cut yahso weh mi stepmodda a use knife fi cut mi side,” he said, showing the Observer scars which he said from one encounter when he was stabbed by the woman he said lived a nomadic life.

“Every time she move go different place she live with a different man. Mi had was to run weh from har for she almost kill mi,” he said in explaining how he ended up near Portmore.

His original destination was Tivoli Gardens in West Kingston, he said, but the tough inner-city community’s reputation for gun violence preceded it and he detoured to St Catherine.

“Mi friend put mi pon bus and tell mi fi go Tivoli; mi did a go to mi father bredda, an’ mi decide seh mi nah bodda go, because mi memba seh mi watch TV and see everything weh happen to Tivoli — shoot-up, gunshot, everything, so mi jus’ tell mi mind mi nah go get miself dead.

“I start walking. Mi walk with no food, no juice, no wata, till mi reach yahso,” he said almost triumphantly.

“Yahso”— an underpass on Municipal Boulevard in St Catherine — is where he has spent many days and nights, until recently when his belongings were taken and he was told to move, leaving him without a shelter to “start all over” again.

“Dem tek weh mi tings, wan green back truck, ’cause a woman weh did a clean up over Ackee Walk (nearby shopping area) carry dem come yahso come tek weh mi tings dem. Mi have some clothes up deh so,” he told the Observer, while lamenting that some tinned food items that he had hidden in the shrubs nearby after being displaced had been stolen by a vagrant.

Asked where he slept now that his sturdy, stylish brown sofa with wheels — given to him by a good Samaritan — which had been his haven during the weeks of rains which lashed the island over a month ago had been taken away he said, “Si di cardboard weh mi put up with some wood and sheet, but the sheet so thin that every time when cold breeze a lick it come through. Mi cyaan sleep a night-time, no time. Mi nuh feel well right yah now,” Andre, who said he suffers from epileptic seizures, shared.

The actions of the men in the “green back truck” grieve him sorely.

“Everything dem tek weh, all mi 10,000 [dollars] under the settee, and mi seh mi ago tek up mi 10,000 di man dem seh mi mustn’t touch nutten at all. One a di man dem jump offa di truck an’ almost lick mi,” he said.

Confiding that his favourite subjects in school included maths, social studies, and agriculture, Andre, who had harboured ambitions of becoming a soldier, boasts that he does have some skills.

“Mi can mek furniture; like bed, table. Yuh si di home weh mi grow, a it did teach mi. Right now mi woulda jus’ want come offa di road. If mi get a Food for the Poor house mi nah come outta dat… Mi know how fi set up dem tings deh,” he said, noting that vendors at the nearby Ackee Walk have benefited from his carpentry skills, as he has made their roofs watertight. The gratitude, though, has not been paid forward he said, claiming that some had given him “rotten food fi eat”.

With the Yuletide season approaching all he wants for Christmas is a place to call home.

“Mi beg some a mi friend dem fi call Miss Susan ( The Susan Show) fi mi, but nobody no do it. Mi jus’ want a help right ya now fi get back a house, ’cause if mi get back a house right yah now mi wouldn’t get cold.

“Mi did have a house already, a two house mi build over inna dem bush dem deh and dem bun it dung. Mi build it outta stick and cardboard and zinc pon top,” he shared showing some frustration.

He displayed his small blue Bible (New Testament) in which he has scribbled the names of those who had shown him kindness as they pass him daily. He said he is not one to forget a kindness.

He also remembers the unkind ones, too, and those who have even made sexual advances, but he tells the Observer, “Peace an’ love mi seh.”

But even while he is seeking help to find a place to call his home, he made it clear he is not a beggar.

“Mi cut grass fi people fi feed dem cow, mi teck two bills ($200) now fi a bundle. Mi save it, mi get food, so mi save my money. Mi wi hustle,” he told this reporter, offering his services as a newspaper vendor.