“I am Dan Rich. You may have heard about me through Vybz Kartel or Beenie Man, but back then, I used to roam the streets where danger lies like a rattlesnake.”

“At five years old I was living with my mom in Love Lane, Downtown, Kingston, right behind the Ward Theater, once home for Christmas Pantomimes.”

“But, let’s get back to the gritty community named Love Lane. Don’t be fooled by the name, this was in the heart of poverty where trouble lies as morning light and nights sleep with one eye open as bullets have no direction or borderline.”

“Mom just couldn’t keep me off the streets. I loved the excitement and freedom. This comes with a price and when she couldn’t manage it anymore, I was sent to my father in Westmoreland. He was strict and abided by his rule to use his rod of correction.”

“This was branches twined from the shoe-black (hibiscus plant) to whip the disobedience out of my back. So, I hated discipline like the devil hated holy water and ran away as I was used to doing, surviving on the streets.”

“I get food and drinks ’cause women claim I was handsome, a few wanting to adopt me. Dad would never allow that to happen.”

Youth was in his favour. The streets embraced him, and he had friends who wanted to roam, and have fun without having a bed to rest their head.

One stubborn night Dan and his friend, having walked from Negril to Green Island, which is about 10 miles, and nowhere to sleep, looked to the police for help. In desperation they began knocking on the station door but to no avail.

“We knocked until our knuckles tired, no police to open the door,” he recalls.

Failing that, his friend had a relative living within walking distance and so they decided to try their luck. It was way past midnight and their target was an outside kitchen with a cold fireside.

“We made the best of a board bench where we lay till morning light. Apparently, my aunt, an early riser, came in and caught us snoring. We got breakfast and a stern warning as brawta.”

But, life was not to change very soon, until the police were involved. Being a minor and under no adult care, the door was wide open to a place of safety. So, the law had to take its course.

“I was caught up in the Family Court and it was recommended that I should be placed in a home of safety. There were several in Jamaica, including Homestead in Stony Hill and Alpha Boy’s Home in Kingston.”

This was a life-changing experience for the young teenager.

(Photo contributed)