JAMAICA CLOSET DOOR FLY YAH NUNG?+ OTHER THINGS

CONFESSIONS OF A DANCEHALL EX WIFE PART 19

Someone once said - Almost all of our sorrows spring out of our relations with other people. For two days, after the funeral service, I remained inside. My mind was flooded with all sorts of thoughts. Marvin JR was Marco’s son, there was no denying it. The eyes, the face, seeing them together. DNA aside, Kelly would have been the only one who could clear this thing up. But could she, if she was alive? Did she even know who the father of the child was? But that is neither here nor there because she will never be able to say. Who else suspected or knew? Did Marvin know? Why was Kelly killed? Who killed her? Only one investigation was going on that I knew of and that was Marvin’s and he was still in jail. Could he have done it? Did he suspect that he wasn’t the father? Marvin had a temper, he was fucked up when he wanted, he was capable of everything and anything. Kelly loved Marvin JR, that was for sure. Would she have done anything to rock the boat. Did she rock the boat? Marco. I didnt want to think about that. Marco was loving, thoughtful, charming. No, not Marco. After I arrived at home, after the funeral, Marco called on me on that special phone. “You alright”, he asked, concerned. But was he? I had to get a grip on things. Esther came to mind and I quickly pushed her words aside. “Have a terrible headache, lying down, chilling. Woke up this morning feeling sick and dizzysih, but that pass still, just the headache lingering”, was my reply. My ailments were true. I was alone at home as Miss Marcia had some family issues to sort out in Waterhouse and Moms was at home. Somehow I suspected that he knew this. “Want me to come over and bring anything for you?” This was the side of Marco I knew, the caring side, the side that made me feel comfortable, relaxed, special. “If you want to, but I am alright still, just need some rest”. “Ok, will check on you later”, and with that he hung up.




Kelly gone, Marvin in jail, Marco at large. Marco free. Marco running things – that is if you follow what is being said on the streets. At least that was how Sharon put it. What was there to run? Up until now I have no idea about Marvin’s business interests, if any, in Jamaica. I knew absolutely nothing about that side of him. We were together, we fought, we fucked, we wined and dines, we lived together, we shared thoughts with each other. But I didnt know how he made his money. Not from his lips. Marco was supposedly taking care of things, but what things I cannot say. Wilful blindness? Ignorance? Before, it wasn’t necessary to know, but it was surely reaching that stage where knowledge is the key, and I am locked out at this moment. Marvin called for the two days but didnt visit. Just checking up with his woman, according to one of his statements.



The Superintendent called me and asked me to attend his office. The fuckery never stops. I asked him if I needed a lawyer. He said no, just wanted us to talk about some progress in the investigations. I put on some clothes and made my way downtown. As I waited outside his office, I saw the same officer who assisted me with the boxes on my last visit. The one who reminded me to follow Marco’s advice and relax. He was in plain clothes, his gun holster on his side, smiling. He asked me how I was doing and we started talking about little things. He then said that he had to go and walked off. He then stopped and came over to me and said “Before you rush into anything just think things over and it will be ok”. I knew jack shit of what he was talking about. I was about to say something to him but he quickly walked off telling me that we will speak again soon. First Esther, now this policeman. From the other day is like pure arbitrary people telling me things and no one is coming straight. Must be the water or something. After waiting for half hour, the Supe invited me inside. There were other persons in there with him. A man who identified himself to be a worker at some department or the other in the Ministry of Finance and a white man who called himself Mr. Bartley. The Supe was sitting around his table and the men standing in a corner, looking at the both of us. First thing that came to mind was to clam up, teh second, that this thing is getting big, whatever it was. But what is there to worry about? I am not a wrongdoer. I am not hiding or have anything to hide. Plus, if I was in trouble the Supe would have told me to get a lawyer. Right? The Supe apologised for the long wait and handed me the bankbooks and cards that were taken during the raid. I thanked him very much. The Supe asked me how I was doing. Fine, just fine. He told me that for the purpose of tying up some loose ends, I would have to give a statement about the raid. No problem, what type of statement? Supe explained that the statement would basically tell all that happened, from my point of view, as to how the raid went. No problem. The white man, who had a strong British accent, handed the Supe a small folder and the Supe removed a document from it and handed it to me. I looked at it and saw that it consisted of several typed pages with my name and address at the top. Hold up. I asked the Supe what this was. He said that it was my statement. The officer in the waiting room flashed before my eyes. “Supe, before I rush into anything I would like to think things over. Will that be ok?” I asked nervously. No problem. I asked for a few days and got up. The man from the Ministry of wherever opened the door and as I stepped through, he gently removed the folder that was still in my hand. “You will get this when you return”, were his parting words as he closed the door. Ten minutes. That was how long I was in the office. I didnt get the chance to read the document. It consisted of ten pages and a space for me to sign at the end of each page. I did see Marvin’s name mentioned as I skimmed the pages. What really got me nervous though, was Colin’s name that was somewhere in it. What Colin had to do with the raid. He was Marvin’s cousin living in London, he attended college, he was jovial, fat. What did he have to do with the raid?



I drove to New Kingston. I have been having the strong urge for cheese cake since the other day. The fridge at home was now cheese cake free. Miss Marcia had made one for a church sister who did not collect it so I finished it. Never ate so much cheesecake like how I have been eating it from the other day. Well, it did happen once, not so long ago..... Fuck that, I just wanted cheese cake, just like how some people feel for jerk pork or others for ice cream. Sitting in the cafe, I got a call from Mr. Man and I told him where I was. Haven’t seen him since the funeral. Somehow I wanted to see him. I had to see him. Two days had passed. He was still mine. I was his. This man was the primetime feature in my life now and I couldn’t escape that. I didnt want to escape it. He was mine, every good, bad, mysterious, fucked up, cunning, sexy part of him belonged to me. And Bumpy. And whoever else. But he cared for me and that was all that mattered. I felt the presence behind me and the strong arms on my shoulders. The familiar cologne was subtle. Not intoxicating, not faint, just enough to announce that he had arrived. He squeezed my shoulders and then sat across from me. He ordered something to drink. We looked at each other. No words. He smiled and asked “How long you feel that we can go on like this?” Like this how? What him talking about? Me being the woman on the side, him being in an iron clad relationship with Bumpy, being the much in love family man? The disaster we call a relationship? “Till its time to stop”, was all I could say. “You want to stop now?” he said as a matter of fact. He sipped on his drink, his eyes briefly leaving me and appeared to be scanning the room. “What you coming off from Marco? Tell mi. Please. Cause yuh must be coming from off someting why yuh bringing this up. Wat now? All of a sudden you develop a conscience bout us? Yuh want me to walk away and forget that we have someting?”. I was getting upset, very upset, but not loud. “B, mi not saying dat, mi just want to know where you stand?”, calmly, still sipping on his drink. I was now upset. Too much was happening from the other day and now this.

“Where I stand? Where I stand is that both of us have something going on and if your attitude is to just turn me on and turn mi off, then might as well wi call it quits cause mi cant tek too much of this shit right now”, I tried to remain quiet. It wasn’t working. Everything was now riding my chest and I was on the verge of just bawling out, hoping and praying that the madness of the past few weeks would disappear or turn out to be a very bad dream. Marco looked at me. “B, is just that we not seeing each other as I would like. I really miss you but I not sure if you missing me. Its just that I have to think about us, if you feel comfortable, if you want to move on, back to your life with Marvin, or with Andre”. That last statement shot straight to my heart. I knew he was changing gears in his argument, but that last part just threw me off totally. Andre. I haven’t seen Andre since the funeral and he hasn’t called. Andre. “Look here, Andre and I are just on casual speaking terms. Mi nuh interested in him. Where this coming from? What Andre has to do with us?”, I demanded. “Just asking. What happen? I cant ask you anything? We cant just sit and talk, have a little going over of where we stand with each other? B, mi rate you real bad. You just wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t do anything to upset you or hurt you and I know that you feel the same way about me. Mi just talking B, just talking”, calm and soothing. He reached across and touched my hand and I squeezed his. This man had me weak. He had me in a trap and I didnt want to be free. He knew it. And he was on a mission and I just didnt care. “Lets go”, he said and got up. As we passed the cashier, I stopped to pay the bill. She waved me away, indicating the bill was already settled.



As we strolled to the car that was parked outside, I saw Frassman behind the wheel. Here I was, holding the hands of my man, my strong handsome man, my caring thoughtful man. My Marco. I was now positive that I did not glimpse the names Marco and Kelly mentioned in bold on page three of the statement that was handed to me by the Superintendent of Police.
*Article written by Belly Bang*

CONFESSIONS OF A DANCEHALL EX WIFE PART 18

It is said that our attitude towards life determines life’s attitude towards us. Esther stepped into the church wrapped in attitude, and in red. From the feathered contraption on the head, to the form hugging dress that showed every curve, crease and bulge, to the shoes that was one size too small and 2 inches too high for a woman her size. As she marched up the aisle, chin up, eyes behind the sunglasses, gum smacking between the lips, everyone looked on. What the fuck is she going to do this time was the question that was passing through my mind. Esther was not a simple woman. She know how to get any party going, how to build vibes. Definitely a crowd puller. But she was also the main attraction whenever the shit hits the fan. The church was hot, the fans weren’t helping, the humidity was rising, suits were getting uncomfortable and those in cheap material were scratching like rass. And Esther was now here. She made way to a pew ahead of me, looked at the poor man who was sitting at the end, and he immediately squeezed to the left, and she sat. When the Lord spoke about blessed are the peace makers, Esther was too busy fighting battles to let that sink in. Marco and Bumpy were seated ahead of her. They had arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Marco was in a suit, handsome, quiet, a masculine presence. Bumpy dressed in a black and white outfit. We were all requested to wear black and white as the theme shades for the funeral. I was in a simple white blouse and a short black skirt as I knew that the day was going to be long and the temperature wasn’t looking pretty based on what the weatherman on RJR said in the morning. Paul and Prince sat beside me. We travelled together in the Range as separate vehicles would have been a waste of time given the expected crowd. The girls were in my pew and Sharon was busy clicking away with the camera on her cell phone. My phones were turned off. Marco was here, Marvin was in still in jail. Didnt expect any calls, especially not during this solemn occasion. Andre Blingers, Kelly’s younger brother, was in the front pew, holding Marvin JR. Beside him were his other brothers and sisters and their parents and other family members. The family took up about four of the front pews on either side of the aisle. As Kelly’s cousin, Esther was expected to sit with the family. To think of it, it would have been better that she is up there for at least if anything should happen it would be better that her family do the restraining. The church was located along Washington Boulevard and Kelly’s parents were members there. It was capable of seating around 1500 persons and it had a balcony. When I arrived, the balcony was already jammed with those who preferred to get a good vantage point of the proceedings. Downstairs was nearly full and outside was crowded as many opted to pose and mingle on the outside instead of getting a seat. The ushers consisted of church members as well as friends of the family who had volunteered. The funeral was being recorded by several persons who had set up their equipment around the church.




Despite all that happened in the past between Marvin and Kelly, his cheating, her pregnancy, the bitchiness of her friends, the stress, shame and public scandal, I had to attend. She was in some way family, the mother of my man’s child. I learnt a long time ago that we do not carry a grudge against the dead. Gone too soon. Or is it that her time had come? Whatever it was, it was all fucked up. A number of persons from the dancehall fraternity, dancers, deejays, promoters and groupies were in attendance, but they were the minority. Looking around, I saw alot of strange faces, persons who lived “regular” lives. These regular persons were those who had not become entrapped in the dancehall lifestyle and appeared to be free from the effects of one too many hennessy mixes. Occasions like this remind us that we are but flesh and blood. Kelly was the dancehall darling, the girl who loved being in the spotlight, the girl who was present at every drum beat with a smile on the face and the swing in her hips. Reflecting, I remember the two times we met in London. She never showed me any bad face. She was ok, humble, down to earth. To think about it, I was probably the cold and wretched one. The last time I saw her at Thunder’s party, she was the one who made the approach, who was sociable. Was she trying to reach out to me? Was she really that nice a person, despite the shit?

It was the day after Marco told me that Kelly was missing that the details started emerging. Kelly left Marvin JR, her baby, with her parents. That was the Monday evening. That was not unusual. She told them that she was going to sort out something and would be back soon. Kelly left in a car, driven by someone else, no one knew who. A white tinted Toyota Corolla, just like any other non-descript vehicle. That was around 5:00 p.m. Sometime after 9:00 p.m., when she didnt show up, the parents started calling her phone. No Kelly. Midnight, no Kelly. Her phone was ringing unanswered. Soon, it was going straight to voicemail. By morning, the parents were worried. They went by her apartment, it was locked and no one answered. They called her brother, Andre. He didn’t know where she was either as he was in Negril with friends and hadn’t seen her or spoken to her since he left Kingston a few days ago. Known friends were called but no one saw her. There were reports of her being spotted in downtown Kingston the previous night. That was unconfirmed. Several anxious persons gathered at the parents home. Kelly was bright, outgoing, loved by many and known to most. She was a personality. She was missing. The Police were notified and a missing persons report made. The police went to her apartment and after forcing the door open, discovered the place ransacked. Andre Blingers returned to Kingston and joined in the search for his sister. The morgue was checked, as also police stations, hospitals, clinics, everywhere, no Kelly. Not for long though. Thirty six hours after leaving her son, Kelly was found in a shallow grave in Bull Bay. She was shot once to the back of the head. We were all stunned, shocked. I cried when I heard. I am sure that many wept. The news of her death spread quickly and soon it was in the papers, on the radio and on tv. Kelliesha Marie Pendegrast, the second to last child for Mr and Mrs Wilton Pendegrast, business operators, was dead. No suspects. Not yet. No leads. For now. Why would anyone kill her? She was not involved in any controversy that we know of. But the rumour mill got off at full speed. I did not escape it. Her involvement in Marvin and my jealousy were all raised. But that angle, along with several others quickly died down and something graver took its place. Kelly was involved in something. An investigation, an ongoing police investigation. No one knew the details. Pure hush hush. Not even the great news carrier Sharon could get any details, real or fake. Just that Kelly was involved in something serious.



The funeral was held within a week of the discovery of her body. The remains were cremated and placed in an urn for display at the church. The service moved quickly. Tributes flowed from relatives, friends and associates. After the service, we were all gathered in the parking lot and on the church grounds, chatting, remembering, catching up. From the corner of my eye I saw the red confusion making its way through the crowd, her eyes fixed on me. Jesus!! Did this mad bitch think that I had something to do with Kelly’s death. Esther’s eyes never moved from mine as she said her excuses and nudged people from her way. I was speaking to Paul when she came over and told him to make a move, which he did. This crazy ass woman was really going to make a scene on the church property? “My girl, mi have one ting fi seh to you”, she said sternly but quietly. “Mi want yuh fi be careful of di people dem inna yuh life. Dem nuh fi real, dem ah paygon. Yeah, yuh and Kelly did inna unno wrangling, but dat was that. But is wranglings and hard ears mek dem fuck her up. My gal, mi naw guh inna it. Watch yuh movements wid dem people round yuh cause ah when river still that its di most dangerous. Likkle more”. With that, she made her way into the crowd. She didnt disappear into the crowd. She was way too red, too obvious, too fat that. Esther was also known to be brutally honest. Paul returned beside me, chatting some shit, trying to discuss something to cover up his cowardice in the face of Esther’s order. What was she talking about? Esther just came up to me like some reader woman, shot off a warning and shuffled on.



Marco was now holding Marvin JR and Bumpy was beside him. Marco held the child close to his chest and seemed at ease. Kelly’s parents were talking to Bumpy and Andre was somewhere around the place. I then looked across at and saw Esther. She was staring at the Marvin JR, or was it Marco. Couldn’t tell. She looked upset. Bitter. Esther then looked at me and I could just make out that she hissed her teeth. She then walked away and headed towards the gate. Looking back at Marco, I finally confirmed that the remarkable resemblance between father and son. Marco looked at me. His fixed on me, piercing . He held Marvin JR closer and smiled.
*Article written by Belly Bang

WE WAA HEAR DI NEWS!!!! REPORTED LIKE THIS-

He was the Robin Hood- like ganja-for- guns gangster who wielded bloody and fearsome power in Jamaica, authorities say. But the rise of drug lord Christopher "Dudus" Coke may have had its start with a business snub from the eldest son of reggae legend Bob Marley.
Last week, Coke was finally brought to the United States to face weapons charges that could jail him for life, ending weeks of murderous riots that claimed 76 lives when police tried to arrest him.
In the early 1990s, as Coke allegedly took the reins of the family business in the Jamaican slums of Tivoli Gardens, there was one deal that ignited his rage, according to "Born Fi' Dead" author Laurie Gunst. Ziggy Marley, Bob's now-41-year-old son, was building a studio almost on the border of Coke's territory, trying to provide aspiring musicians with a community base.
"Ziggy didn't give the construction work to Dudus and his posse, so the Tivoli don was taking his revenge," Gunst wrote. A series of killings cowed Marley, just as it expanded Dudus' territory and consolidated his rule.
Coke's rise in the underworld was swift -- and deadly, authorities say.
His father, Lester -- known as "Jim Brown" -- was the architect of the Jamaican crime dynasty, twisted from a quiet, soccer-loving boy into a "bad, bad man" after surviving a shooting in his teens, a childhood friend told The Gleaner newspaper. "That's when everything changed."
The elder man fashioned his "Shower Posse" -- so-named for spraying victims with bullets -- into a drug-dealing conglomerate that employed his three sons. The youngest was Christopher, who earned his nickname "Dudus" -- pronounced DUD-us -- because he wore an African-style shirt favored by Jamaican World War II hero and Cabinet minister Dudley Thompson.
"It's basically a family thing -- gangster royalty," said a law-enforcement source familiar with the Coke clan.
The gang rose to prominence on fear and intimidation, gaining a reputation for killing at the slightest offense.
US investigators believe the Shower Posse was responsible for approximately 1,400 drug-related slayings in the United States during the 1980s drug wars.
DUDUS, born Michael Christopher Coke in 1969, "had a brother named Jah T, who was sort of slated to take over but he was subsequently murdered in a shootout," the source said. "There was another brother, Chris Royal. He also died in a shootout."
Their sister was also gunned down. The father was still in charge in 1992 when the United States indicted him on conspiracy charges and he was arrested in Jamaica.
The day before he was set to be extradited, "his jail cell went up in flames and he died," said the law-enforcement source. The violent mystery was never solved and no one was ever charged.
With no one else to take over, Dudus grabbed control of the family business -- and soon became one of the world's most dangerous drug lords, according to the Justice Department.
And, like the American gangsters of the '20s and '30s, he operated in the background, without flash or bling, forging loyalties, eliminating competitors and raking in millions.
Starting in 1994, the Shower Posse sold drugs by the ton, according to Coke's indictment, unsealed in May. One investigator estimated that the gang smuggled at least 2,200 pounds of marijuana -- and almost as much cocaine -- into the United States.
The pot, a mix of ultra-potent Jamaican and Mexican varieties, also got shipped to markets around the world.
"It's global," said the investigator. "It's pretty much anywhere you find Jamaican communities -- the UK, Canada and the United States."
The gang was open to creative payment plans -- cash was good, of course, but it also accepted guns, electronics and even clothing as " 'tribute' payments, in recognition of [Coke's] leadership and assistance," the indictment says.
For sneaking the product into the United States, Dudus preferred that his "mules" be female.
One Jamaican woman traveled to New York as a tourist, to buy clothes to sell back home -- and was ordered by Dudus to carry cocaine hidden in her body.
"If the girls refuse to do so, then their businesses will be threatened and the clothing they sell and the money they earn will be stolen," the woman told investigators.
All this information was gleaned from years of investigative work, which included phone taps that recorded Dudus arranging shipments of drugs and handguns.
But Coke isn't just an alleged kingpin -- he's a folk hero in the slums of Kingston, where citizens revere him for providing handouts to the poorest of the poor, neighborhood security and jobs through his legitimate businesses, including a music-event company.
He's also credited with helping to keep law and order by using his clout to punish crooks in an area where the government has little presence.
"He lives in a poor area, and because of his sale of cocaine, he basically plays the Robin Hood role," Jamaican-born lawyer David Rowe, a University of Miami adjunct professor, told CNN
"After God, then Dudus," one resident scrawled on a sign during the bloody manhunt for Coke. "Jesus died for us, so we will die for Dudus," another sign declared.
It's no accident that this jovial, stocky 42-year-old kingpin -- called "the president" and "the general" by his admirers -- sounds and acts much like "Dapper Don" John Gotti. Like the late mob don, Dudus appears the devoted father and community patriarch -- as kindhearted to his neighbors as he is deadly to rivals, ruling a global empire from a sprawling white mansion with purple roof and awnings, nestled amid squalor.
That two-story hilltop compound is where Coke plotted his political cover, supporting the prime minister's Labor Party and getting back millions in government grants for his firms after swinging the election for Jamaican Prime Minister Bruce Golding by delivering the slum vote.
It's also where Coke and his Shower Posse schemed to swamp New York with huge quantities of marijuana and cocaine, some sold in exchange for high-caliber American weapons used on the island to eliminate threats to Coke's fiefdom, law-enforcement sources said.
"To an outsider, it might look like, 'Damn, these guys are mean!' But being from Jamaica, you see it growing up. You see it all your life," one native arrested in New York told author Gunst. "I think maybe Hollywood had a part in the 'rude boy' thing, with the movies they put out, like certain Westerns. Jamaicans act out a lot of that stuff, want to be tough like outlaws."
BECAUSE of Dudus' po litical clout and sup port, Jamaican authorities waffled for months about whether to extradite Coke. But Prime Minister Golding finally gave into US pressure last month. His men headed to Dudus' compound -- and straight into a nightmare.
The slums rebelled. Re sisters piled junk cars onto roads, rigging them with homemade bombs or electric wires. Gang sters shot up police stations. Civilians flooded the streets.
"They don't know, if he's extradited, who will be there for them," Professor Rowe said. "There are mothers wondering, 'Who's going to buy my child lunch?' or 'If I get sick, who's going to pay my hospital bills?' "
Police responded with brutal abandon, killing more than 70 people -- some of whom were dragged into the streets and shot dead, their bodies left to rot, locals said.
Helana Pinnes, an elderly resident of Tivoli Gardens, said she saw army forces shoot two young men at a house across the street.
"They take them out of that house. They take them out and kill them," she told the Guardian of London. "There wasn't a shootout with anybody."
Another witness, Timothy Macintosh, said soldiers fired at unarmed residents. "Most of these people that died, they didn't fight," he said.
After five days of the siege, the United States warned Americans not to travel to Jamaica -- potentially a crippling blow to the nation's economy -- and the government gave up its search for the elusive drug lord.
On Wednesday, police finally prevailed.
Dudus had donned a comical, curly wig and was riding with a pal, the Rev. Al Miller, in a section of Kingston when the vehicle was pulled over at a checkpoint and he was arrested.
Coke claimed he was on his way to the US Embassy to surrender. On Friday, he pleaded not guilty in Manhattan Federal Court. He faces life in prison.
Once in the United States -- hauled here by the DEA in a Learjet -- Dudus claimed regret at the lives lost in the fighting during the search for him.

"I take this decision, for I now believe it to be in the best interest of my family, the community of western Kingston, and in particular the people of Tivoli Gardens and, above all, Jamaica," he said

Read more: http://www.nypost.com/p/news/international/drug_lord_brutal_rise_LDn1aR3kSTCsJQIiNZUL2H/0#ixzz0s3qXfOPa

DI OBSERVER'S BIG BIG INVESTIGATION- SHOWER POSSE PRESS PISSUP??

News

'Dudus wet himself'
Cop says former Tivoli strongman showed fear when captured
BY INVESTIGATIVE COVERAGE UNIT icu@jamaicaobserver.com
Sunday, June 27, 2010
FORMER Tivoli Gardens strongman Christopher 'Dudus' Coke wet his trousers when he ran into a group of policemen who took him into custody while he travelled with religious leader Rev Merrick 'Al' Miller in St Catherine last Tuesday, one law enforcer told the Sunday Observer.

Coke, 42, who is accused of being the leader of the ruthless Shower Posse, was travelling with Rev Miller along the Mandela Highway when police intercepted the sports utility vehicle, allowed Miller to leave and took Coke initially to the Spanish Town Police Station and later to Up Park Camp, the army's headquarters in Kingston.
A Jamaica Defence Force soldier secures a ballistc helmet on the head of Christopher ‘Dudus’ at the Spanish Town Police Station yesterday afternoon shortly after Coke was captured by police.
Miller was later charged with one count each of harbouring a fugitive and perverting the course of justice.
"The man p... up himself when him see the police," one member of the party which intercepted the vehicle told the Sunday Observer on condition that his name is not mentioned.
"Him just look so frighten with this wig and the woman glasses that you would never believe this was the same man who everybody say is bad and mighty," added the cop.
"He wasn't sweating and the vehicle had the air condition on, so you could clearly see the impression on his pants that some wetting was going on when we took him out. Rain was in the area, but it wasn't caused from that," the policeman said.
Deputy Superintendent of Police assigned to the constabulary's National Intelligence Centre Kevin Blake was non-committal when the Sunday Observer asked him about the matter last Friday, offering only that: "Well, let us say that it is the rainy season."
The wetting of trousers is nothing new to wanted men. Kevin Tyndale, better known as Richie Poo, reportedly wet himself when he was captured by police on February 12, 2005.
Tyndale became head of the Gideon Warriors gang, based in Papine, eastern St Andrew, after the capture of its former leader Joel Andem in May 2004.
"He wet his pants," a policeman who took part in the operation told the Sunday Observer at the time. "It was amazing to see a man whose name drives fear into many hearts, begging and pleading for his life," added the policeman who did not wish to be named.
"Even after he was handcuffed he kept begging the officers not to kill him, and when he was taken to the lock-up he thanked the police for not killing him," the cop added.
Tyndale -- who was a suspect in 19 major crimes including murder, shootings and robberies -- was accused of killing 56-year-old Ena Grant while she worshipped at a church in Land Lease, St Andrew, in June 2004. Police and eyewitness reports at the time said he entered the church, pointed the gun at the senior citizen, pulled the trigger, but the gun misfired. Amid the chaos that ensued, with worshippers fleeing, Tyndale corrected the problem on the firearm and shot Grant dead.
He was later convicted of murder, for which he was given a life sentence.He was also found guilty of wounding with intent, illegal possession of firearm and shooting with intent, and received separate sentences.
"It is a normal human reaction," said noted psychiatrist Dr Aggrey Irons in an interview.
"Such a situation is based on a lack of control... when there is a serious autonomic response, the autonomic nervous system just does that," he said. "It is not because you are a coward, but something happens at the time that raises your level of awareness very suddenly."
A medical doctor who opted for anonymity said that it was a natural reaction for something like that to occur, if that were the case with Coke.
"It can happen to normal individuals... the suddenness of that situation, where all the muscles relax and you lose control," said the doctor. "Under normal circumstances when you do not urinate on yourself, it is because your brain is sending out signals of control. It happens all the while to people who are fearful... it is a phobia."
Tyndale's predecessor Andem, was also reported by the police as showing signs of nervousness when he was captured.
"He was trembling like a badly-tuned truck," police superintendent Donald Pusey told the Observer at the time
http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/news/Dudus-wet-himself_7747334

SHOW STOPPERS/ TURN TABLE PAUSERS

Positive Affirmations & Vintage Reggae

Positive Affirmations & Vintage Reggae (Today's Featured Artiste: Garnett Silk)
9AM EST on www.mymangoradio.com
The Badd Exxperience: Reggae Riddims & Real Talk, weekends @ 9AM EST
www.facebook.com/baddnixx
www.twitter.com/baddnixx
www.myspace.com/baddnixx