I’m a Londoner in Jamaica. Well, at least that’s where I was raised. But here? On the streets of Kingston, at a corner shop in Mandeville, in clubs and casual encounters alike — they call me “English.”
At first, I found it puzzling. After all, we all speak English, don’t we? But it dawned on me quite quickly — this wasn’t about the language. This was about identity. Here in Jamaica, people tend to call it as they see it. No frills, no complications. A white house is the White House. A man with dreadlocks is simply “Rasta.” A bald man? “Baldy.” A painter’s assistant might just get nicknamed “Brush.” It’s not rude — it’s cultural shorthand. A kind of warm, pragmatic categorisation of the world.
So, of course, I became “English.”
And it got me thinking.
If I’m of Jamaican parentage, if I’ve spent a great deal of time here, if I even know the backroads of St. Elizabeth better than some people born and raised in the parish — then why am I still seen as “English”? Where do I truly belong? Where is home? Am I merely a visitor in the land of my ancestors? Or something else entirely?
And I’m not alone. This is the quiet question that many returnees, especially those from the UK, US, and Canada, carry in their hearts. We return with a sense of pride. A yearning for reconnection. A deep respect for the land of our roots. But we also return with expectations — some of which are difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile with the realities on the ground.
The Returnee Identity Crisis
To be a returnee in Jamaica is to live in a liminal space. You are Jamaican — your blood, your values, your accent (sometimes) — but you are also foreign. You sound different. You move differently. You may use phrases like “innit” or “bloke” without thinking. You may marvel at the richness of the culture, the friendliness of the people, and the natural beauty of the island, but you’ll also fumble when it comes to navigating bureaucracy, or adapting to the heat, or dealing with deeply embedded social hierarchies.
It’s a quiet but constant dissonance.
And perhaps the most challenging part is this: being Jamaican isn’t just about ancestry. It’s about shared experience. About having endured the same economic hardships, navigated the same school system, grown up with the same understanding of authority, street smarts, and local politics. It's about being in the rhythm of the culture — from the tone of voice to the body language to the way one negotiates in a shop or lines up (or doesn’t) for a bus.
Returnees often find themselves on the outside looking in — admired in some ways, but never quite of the place.
Jamaica’s Harsh Economic Realities
And then there’s the question of livelihood. It’s one thing to want to reconnect with your roots. It’s another thing entirely to build a sustainable life here.
Jamaica is a complex society. Beautiful. Resilient. Vibrant. But also economically strained, politically fraught, and layered with challenges that don’t always make space for returning sons and daughters.
Let’s face it: there is a real lack of jobs. Especially for young professionals — and even more so for returnees hoping to find a position comparable to what they had overseas. Jamaica doesn’t always value international experience. Degrees from foreign universities may be respected, but they don’t necessarily open doors. Networks are everything. And if you weren’t here to build those networks, you’re starting from scratch.
For many returnees, this becomes the breaking point. You sell your house in Birmingham or Toronto. You buy land in St. Catherine or a fixer-upper in Montego Bay. You tell yourself it’s your new start. And then, three years in, frustrated by stagnant income, a lack of professional community, and isolation from friends and family abroad, you quietly pack up and return “home” — to the UK, the US, or Canada.
Gatekeepers and Glass Ceilings
One can’t discuss this without mentioning the gatekeepers. The unspoken (and sometimes spoken) reality is that opportunities in Jamaica are carefully guarded. Whether in the private sector, government, or even NGOs — many jobs are filled before they’re ever advertised. Hiring is personal. It's political. It’s local.
There’s also an emotional element. Jamaica has an unemployment problem. So if a position opens up, and there are qualified locals already struggling to find work, the idea of giving that job to someone from “foreign” — even if they are Jamaican by heritage — is met with resistance.
And so, even if you’re more qualified, better connected internationally, and ready to contribute meaningfully — the invisible barriers remain. Unless you’re invited in, it’s hard to break through.
The Clash of Expectations
Returnees often arrive with ambition — and rightly so. We’ve seen systems that work. We’ve operated in structured environments. We’ve lived in countries where a nine-to-five pays the bills, where customer service is prompt, where internet doesn’t randomly drop for hours at a time. We want to bring these efficiencies to Jamaica — to uplift, to contribute, to build.
But this good intention often meets a harsh wall of resistance. People don’t always want to be changed. They don’t want to be told how things “should” be done by someone they see as an outsider. Even when your suggestions are genuinely helpful, they can be perceived as criticism. As a returnee, you must navigate this tightrope with humility and patience — or risk being rejected outright.
Real Estate: A Place to Belong?
So what does all of this mean for real estate?
In some ways, property becomes the one tangible anchor. A piece of the island you can truly call your own. For returnees, owning land or a home in Jamaica is not just a financial investment — it’s emotional. It represents legacy. Identity. A chance to lay down roots.
And yet, the challenges persist. Building in Jamaica requires stamina. Contractors may vanish mid-project. Permits may be delayed for months. Costs spiral. Neighbours dispute boundaries. And if you’re not on the ground regularly, things can quickly go off-track.
Even buying an existing home comes with its own risks — title issues, informal tenancies, fluctuating property values depending on development in the area. Then there's the question: who’s going to live in this house when you’re abroad? Can you trust a tenant? Will your cousin really look after the place?
Despite the odds, many still buy. Some succeed. They build beautiful homes with sea views and fruit trees in the yard. They retire in peace. Others struggle — returning to the UK disillusioned, selling the property at a loss, or leaving it empty to become a ghost house on a hill.
A Bigger Conversation
At the heart of this is a national issue: Jamaica has not yet created a clear, structured pathway for returnees to reintegrate. No formal job placement programs. No mentorship schemes to help returnees navigate the social landscape. No tax breaks or incentives to lure back skilled professionals. No central agency offering guidance on property, investment, or business compliance.
In contrast, countries like Ghana and Rwanda have initiated well-publicised diaspora return programs. Jamaica, for all its global connections and history of emigration, has not yet embraced the returnee as a national asset.
And that’s a missed opportunity.
Returnees bring money. Ideas. International connections. Industry best practices. They can be the bridge Jamaica needs to truly elevate — not just economically, but socially and technologically.
But for that to happen, the ground must be laid. Systems must be strengthened. Corruption must be tackled. Red tape must be slashed. Local professionals must be prepared to collaborate, not compete. And there must be a national shift toward inclusion — not suspicion.
Final Thoughts: Where Is Home?
So, where does that leave me?
Still “English,” I suppose. Still navigating. Still reconciling pride with frustration. Still walking that line between belonging and otherness.
But maybe that’s okay. Maybe being a returnee is about carving out your own meaning of home — not waiting for full acceptance, but choosing your place regardless.
Maybe it’s about understanding that identity is layered — and that we can be both Jamaican and “foreign,” both insider and outsider, both deeply connected and slightly removed.
And maybe, just maybe, the real opportunity lies in this in-between space. In being the bridge. In being the one who sees both sides. In planting roots — even if the soil is hard and the sun is scorching.
Because in the end, home isn’t just where you’re accepted.
It’s where you choose to stay — and build anyway.