There’s something about standing on a Jamaican hillside. Perhaps it’s in Hanover, or Saint Catherine, where the air carries the scent of pimento, the hills roll lazily into the horizon, and somewhere just beyond view, a church steeple rises above a cluster of rooftops. It’s a vision that arrests the imagination—a meeting place for history, land, and faith, all interwoven like the threads of an old tapestry. In Jamaica, to speak of land is to speak of history; to speak of the church is to speak of resilience; to speak of home is to speak of God. And often, the three are inseparable.
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