Black stiletto heels they were, they had been a gift. Sling backs to be exact; the toe of the shoe forming a perfect point, and the heel was dangerously high. I looked down at my shoes, they seemed to have transformed my feet into something unusual. My feet belonged in brown sandals or running shoes, and this was certainly a departure. As I tiptoed along the street trying not to look completely odd, worrying about the damage I might be causing to a running injury, I gained a whole new respect for those women who wore these things intentionally.

My surroundings were as foreign as my shoes, I was in another country. Yet, as the night progressed Jamaican music filled the room and we began to dance. For a moment I relaxed and danced to the rhythm, and in order to do so I walked to the edge of the dance floor, as I have done so many times before, and took off my shoes. Now, let's get this party started! The man dressed in some kind of uniform got to me before my waist even completed a single rotation, "Excuse me, you can't do that." I was confused, I was not executing the 'dutty wine', just a regular one. "It is against regulations to take off your shoes on the dance floor."

Enforcing the rule

I attempted to argue but that made no difference, someone had made a rule and this employee who was possibly on dance floor patrol could not break it, he not did even seem to want to, so that I could gyrate morefreely.

Convinced this man was gay, and/or insane, I went back to my stilts, stuffed my reluctant feet back into them, and jerked a few more restrained moves on the floor. So as not to have my spirits quashed I did what any party girl would do, got a drink. The bar looked like a scene from the immigration hall. People in a neat line waiting patiently, there was about three feet between the bar and the first person in line, as if there was an invisible yellow line that we were all waiting behind.

What happened to the mad disorganised mob that pulses toward the bar, where is the skill in getting a drink if all you have to do is wait your turn, the art of easing to the front, slipping in quickly as someone leaves? No need for the use of charm to get the bartender's attention, and when that fails, the ability to climb under the bar and get your own? It all seemed a little dull.

Appreciating Jamaica's freedom

No chance of getting tipsy and acting inappropriately for the shock appeal, there is also a patrol that cuts you off from drinking once you wobble, something, thanks to my shoes, I was destined for. So as I entered into a debate with the manager about the personal rights of adults to have a drink, and/or dance without shoes, I started to appreciate the freedom of Jamaica.

It seems that while in some ways we are crippled by our lawlessness and have seen where our refusal to conform to regulations has resulted in almost anarchy, yet the flexibility that our people enjoy, and are always willing to exercise, does keep things interesting, and in some ways gives us more creativity and freedom. I have always bemoaned our indiscipline as a society and believed that the only protection from injustice is law enforcement, but perhaps too much protection would make Jamaica a dull place.

While I would love to see a country where everyone would be free to walk any street, the freedom to express yourself no matter who you were and the freedom to succeed honestly no matter what your background, I would also never like to see the day when we can't dance with bare feet!