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While most Bruins swaggered their way to Powell, Knudsen, or wherever our wayward academic careers seemed to be taking us; 6,000 miles away, on a Gilligan style island, way the hell in the middle of "out there," a few Bruins did the same. Only different. While you perhaps dealt with $7 parking, absurdly content Southern Californian weather and wading through a sea of freshmen, we, instead, traverse a small, but very real jungle (exotic creature noises and all) on the way to campus. 6 UCLA students along with about 20 other California kids are currently spending our not-so-lazy days trying to keep afloat at the University of the West Indies on the island country of Barbados (Caribbean). Among 260,000 African descendants no less.

The above was serious description and not an exaggeration. Behind the emerald turquoise waters on every Caribbean travel brochure, lies a tale that was genuinely untold to me until I arrived here two months ago. White sand beaches, honeymoon resorts and surreal fiery sunsets, albeit existent, play little to no role in the true everyday life of the Caribbean people. Although it would be highly irresponsible of me to generalize one way of life for the entire Caribbean region, I believe the gist will be communicated.

So there is this guy named Desmond who lives in what an American would term a "shack" on the upper side of the island. The only outstanding characteristic of the structure is the exceptionally large DirecTV dish hanging off the side of it. Desmond wakes up at 5:30 am every morning for a various number of reasons. He might be hungry, trying to get an early start before the temperature becomes unbearable, get some hours of consciousness in before his midday nap or just because he was bored sleeping. Those are all things he has to do before he sits down to watch lost, pink tourists drive by. This isn’t to say that the entire island population lives as such, but an exceptional number seem to. Seriously, though, the Caribbean stereotype originated on well-founded territory. However, those are remnants of a passing generation.

The modern islander is faced with a mountainous proposition: Grow up on a truly dinky island and do anything to feel like P. Diddy in status. The culture here is euphemistically flooded with Sean John, Phat Farm, Nelly & Kelly, images of LA rappers in pimped-out Ferraris, nothing further from their reality. While it is extremely difficult not to insert my bias, the upcoming generation of Afro-Caribbean islanders remarkably resembles the African American culture in Los Angeles. Every kid on this island wants to feel big and substantial. In the attempt, their society pays the price of material consumerism we know all too well at home. Many end up feeling badly about the social pressure and all they end up being able to do is turn their base up a little higher than the guy next to them. All the while, there is the constantly evident struggle to identify themselves as either African, European or Caribbean.

Perhaps some of you at home knew all this about the Caribbean, but I seriously just thought I was signing up for the beaches. There IS a whole world of issues out here and a whole bunch of struggling people right smack in the middle of this supposed "paradise." At the end of the day, the only paradise to be had, is the peace you make with yourself inside your mind.