On November 18, Jamaica isn’t just playing Curaçao. Jamaica is playing history, heartbreak and hope – all in ninety minutes.
This is not just “a next match.”
This is a tallawah test.
On this date in 1997, a likkle rock inna di Caribbean shook up the football world and marched proudly to France ’98. Now, on that same date, after Hurricane Melissa mash up zinc, soil and spirit, we stand at another crossroads.
Will we bow?
Or will we show the world, once again, what tallawah really looks like?
Tallawah Means the Scoreline Can’t Tell the Whole Story
A win on November 18, 2026 would be more than a World Cup ticket.
It would mean that, on the same date we first qualified, Jamaica rose again under the shadow of the biggest storm in our history and said:
- “We small, but we nah back down.”
- “We battered, but we still brave.”
- “We shaken, but we still strong.”
It would tell every child born long after France ’98 that Jamaican greatness is not a one-time fairy tale. It is a living, breathing, tallawah spirit—passing from generation to generation like a treasured story:
From the youth juggling a ball on a dusty lane in Spanish Town…
To the girl dribbling through puddles in Portmore…
To the second-generation Jamaican in Toronto, wrapped in the flag in freezing weather…
They are not just watching history.
They are part of it.
Tallawah Support: From Yaad to Every Yard Abroad
That is why your support on November 18 matters, whether you’re:
- In the National Stadium, feeling the concrete shake like thunder
- In a New York bar, where patois and bassline drown out the cold outside
- In a London flat, with kettle boiling and flag draped over the sofa
- In a Toronto basement, heater blazing but the vibes pure island
- In a Montego Bay living room, where every shout rattles the window
Every flag you raise.
Every post you share.
Every shout of “Come on, Jamaica!”
Every whispered prayer…
All of it feeds the tallawah energy that tells our players:
“Unnu nuh out deh alone. We deh yah wid unnu.”
Football is more than tactics and formations.
It’s spirit. It’s vibration. It’s belief.
On November 18, that belief must wrap itself around the Reggae Boyz like a second skin.
From Storm Damage to Tallawah Determination
Hurricane Melissa didn’t just tear roofs and flood roads.
It tested our core.
Families had to start over.
Communities had to rebuild from nearly nothing.
“Resilient” stopped being a buzzword and became a daily mission.
So imagine the message a World Cup spot would send in this season:
- “We took the lashes of wind and water…”
- “We buried our dead and dried our tears…”
- “We patch back we life piece by piece…”
- “And we still step out pon di world stage.”
That’s tallawah.
A win on this date, after this storm, would preach a sermon to every Jamaican, home and abroad:
We are not finished.
We are not forgotten.
We are still here—still fighting, still dreaming, still dangerous.
One Island. One Diaspora. One Tallawah Family.
On November 18, we don’t just need fans – we need a global tallawah family.
We need:
- The nurse in London who clocks a long shift, but still finds a way to stream the match.
- The college student in Florida who turns their dorm into a mini-stadium.
- The taxi driver in Kingston who keeps the radio loud so the whole street can hear the commentary.
- The elder in Mandeville who remembers 1997 and quietly says, “Lord, do it again.”
This is deeper than football.
It’s about identity.
About pride.
About reminding ourselves and the world that Jamaica’s spirit cannot be washed away, no matter how hard the rain falls.
One island, one diaspora, one voice – rooted in one tallawah spirit.
How to Show Your Tallawah on November 18
You might not put on the jersey and run out on the pitch, but you still have work to do:
- Wear the colours. Black, green and gold to work, school, supermarket, gym. Let people see that something is happening.
- Turn spaces into stadiums. Living rooms, community centres, small bars, big halls—anywhere there’s a screen can become a match-day cauldron.
- Use your online voice. Instead of tearing down players, build them up. Flood timelines with encouragement, memories, and hope. Tag your friends. Tag the Boyz. Let them feel the love.
- Pass on the story. Tell the children about 1997. Tell them about France ’98. Tell them about Hurricane Melissa. Show them how this moment connects all three.
Because when a tallawah nation believes together, something shifts. The players feel it. The world notices.
When the Reggae Boyz Walk Out…
Because when the Reggae Boyz walk onto that pitch on November 18, they must feel it:
The echo of 1997 roaring from the stands.
The ache of Melissa still fresh in our hearts.
The stubborn, unshakable tallawah spirit of a people who refuse to lie down.
They must feel that they are not just representing 11 men in green jerseys.
They are carrying:
- The market woman who lost her stall in the storm.
- The youth studying by candlelight because the power not fully back.
- The farmer replanting after flood.
- The diaspora dreamers in Brooklyn, Brixton, Brampton and beyond.
On November 18, 2026, the scoreboard will tell one story.
But the noise from Kingston to Canada, from MoBay to Miami, from London to Los Angeles, will tell a bigger one:
Jamaica still deh yah.
Jamaica still tallawah.
And Jamaica still write him own history.