I never imagined I’d be here. Not just here in the physical sense — tucked away in the serene hills of Monti della Tolfa, Italy — but “here” as in this version of myself. Free. Aligned. Creating.
I grew up in Kingston, Jamaica, with a path already laid out for me. From the time I could remember, the expectation was clear: I would become a medical doctor. There wasn’t much room for anything else. Not dreams, not deviation. That’s just how it was, especially for girls like me — smart, “science stream,” raised to meet benchmarks instead of discovering who we really were. But life, like water, has a way of carving out its own path — if you let it. Somewhere between the textbooks, chemistry labs, heartbreaks, cultural dissonance, and personal awakenings, I began to follow the currents of curiosity and creativity. And that eventually led me to aquaculture — an unexpected yet perfect marriage of my love for nature, innovation, and impact.
This is not a straight-line story. It’s a spiral — full of stops, returns, reinventions. And it’s through this spiral that I’ve found my true rhythm. Today, as a Fulbright Specialist, Caribbean Ocean activist, food entrepreneur, and founder of a global education hub, I’m rewriting the script not just for myself, but for the next generation of Caribbean girls who need permission to do it differently.
“Dr. Juli-Anne Royes Russo’s path has never followed a predictable tide. Though born in Kingston, she was just four when her family moved to Spanish Town in the 1970s — a move that left her growing up between two worlds, charting a future that, for a time, didn’t feel entirely her own. A path shaped by familial expectations and societal norms. A product of high-performing academic institutions like Immaculate Conception High School and the University of the West Indies, Juli-Anne was groomed to enter the medical field — not necessarily because she loved it, but because that was what bright, science-minded girls were supposed to do.
“My father always told me I’d be the one to go to medical school,” she recalls. “There really weren’t any other options presented.”
But it didn’t take long for her to realize that medicine wasn’t where she belonged. While volunteering at hospitals during her undergraduate years, Juli-Anne quickly concluded that the sterile halls and clinical routines didn’t align with her spirit. She longed for something more alive, more hands-on — a path that let her breathe deeply, move freely, and create with purpose. Being indoors all day felt stifling; she craved the outdoors, the kind of freedom only nature could offer.”That “something” found her in an unlikely place: the ocean. It started with a chance internship at Discovery Bay Marine Lab, where she supported research on algae, known as sea moss in Jamaica, even though she didn’t know how to swim at the time. What began as a spontaneous decision soon planted a lasting seed. For the first time, she felt a pull toward the sea, toward science that lived outside the lab, and toward a version of herself that didn’t fit into traditional definitions.
The next few years were a winding journey through research stations, fish farms, and missed opportunities. After completing her undergraduate studies, Juli-Anne considered veterinary medicine but was unable to secure funding. She landed roles at the Bodles Agricultural Research Station and later at Hellshire Hatcheries — Jamaica’s first shrimp hatchery — where she gained firsthand experience in aquaculture. Still in her 20s, she managed an ornamental fish farm, navigating not just the technical aspects of the work but also the gender dynamics of being a young Caribbean woman leading in a male-dominated space.
Her journey eventually took her to the United States, where she pursued her master’s and then her PhD in aquaculture science. The experience was both liberating and grounding. It gave her access to world-class research and global perspectives, but it also magnified the cultural disconnect she began to feel. Despite professional success, something inside her was still searching — for home, for meaning, for a way to bring it all full circle.
TheBeyondWoman: You’ve lived in Jamaica, the U.S., and now Italy. What has it meant to remain rooted in your Caribbean identity while living abroad?
Dr. Russo: That’s a powerful question, because it’s something I’ve wrestled with. When I moved to the States, I gained opportunity — but I also lost a sense of myself. I wanted to leave Jamaica so badly at first. I felt stuck — no job prospects, no green card, and most of my peers had already migrated. But when I finally left, and spent 22 years in the U.S., I found myself longing for home. That longing led me to journaling, which turned into my first book.
“Ironically, it was only after moving to Italy during the pandemic — to a place that looks nothing like Jamaica — that I felt an urgent pull to fully reclaim my Caribbean identity. I chose to live in Monti della Tolfa because, in its stillness and sense of community, it echoes the Jamaican countryside of the 1970s. The mountains, the sea, the slow pace — it all reminds me of places like St. Ann, where my father is from, and the familiar drive from York Castle to Ocho Rios.”
TheBeyondWoman: Let’s define your field a bit. What exactly is aquaculture?
Dr. Russo: Simply put, aquaculture is the farming of aquatic life — plants or animals — in water. That includes everything from tilapia to seaweed to ornamental fish. It can be freshwater or marine. It’s essentially agriculture in aquatic environments.
TheBeyondWoman: You founded the Caribbean Aquaculture Education and Innovation Hub. What’s the mission behind it?
Dr. Russo: The mission is twofold: education and cultural shift. I realized that every time I came home to Jamaica, people didn’t quite understand what I did or why it mattered. There’s still this perception that if you’re smart and in sciences, you should become a doctor. If you go into farming or aquaculture, maybe it’s because you didn’t have options. That mindset has to change. We launched during the pandemic as a virtual network — now we’re a nonprofit with a global board. We’re working to introduce aquaculture education into Jamaican and Caribbean universities by next year and expose students to innovative, sustainable career paths rooted in food security and environmental resilience.
TheBeyondWoman: Would you say aquaculture is a viable career path for Caribbean youth, especially financially?
Dr. Russo: Absolutely. But it needs structure and visibility. The industry is booming globally, but it’s still misunderstood here.
We keep talking about food security, but we’re still importing so much. Aquaculture offers real, scalable solutions — whether it’s farming tilapia in your backyard or launching a research-based seaweed business. But students need to see people who look like them succeeding in these spaces. That’s part of what drives me — making this visible, especially to young women.
Planting a Vision, Rebuilding a Sector
Dr. Juli-Anne Royes Russo is not simply participating in aquaculture — she is actively shaping its future in the Caribbean. With her nonprofit, the Caribbean Aquaculture Education and Innovation Hub, she’s not just introducing a new field of study — she’s laying the groundwork for a regional industry that doesn’t fully exist yet. And she knows the stakes are high.
“Aquaculture isn’t just about tilapia,” she emphasizes. “That’s the limited view we’ve been fed. But it can be cosmetics, pharmaceuticals, fish feed, water treatment solutions, even tourism experiences like aquariums and marine touch pools. This is a full sector. One the Caribbean has been largely absent from.”
Juli-Anne and her team are tackling the challenge on multiple fronts — curriculum development, entrepreneurial training, funding access, and international partnerships. The goal isn’t just to create jobs. It’s to shift mindsets. “We’re not just building a program — we’re building an industry,” she says. “And that requires a different kind of thinking. Jamaicans are incredibly innovative. We’re natural entrepreneurs. So why not give students the tools to become aquaculture business owners, product developers, or researchers — not just job-seekers?”
In partnership with universities in Jamaica and in the Caribbean (names still under wraps), the hub is designing a curriculum that bridges scientific knowledge with real-world application. Students will be trained to think beyond the lab, pitch ideas, build ventures, and collaborate globally. The initiative also includes plans for seed funding, mentorship, and even potential international exchange opportunities because, as Juli-Anne notes, “If I didn’t leave, I wouldn’t know what I know now.”
Her own career took a pivotal turn after her PhD, when she was hired by a company in New Jersey that developed pet skincare and fish feed products. It was there that she learned the intricacies of product formulation, packaging, marketing, and commercial scaling — an experience that broadened her vision of what aquaculture could become.
“Back then, I was formulating organic feeds and water treatment products for ornamental fish,” she says. “I realized aquaculture wasn’t just about farming. It was about innovation. And I wanted to bring that back to Jamaica.”
She envisions a future where universities partner with companies like Biomar — one of the global leaders in aquaculture feed — to create regional research hubs. Facilities where international brands could test and certify their products. Educational spaces where students could develop their own skincare lines using seaweed extracts. Interactive aquariums where Jamaican children could learn about coral reefs, sea cucumbers, and the biodiversity just beneath their shores.
Right now, all of that is missing. “In the Caribbean, we talk about the ‘blue economy’ — but we don’t fully understand it,” she explains. “We don’t see aquaculture as part of that conversation. We think it’s just fish in a pond. But it’s so much more.” What’s also missing is mentorship. And this, to Juli-Anne, is urgent. “There’s a whole generation of leaders in agriculture and science who are about to retire — many in the next three to five years. And we haven’t prepared the next generation to take their place. I’m working with 20- and 30-year-olds now who are hungry, brilliant — but they’re telling me they have no mentors. No one guiding them at the university level. That was my experience in the ‘90s. But why is it still the case today?”
Her Caribbean Aquaculture Hub now acts as a lifeline — not only connecting farmers and students to global networks, but also empowering young scientists to dream beyond borders and build futures rooted in purpose.
While aquaculture may still be an emerging sector in the Caribbean, it is women — quietly and powerfully — who are at its core. In her travels and research, Dr. Juli-Anne Royes Russo discovered something surprising: most of the middle managers, research scientists, and extension agents working in the space are women.
“The heads are mostly men. The field workers too. But when you look closely, the ones holding it together — the researchers, the scientists — are women. And most people don’t even realize it.” This discovery led her to launch Women in Caribbean Aquaculture (WiCA) — a network designed to break the silence around women’s experiences in the field and to give them space to connect, support, and grow.
It’s more than just a support group. It’s a movement. “We talk about everything from leadership and imposter syndrome to simply learning to speak up,” she explains. “Many of these women are brilliant. But culturally, we’ve been conditioned to shrink. To be quiet. And if you don’t unlearn that, it holds you back.” Through WiCA, women across the Caribbean, Latin America, and even Africa have found a space to belong — to tell the truth about what it’s like to rise in a male-dominated field and to find sisterhood while doing so.
Juli-Anne believes deeply in the power of networks because she had to build one from scratch. For much of her career — especially in the U.S. — she was the only Black woman in the room. No mentors. No mirrors. Just determination and the occasional friend to cry to on hard days. “We’re not meant to do this alone,” she says plainly. “Other industries have built-in support. We needed that in aquaculture — and now we’re creating it.” And yet, for all the barriers she’s broken and institutions she’s reshaped, Juli-Anne’s mission remains deeply human. It’s about giving young women — especially Caribbean women — permission to dream.
The Call to Dream
If you’re a young Caribbean woman reading this, and your dreams feel… different, I want you to know that it’s okay. Maybe they don’t make sense to the people around you. Maybe you’ve been told you’re “too quiet,” or that your path is “too male-dominated,” or “too ambitious.” Let me tell you: there’s no such thing.
I’ve sat in boardrooms where no one looked like me. I’ve been told “no” more times than I can count — by men, by professors, by institutions that didn’t understand what I saw in my mind. But I kept going. Not because it was easy. But because I knew who I was becoming.
You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. But you do have to believe in the whisper that keeps calling you forward.
Find your tribe. Ask for help. Build your network — even if it starts with just one person who sees you. The world will try to box you in, but I’m telling you, you can create something new. That’s what I did.
So go ahead and dream. Dream outrageously. Dream with purpose. Dream in full colour. The currents will carry you — if you dare to swim
The Colour Wheel of Her Becoming
Dr. Juli-Anne Royes Russo didn’t plan to write a memoir. But after years of navigating cultural dislocation, racial resistance, and the inner tension between science and creativity, the words had to come out.
“The Colour Wheel of My Dreams” was born from cold Februarys in New Jersey, long, grey months where she craved the vividness of her Jamaican roots. Her dreams were in colour. Her poems were prayers. And her journal became a way back to herself. “I was losing my culture. Losing my voice. I needed to remember who I was — not just a scientist or a director in a boardroom, but an artist, a storyteller, a woman made of more than metrics.”
The memoir’s title is a metaphor — a reclaiming of colour, of identity, of the things she could no longer see outside her window, but could always feel inside. Writing the book became a personal rebellion against erasure. A way of insisting: I am here. I belong. I dream in colour.
Today, from her hilltop home in Monti della Tolfa, Italy, with the sea 20 minutes away and flowers blooming in the spring, Juli-Anne finally lives in alignment. She consults globally on aquaculture and blue economy strategy. She creates ceramics. She writes. She paints. And she refuses to choose just one version of herself.
“I used to hide it,” she admits. “The fact that I was creative. I didn’t want anyone to think I wasn’t serious about my science. But now? Now I do it all. Because this is the full picture.”
As she embraces her fifties, Juli-Anne is fiercely focused on legacy. Not the kind found in titles or tenure — but in the mentorship of young women, the nurturing of bold ideas, and the invitation to live fully. “It would be such a shame to let all this knowledge die with me,” she says. “Everything I’ve lived — the good, the grief, the growth — it has to go somewhere. I want it to build something.” And so it is.
Legacy, Faith & The Long Game
Beyond Italy, aquaculture, poetry, and even ceramics — there’s still more to Dr. Juli-Anne Royes Russo.
“Oh — I used to be a yoga teacher,” she laughs. “And I ran a food business once, too.”
She admits she’s still not a confident swimmer, but that’s on the bucket list now — especially with more seaweed and ocean-based projects on the horizon. “I love being on the ocean, just not in a canoe,” she jokes.
But beneath the humour lies a woman with deep faith and conviction. For Juli-Anne, her journey has never been linear. It’s been seasonal.
In her 40s, becoming a mother shifted her priorities. Her career slowed down — not because she lost ambition, but because she chose what mattered most in that moment. It wasn’t easy. At times, it was isolating. But she trusted the timing of her life.
Now in her 50s, with her son older and her sense of self stronger than ever, she’s finally stepping into everything that had to wait — writing, art, innovation, and mentorship. “You can be all those things,” she says. “Just maybe not all at once. Life comes in phases. And if you’re healthy and willing, you get the chance to do it all in time.”
A Message to the Woman Whose Dreams Don’t Make Sense
If your dreams make you feel like the odd one out — that’s probably a sign you’re on to something powerful. The world has always been shaped by people who didn’t fit neatly inside it.
It’s not easy, I know. Especially in our Caribbean culture, where people expect you to follow a certain path — one they understand. But if something lights you up inside, you have to follow it. You must do it. Even if no one around you gets it yet.
What’s helped me? Faith. A deep knowing that what’s inside me was put there — not by accident, but on purpose. I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe in timing. I believe in vision. And I believe that every phase of your life holds something sacred — something worth honoring.
Find your people. Build a tribe. Network your way into the rooms that feel like home. If you’re the only one in your circle doing what you’re doing, know that there are others out there. You are not alone.
This isn’t just about you. It’s about what you’ll leave behind. The mentorship you’ll offer. The barriers you’ll break — not with force, but with steady truth. You’re not too much. You’re not too late. And your calling will make room for you. So go ahead. Do the thing that makes no sense — except to your soul. And keep doing it, even when the world whispers otherwise. You’re already becoming.