I drove back to Kingston from Montego Bay on Sunday evening.

 

The country laid down before me, and the countryside rolled passed me, as waning sunlight gave way to dark. Streaky clouds covered the last of the light, and then it was night. My eyes could tell me where I was. So could my nose. Heavy smoke filled the air, as burning bushes were licked by more flames. Engine fumes hit my nose as a van struggled to fill the air with heavy black smoke. I just let him roll, as I rolled up the windows. 

Roadside walkers carrying their football boots…

Young couples walking hand in hand on the dark country road…

Young biker riding his ‘stallion’ at breakneck speed with no lights, his reflectors shine as my car passes by…He should be home…He should be getting ready for school. Country boy.

Discordant singing from a late night church service, and tambourines clinking…

Wooden stalls with hanging fruit, lit by single light bulbs…

Remember the days when only candles and wick lamps gave light at night?

Night time racers on their four wheels…

Night time racer on his two wheels…the bright one eye came behind me in a flash and was gone…Has he gone to meet his maker? So fast did he pass me, I believed that Heaven’s door was just closing…

I did not see or hear the car that crashed and took away a child’s life.

I did not hear the screams of the man who was chopped to death.

I only needed to drive on another road and my impressions would have been so different.

I drove over Flat Bridge: its 20 metres a place of fear for some…no rail to stop the car tumbling into the river. Only slowness stops a disaster…so simple…

Hundreds of people gathered in a plaza…Noises…clapping. A dance on Sunday night? Young people, these days…

Late night Sunday dinner, that was meant to be Sunday lunch. But, you know our people and time? I saw chicken and more, left on a tray. Someone had  had a nice time.

Coffee and bread pudding. Hot peppermint tea. Some apple pie? More, please.

“Are your bags packed? Can we leave for home?”

“I hardly got up,”

An American lady tries to tell me what it means to kiss my teeth. I kiss my teeth.