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On July 12, 2000, I arrived in Jamaica, and was finally home.
My ruby slippers took the form of a Boeing 727 and when we arrived 3-1/2 hours later....I definitely was not in Kansas. hehehe
Upon boarding, they were announcing no anticipated flight delays and we would reach MoBay a 1/2 hour early. But a tour of Chicago O-Hare airport's several miles of runway systems ..IN THE PLANE...put us almost an hour late and in the middle of a packed immigration hall.
After a cursory review of the papers the rasta gave me, the agent smiled and wished us much happiness in our new life. But retrieving all our belongings, stuffed into 4 huge bags, wasn't going to be as easy.
By the time we went downstairs, most of the Chicago luggage had been off loaded from the conveyor system, anticipating another arrival. So our bags were stacked all along the walkway.
I stationed Jason up against a wall with our carry-ons, as I searched all the way down 2 rows of at least 100 bags, looking for our 4 matching pieces..nothing!
I was just starting to get alittle panicked, hoping they hadn't been left in Chicago or someone else picked them up, when I spotted 1 piece and made a sharp 90 degree turn, over someone else's bags, into the next row.... almost colliding with the rasta.
He had been waiting for us to come down the stairs and was following me, trying to get my attention.. I was too intent on the task at hand, expecting him to be waiting outside and here we were, almost an hour late....I was HURRYING UP!!!
But when I saw that broad smile on his happy face....I knew everyting ago be awright..hehehe After a very brief reunion celebration, I pointed out the bag I had seen and told him there were 4 matching pieces. Without another word, he set about getting a cart, and through the throng of people, had it all loaded up in no time.
At the customs station, he handed over my declaration form, pointed down the hall toward the office and said the supervisor had already cleared this. The man stood up and looked over toward the office where a woman (apparently the supervisor) was waving us through. We were wheeling our way out the door, when I overheard his rather curt 'Good Day'.
We left MoBay and headed through the country, on the road to Sav. The warm rays of the Caribbean sun, mixed with the cooling Jamaican mountain breeze, enveloped me. I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent in the air blowing through the car windows... wood, water, floral, pots cooking.... and silently wondered how the rasta managed to meet me INSIDE baggage claim and whisk me thru customs?
I never asked....and I was too happy to be here, to give it another thought... I knew I had finally come home.
It was not yet dawn, the sky still filled with night, when I felt the mattress creek and strain, as the rasta sat up and pushed back the curtains from the window to look outside.
'Whatta gwaan?' I whispered in the darkness, thinking perhaps something outside had startled him awake.
'Jus rising fi greet our wedding day.' he replied. I smiled and joined him at the side of our bed, pushing myself up against his back.
We stayed like this until the sky grew lighter and then became streaked with orange, the sun filtering through the trees, announcing the new day.
Everything was set when we reached the hotel, a few hours later. Flowers and white crepe paper lined the covered verandah of the dining room. A portion of the beach was prepared for the ceremony, rugs and more flowers, defining the area where we were to take our vows.
Adorned in her Sunday best, complete with matching hat, the rasta's mother sat in the middle of the dining hall and paid little attention to the tourists who filed past her in their swimwear, headed for the beach.
A light breakfast had been set out; fruits, breads, juice and tea, but most of the rasta's brethren were at the bar, toasting the groom with rum.
I had anticipated this and not wanting a bunch of rude drunk bwoys at my wedding (save that for the yard later) had planned the ceremony in the morning. hehehe
Standing beside the breakfast buffet was the Bridal Cake, 2-tiered and 2-days in the making, it was big enough to feed 100 people. Rum soaked, yellow pound cake topped with fruit and a light cream icing, it was promptly consumed at the yard bashment, before I could save a piece for our 1st anniversary.
Shortly before the ceremony, my girlfriend from the states, the rasta's sister and I slipped into a room, the hotel had provided for us to change. Not wanting anything elaborate for a beach service, I chose a short, white lace slipdress with white healed slippers.
My girlfriend wore a peach rayon slipdress and the rasta's sister, Jan...well, I had NEVER seen her in a dress before, so when she peaked around the corner of the bathroom with this...thing on...I almost fell on the floor laughing.
The yellow cotton sundress was obviously borrowed from a friend who was MUCH taller. The hemline of this pleated frock was suppose to fall just above the knee...but on Jan, it came to about mid-calf and looked like she was missing her knees. hehehe After a quick search for a makeshift belt, and a little tucking and pinning, the 3 of we were finally ready.
Some 2 dozen people were gathered to witness our union. With Jason on my arm ('giving me away'), we at last started our walk down the aisle. I caught a glimpse of the rasta's beaming grin, as I stepped out onto the beach. (Kin alla im teet dem!) And I had a hard time holding back tears, through my own silly grin.
Neither the rasta nor I are quite the conventional type, so some minor changes were made to the standard ceremony, including this poem, as part of our wedding vows;
Take this day we give each other, share it's moments close with me,
Cherish it and make it's meaning, part of all our days to be.
Take this hand I freely offer, hold to it and we'll be strong,
Trust in it, feel safe in knowing, this is right where you belong.
Take this promise that I'm making, keep it always in your heart,
Believe in it through all to come and we will never be apart.
Take this love I gladly give you, build on it and help it grow,
And from it's warm and gentle caring, all our future joys will flow.
Take this life, my life, forever, join with it your life as one,
Share with me, through each tomorrow, this life together we've begun.
...and then, I did cry. But was able to still my shaking hand enough so the rasta could put the ring on my finger...and for me to do the same.
We did not linger long at the hotel afterwards, a few toasts, cutting the cake. Friends, food and drink were waiting for us at the yard and we were anxious to get back. And soon everyone piled into the cars and with horns beeping, caravaned back to the yard.
The sound system had been playing for the neighborhood since we left the yard early that morning. A few chefs had been left to tend to the cooking... the goat was started early, the chicken and fish were all prepared and ready to go on the fire later in the afternoon.
A barrel each of Guinness and Red Stripe was iced down and set out, as well as a table full of .... just rum.
The remaining food and drink was brought by the party guests...a potluck, of sorts; a variety of vegetable and casserole dishes, each accompanied by a side of rice or dumplings, soup, bread, pasta, fruit, blended juices and homemade beverages.
I tried several of the dishes...and couldn't indentify a few others. As fast as they disappeared, others were brought in, to fill up the space. (Jazz girlfren, iffa mi tink mi nyam oxtail....how mi know fi true?)
The bashment went on into the early morning, various groups of people coming and going, eating and drinking, all day and night. But when the roosters began their pre-dawn crowing, I caught the rasta's eye and let him know, I was done with the party.
Not long after I slipped into bed, I heard the door open and then gently close, the lock sliding into place. 'Who is it?' I whispered over my shoulder, trying to sound frightened ..while hiding my smile.
'Yuh hexpectin smaddy different fram yuh husband?' came the reply.
I could hardly contain my giggles and fought to lie still and play the game. 'I thought perhaps one of his friends might have stumbled in here mistaking it for the bat'room.... dung di hall, pon yuh left.'
But the shadow only moved further into the room. 'Di man yuh married know yuh tek fi bed alone pon yuh weddin night?' The voice was now directly behind me, coming from the other side of the bed.
'Oh, but you are mistaken, if you think that I am without my husband on this, or any other night.' I countered.
'Open the door and look for yourself. If you did not see him, when you entered this room, he certainly saw you and should now be making his way over here....realizing you did not mistake dis fi di bat'room.'
I paused and held my breath, waiting for his retort. But instead, the rasta sat down on the bed and with an exclamation and a laugh, called the game finished and me...way too bright. hehehe
I told him he was lucky I didn't pull the machete on him, sneaking into my bedroom, like a tief. 'Yuh di tief, Lacy.' he shot back, taking up my hand and putting it on his chest. 'Yuh teifed mi heart fram dis 'ere place soh.'
I felt his heartbeat racing against my open palm, the 'gentleman caller' game and yard bashment, still going on outside, were quickly forgotten. I took up his hand and placed it over my heart, sure it was pounding as fast as his....
And so ended our Wedding Day, as it had begun, watching the Sun Rise, listening to our Hearts, beat as One.
My ruby slippers took the form of a Boeing 727 and when we arrived 3-1/2 hours later....I definitely was not in Kansas. hehehe
Upon boarding, they were announcing no anticipated flight delays and we would reach MoBay a 1/2 hour early. But a tour of Chicago O-Hare airport's several miles of runway systems ..IN THE PLANE...put us almost an hour late and in the middle of a packed immigration hall.
After a cursory review of the papers the rasta gave me, the agent smiled and wished us much happiness in our new life. But retrieving all our belongings, stuffed into 4 huge bags, wasn't going to be as easy.
By the time we went downstairs, most of the Chicago luggage had been off loaded from the conveyor system, anticipating another arrival. So our bags were stacked all along the walkway.
I stationed Jason up against a wall with our carry-ons, as I searched all the way down 2 rows of at least 100 bags, looking for our 4 matching pieces..nothing!
I was just starting to get alittle panicked, hoping they hadn't been left in Chicago or someone else picked them up, when I spotted 1 piece and made a sharp 90 degree turn, over someone else's bags, into the next row.... almost colliding with the rasta.
He had been waiting for us to come down the stairs and was following me, trying to get my attention.. I was too intent on the task at hand, expecting him to be waiting outside and here we were, almost an hour late....I was HURRYING UP!!!
But when I saw that broad smile on his happy face....I knew everyting ago be awright..hehehe After a very brief reunion celebration, I pointed out the bag I had seen and told him there were 4 matching pieces. Without another word, he set about getting a cart, and through the throng of people, had it all loaded up in no time.
At the customs station, he handed over my declaration form, pointed down the hall toward the office and said the supervisor had already cleared this. The man stood up and looked over toward the office where a woman (apparently the supervisor) was waving us through. We were wheeling our way out the door, when I overheard his rather curt 'Good Day'.
We left MoBay and headed through the country, on the road to Sav. The warm rays of the Caribbean sun, mixed with the cooling Jamaican mountain breeze, enveloped me. I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent in the air blowing through the car windows... wood, water, floral, pots cooking.... and silently wondered how the rasta managed to meet me INSIDE baggage claim and whisk me thru customs?
I never asked....and I was too happy to be here, to give it another thought... I knew I had finally come home.
It was not yet dawn, the sky still filled with night, when I felt the mattress creek and strain, as the rasta sat up and pushed back the curtains from the window to look outside.
'Whatta gwaan?' I whispered in the darkness, thinking perhaps something outside had startled him awake.
'Jus rising fi greet our wedding day.' he replied. I smiled and joined him at the side of our bed, pushing myself up against his back.
We stayed like this until the sky grew lighter and then became streaked with orange, the sun filtering through the trees, announcing the new day.
Everything was set when we reached the hotel, a few hours later. Flowers and white crepe paper lined the covered verandah of the dining room. A portion of the beach was prepared for the ceremony, rugs and more flowers, defining the area where we were to take our vows.
Adorned in her Sunday best, complete with matching hat, the rasta's mother sat in the middle of the dining hall and paid little attention to the tourists who filed past her in their swimwear, headed for the beach.
A light breakfast had been set out; fruits, breads, juice and tea, but most of the rasta's brethren were at the bar, toasting the groom with rum.
I had anticipated this and not wanting a bunch of rude drunk bwoys at my wedding (save that for the yard later) had planned the ceremony in the morning. hehehe
Standing beside the breakfast buffet was the Bridal Cake, 2-tiered and 2-days in the making, it was big enough to feed 100 people. Rum soaked, yellow pound cake topped with fruit and a light cream icing, it was promptly consumed at the yard bashment, before I could save a piece for our 1st anniversary.
Shortly before the ceremony, my girlfriend from the states, the rasta's sister and I slipped into a room, the hotel had provided for us to change. Not wanting anything elaborate for a beach service, I chose a short, white lace slipdress with white healed slippers.
My girlfriend wore a peach rayon slipdress and the rasta's sister, Jan...well, I had NEVER seen her in a dress before, so when she peaked around the corner of the bathroom with this...thing on...I almost fell on the floor laughing.
The yellow cotton sundress was obviously borrowed from a friend who was MUCH taller. The hemline of this pleated frock was suppose to fall just above the knee...but on Jan, it came to about mid-calf and looked like she was missing her knees. hehehe After a quick search for a makeshift belt, and a little tucking and pinning, the 3 of we were finally ready.
Some 2 dozen people were gathered to witness our union. With Jason on my arm ('giving me away'), we at last started our walk down the aisle. I caught a glimpse of the rasta's beaming grin, as I stepped out onto the beach. (Kin alla im teet dem!) And I had a hard time holding back tears, through my own silly grin.
Neither the rasta nor I are quite the conventional type, so some minor changes were made to the standard ceremony, including this poem, as part of our wedding vows;
Take this day we give each other, share it's moments close with me,
Cherish it and make it's meaning, part of all our days to be.
Take this hand I freely offer, hold to it and we'll be strong,
Trust in it, feel safe in knowing, this is right where you belong.
Take this promise that I'm making, keep it always in your heart,
Believe in it through all to come and we will never be apart.
Take this love I gladly give you, build on it and help it grow,
And from it's warm and gentle caring, all our future joys will flow.
Take this life, my life, forever, join with it your life as one,
Share with me, through each tomorrow, this life together we've begun.
...and then, I did cry. But was able to still my shaking hand enough so the rasta could put the ring on my finger...and for me to do the same.
We did not linger long at the hotel afterwards, a few toasts, cutting the cake. Friends, food and drink were waiting for us at the yard and we were anxious to get back. And soon everyone piled into the cars and with horns beeping, caravaned back to the yard.
The sound system had been playing for the neighborhood since we left the yard early that morning. A few chefs had been left to tend to the cooking... the goat was started early, the chicken and fish were all prepared and ready to go on the fire later in the afternoon.
A barrel each of Guinness and Red Stripe was iced down and set out, as well as a table full of .... just rum.
The remaining food and drink was brought by the party guests...a potluck, of sorts; a variety of vegetable and casserole dishes, each accompanied by a side of rice or dumplings, soup, bread, pasta, fruit, blended juices and homemade beverages.
I tried several of the dishes...and couldn't indentify a few others. As fast as they disappeared, others were brought in, to fill up the space. (Jazz girlfren, iffa mi tink mi nyam oxtail....how mi know fi true?)
The bashment went on into the early morning, various groups of people coming and going, eating and drinking, all day and night. But when the roosters began their pre-dawn crowing, I caught the rasta's eye and let him know, I was done with the party.
Not long after I slipped into bed, I heard the door open and then gently close, the lock sliding into place. 'Who is it?' I whispered over my shoulder, trying to sound frightened ..while hiding my smile.
'Yuh hexpectin smaddy different fram yuh husband?' came the reply.
I could hardly contain my giggles and fought to lie still and play the game. 'I thought perhaps one of his friends might have stumbled in here mistaking it for the bat'room.... dung di hall, pon yuh left.'
But the shadow only moved further into the room. 'Di man yuh married know yuh tek fi bed alone pon yuh weddin night?' The voice was now directly behind me, coming from the other side of the bed.
'Oh, but you are mistaken, if you think that I am without my husband on this, or any other night.' I countered.
'Open the door and look for yourself. If you did not see him, when you entered this room, he certainly saw you and should now be making his way over here....realizing you did not mistake dis fi di bat'room.'
I paused and held my breath, waiting for his retort. But instead, the rasta sat down on the bed and with an exclamation and a laugh, called the game finished and me...way too bright. hehehe
I told him he was lucky I didn't pull the machete on him, sneaking into my bedroom, like a tief. 'Yuh di tief, Lacy.' he shot back, taking up my hand and putting it on his chest. 'Yuh teifed mi heart fram dis 'ere place soh.'
I felt his heartbeat racing against my open palm, the 'gentleman caller' game and yard bashment, still going on outside, were quickly forgotten. I took up his hand and placed it over my heart, sure it was pounding as fast as his....
And so ended our Wedding Day, as it had begun, watching the Sun Rise, listening to our Hearts, beat as One.
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