HillCityGurl and Rennie69 - T'anks, mon.
Jaherring – that’s the Sky Bar – just beyond Swordfish, a new (refurb’ed) place.
Booger – I remember my intro to Tizzy very well. You just never know what JT will do or say. It was a Negril moment. A bruise? nah, just a small contusion.
This morning I was listening to IRIE FM (107.1 in Negril), when a guy called in from Lucea. He was talking to Ron Marchette, the host, and was going on about this-and-that. Then he started saying hi to other taxi drivers and people he knew in Lucea and then he sent out big-ups and Merry Christmas to all of his ‘baby mommas out there.’ He named a few; one in London, England, one in New York and one in Minneapolis; then the host cut him off. I figure he was probably only shouting out to his international ‘baby momma’s’.
It was the first time I’d heard the term ‘baby momma’s’. It figures though. Part of the culture here. One of the ladies on the beach, a very nice woman, has nine kids fathered by seven different 'baby momma's'.
Continuing my beach walk from last posting, going north along the beach from Sunnyside. . . .
Walking the Negril beach as a lone male is sure to attract the attention of all of the ‘ladies’ who stroll there. No exception this time, I’m propositioned several times; aloe rub, massage, ‘company’. Eventually, un-rubbed, un-massaged and walking alone, I reach Myrna’s store. Myrna, however, is not there. Too bad. I’d bumped into Myrna (she who wears the big straw hat) up at Sun Beach a few days earlier and we had been admiring the new hammock chairs they have hanging there. We both want one, me to hang from the almond tree out front and she for her home. She was going to check in at the Bashco shop in Sav to see if they had any.
I exit Myrna’s store and walk a few paces to Sunnyside Bar, Maureen (the sweetest bar woman in Negril) is not there and JT is notably absent as well. Hmmmm. I get a fresh cold beer and strike off for Sun Beach.
There is a lot more sand on the beach than there was last year. I can actually walk past Lazy Dayz without having to step on sand bags to stay out of the water.
Passing ‘The Hummingbird’, I glance to my right and see a movement in the shade of a coconut tree there. It’s my old friend Dexter who works at the resort, he’s waving to me. I detour in and take a seat beside him on the edge of a cement deck. We pop fists, exchange greetings and catch up. Several minutes into our discussion he raises his t-shirt to bare his stomach revealing a six inch scar that snakes vertically down his belly. As scars go, it’s not a pretty one.
“Me got an operation in March – dey take out me gall bladder.” Dexter informs me. I know that in Canada gallbladder surgery is performed laparoscopically, four little ½ inch incisions. Patients go home the same day and can pick up normal activities in one or two weeks. Dexter’s scar is obviously not the result of a laparoscopic procedure; maybe a question of money? Don’t know for sure.
“How long were you off work – a month, six weeks?” I ask.
“No, mon. Me off four mont’,” he replies patting his belly, “but me feelin’ good now.”
So, obviously there were complications. Dexter is not a spring chicken. “How about a beer?” I ask him.
“Ahhh, a Pepsi? Me no drink beer no more.” He pats his stomach.
So I go to the bar and get a beer (number four?) for myself and a Pepsi for Dexter. We talk a little longer then say our goodbyes.
. . . . likkle more . . . . .
This place has been freshly painted, which is a popular thing to do for Christmas here. There has also been a lot of cleaning and raking going on.
