How I got to Jamaica...too.

[airswift]

35 years ago give or take took a flight to Mo Bay. Taxi to the minibus terminal. [a vacant lot]. Mini buses were packed to the doors but they always made room for me and my wife. [the only white people]. The driver was smoking and drinking and everyone was singing during the trip to Negril.
Stopped at Arthurs $6 for the trip.
Met Norma and Bradley Arthur and negotiated a price of $8 a nite for a room at Norma's Cottages.
Bradley is gone and so are the cottages. Norma still lives across the road near Thunder and Barbara.
The girl who swept out the rooms is still there but I can't remember her name.
Back then we had the vendors, the peanut man, the hat man, and long timers may remember Nuray, the white guy with dreds who was selling sprouts to the restaurants.
Been going back ever since.

Enjoy.

[Accompong]

Yes, it is always good to look back on the old days and remember how special they were.

If I stay quarantined for a few more days, I just might get to the point on this first trip where we got to Negril from Port Maria, St. Mary on an old country bus. We stayed the old Secrets Cabin at Firefly for $10 US per night.

The one vendor I really remember from this first trip was a guy they called "Mushroom Kenny"

Hope you enjoy as well.
Peace and Guidance

[Accompong]

Pitch black and no lights along with being high and night blind, I stumbled over the jagged edge of the road and just caught myself before going down. I looked down the road. Nothing. No sounds. No cars. Nothing. I started walking down what I thought was the center of the road when I realized that almost every yard had people sitting along the road and watching for the rare car that might come by each evening. Suddenly, I felt a little paranoid at being watched by so many strangers that were also being so silent, but I continued to walk towards a board shack along the road with a flickering light of a candle showing some people in the doorway.

Getting closer, I noticed a large person walking towards me and caught a flash of a toothy smile. “Whaagwan, Bill?”. It was Jah Mike. I went on to babble something about being sorry and not understanding and wanting to buy some ganga. Jah Mike kept saying “No Problem” and “Tomorrow” when I realize this must look like a dope deal that it was in front of his entire community. I shut up and he offered to walk me back to the house. It felt like a perp walk and I was so ashamed.

When we got back to the verandah, Jah Mike asked me for $2 Jamaican to get some ganja. Wow! I could not get the money out of my pocket fast enough. Mike said to get some sleep and be ready for a trip in Jah Love in the morning.

[Accompong]

Mike Higgins, better known as Jah Mike, was a physical specimen of a man. About 6’ 5” tall and muscular in a lean, athletic sort of way. I am 6’ 3” myself and with his lion’s mane hair he towered over me. His best quality was his constant disarming smile which he flashed readily as he talked. I begged leave to go into the house and retrieve the envelope from Peter and give it to Jah Mike. He read it and said to pitch our tent near the corner of the house then come inside for something to eat. I could feel a little tension, but I did not want to bring it up, so we pitched the tent and went inside.

One thing we learned quickly from our discussions with Jah Mike is that he is the face of tourism in this little village dubbed Castle Gardens. Also, we learned that nearly 70 percent of the people were unemployed and an equal number illiterate. Mike’s house was also like a club house where everyone came to visit and hang out. Before long, a number of young girls and young women came to talk to my wife and very soon after eating she vanished into the neighborhood not to be seen until the later afternoon and that happened both days we were staying there.

After polishing off a meal of fresh lobster and steamed snapper with rice and gully beans, Jah Mike invited me out to the verandah to talk. I had to be a little bit of a detective to put all the pieces together but I was beginning to see that my wife and I were some of the very few people to come here to stay so we were valuable property to Jah Mike. Jah Mike asked straight out if Tony charged us to go up to Firefly and go swimming. I said no. He asked about my wife’s sunglasses Tony was wearing and I told him it was just a gift and not a payment. He seemed to accept the answer, but I did not see Tony around much the rest of the time we were there.

Jah Mike told me he takes guests out to Allen’s Island in his boat “Jah Love” and to go fishing and snorkeling. I started to say we had already been there but realized he needed the money, so I agreed to go the following morning. Soon, several Rasta youths came by and joined us on the verandah. English went out the window and I was struggling to understand the conversation, but I had the old standby “yah, mon” to use when asked something and it mostly worked. Things started to go downhill when Jah Mike rolled me a spliff and gave me a beer.

Again, I was hammered. The strength of the smoke was beyond any that I had experienced except up at Peter’s place. My wife came back, said “Hi” and went to the tent to get it ready for the night. Everyone was smoking a spliff and when someone talked to me, I did not understand so I just said, “yah, mon”. It happened several times when suddenly everyone got up and left me alone on the verandah. Including Jah Mike!

Perplexed, I made my way over to the tent and said to my wife, “The strangest thing happened”, “We were all sitting around talking and suddenly everyone got up and left me alone”. She chuckled. “They were asking you if you liked the smoke and you said ‘yah, mon’ and they asked you if you wanted to buy some and you said “yah, mon” but you didn’t give them any money to do it!”

It was dark outside. I was hammered. There were no lights up on the street, but I felt I must find Jah Mike and make this right. I stumbled up to the road and started to look for him.