Unforgettable: A native returns home to Jamaica

by: Lia Thomas

No words could capture the feeling that raced through my body at that moment. The moment when the plane hovered over the lush green mountains of Jamaica. The moment when the ‘love bird’ descended onto the hot asphalt, and bumped its way up to the runway. Only the erratic beating of my heart, and the fluttering of wings in my stomach as the butterflies took off and circled there, could convey the immensity of my feelings, at that moment.

After staying away for four years, I was back, and I was in awe. I had forgotten, but was now reminded of how rustic the scenery was. I was reminded, as I carefully made my way down the wobbly staircase, of what I had been missing all this time: It was the warm, balmy air that hit my face and wove its way through my cotton top to touch my ‘foreign skin’. It was the warm smile and the quick glances of the young men who threw our bags into the bins. It was the chaotic, but somehow orderly baggage area, smothered in hot air from the over head fans whose old blades spun as fast as molasses. I had missed, all this.

But what I had missed the most and hadn’t realized till that very moment, was the eager faces that pushed against the vertical bars, stripped of paint from hands constantly fondling them. How I’d yearned for the bodies mashed up together as they awaited loved ones who brought the sweet smell and slightly chilled air of America with them. The faces that broke into broad smiles as they spotted someone like me, walking slowly behind the porter, displaying our ‘foreign signature’ of chewing gum as if it was the last bit of food on earth.

And as I climbed into the rented van, and heard the door slam shut, I folded my feet under me and turned toward the window, pushing my braided head through the tiny space. I was sucking up the air and bright colors that I had denied myself of, for four years. I was like a bottomless pit as the van raced along the road that wound its way into Kingston. A road that had no trees or buildings to hide the beautiful waters that flanked either side of this long stretch of road. The salty smell of the sea, the taste of exhaust from the cars before us, as we all made our way into, Kingston, wetted my memories and reminded me that I was, home….

Kingston, the hub of my Island. My…island. The van lurching and zooming forward to a rhythm that was absent and would never ever exist in ‘foreign’. And that rhythm, that wave of nostalgia and my attempt to grasp my island’s realty was heightened as my ears caught whiffs of reggae music floating on the air, pushed from juke boxes placed on the outside of tiny shops. My eyes devouring these shops, recognizing that they had always been the heartbeat of my people.

My people, on a Friday evening flanking and dipping in and out of those cramped tiny shops with a skilled deftness that us ‘Jamericans’ had lost in the open foot ball fields that were branded malls and supermarkets by the U.S of A. Women dressed in fitted skirts and tailored tops, gliding past the open markets that thrust out a mixture of home grown seasoning, freshly caught and gutted fish, and warm roasted nuts for passerbys like myself to inhale and salivate over, with jealousy. Jealous because I was a mere visitor, passing through for a brief moment in my island’s time.

And I am so riveted as I press home to my tiny town of Old Harbour, riveted in this moment that had began the instant my love bird had circled my island, hoping it would not end when that same bird fluttered in the air again it. But I knew, even as the dirt crunched under the tires as they headed up my mother’s driveway, that the moment would fade and my yearning, my lusting for my roots would burn within my heart again. The subtle power that home had always had, would always have over me, would take hold and bring me here, bring me home to Jamaica, again.

About Author:
Lia Thomas is a teacher as well as a freelance writer. She resides in the miami area and has written for such media outlets as The Jamaican Star, The Rutgers Observer, Jive magazine and Bronze Thrills.