rate of the currency was about a hundred Jamaican dollars to one U.S dollar, the prices seemed cheaper than she’d originally thought.
The Morant Bay shopping center was abuzz with activity. Crisp British accents mingled with the more lilting Jamaican patois and everywhere she went, she heard raucous reggae music. Storm twisted and turned trying to take everything in. Her smile shone bright like the sun and her joy was apparent in every step she took. It was amazing to watch ladies in rough homespun garments balancing great shopping baskets on their heads while school kids in their starched blue and whiteuniforms danced in an out of the chaos sipping from their little cartons of sour sop and sugar cane juice.In astonishment she watched half-naked Rastafarians wielding machetes high above their head to slice through the tops of coconuts and offer up the juice with a simple straw. She saw well-dressed and well-to-do Jamaicans haggling with the street vendors for the best prices. Exhilarated by the sights and sounds, she bombarded Tyrone with questions and tugged on his sleeve incessantly to point out the smallest little thing.
“Look at that!” She yelled pointing to a mini-bus packed to capacity with people. “How on earth is everyone going to fit?” She asked. Then she looked on in awe when several more men jumped onto the back of the bus as it careened out of sight.
Tyrone laughed and said, “As you see, the bus is only half full.”
Storm ran after him still looking back at the spectacle.
Not that it was the most amazing thing she would see for the day. By the time she was ready to go back to the hotel she would have seen many more sights amazing to a woman, who despite her wealth, had never been to the Caribbean; who had never experienced a country so teeming with life and energy, despite the poverty and strife. Storm had to be tugged away as she stared at a Rastafarian family with dreadlocks far past their waists. She listened in amazement to Chinese people who spoke fluent Jamaican patois. She saw “high yellow” Jamaicans with long wavy hair, blue-eyed, Jamaicans with frizzy blond hair, and deep ebony black Jamaicans with their hair in bushy Afros, braids, or intricate cornrows. She saw school children of every color, from white to the deepest black all laughing and playing together. She had no idea that Jamaica was a country with a wide range of people and cultures. She couldn’t have loved it more.
Laughing loudly, Storm and Tyrone entered the hotel arm in arm. Oblivious to everyone else, they made jokes and reveled in their newfound friendship. Immersed in one another they didn’t see anyone watching them.
“I see you’ve had a good time.” Cairo’s words sounded harsh.
Tyrone took one look at his cousin and seemed to recognize his mood. Unfortunately, Storm didn’t read the signs.
“Yes, we had a great time. She said playfully hugging Tyrone. “Your cousin is amazing. If I ever go back to the States, I’m taking him with me.”
Beside her, Tyrone groaned.
“Is that so?” Cairo asked softly.
“Yes, I mean it, Cairo. Your cousin is wonderful.” She went on with enthusiasm.
“He is wonderful, isn’t he?” Cairo agreed his eyes narrowing on Tyrone.
Reading some hidden meaning in the words that Storm couldn’t decipher, Tyrone tried to politely remove her arm from his butStorm held on for dear life.
“Oh no, you don’t, Tyrone.” She laughed looping her arms back through his. “You’re not getting away from me. You’re staying right here. There are still a million questions I want to ask you.”
Mumbling a quiet prayer, Tyrone stood where he was.
Cairo’s searing gaze rested on their entwined arms. Before she knew what was happening, he pulled her from Tyrone’s side, startling her. “What’s wrong with you?” She demanded snatching her arm away.
“I will not stand by and watch you try to seduce my cousin.”
Storm’s mouth fell open in surprise. She was about to
The Morant Bay shopping center was abuzz with activity. Crisp British accents mingled with the more lilting Jamaican patois and everywhere she went, she heard raucous reggae music. Storm twisted and turned trying to take everything in. Her smile shone bright like the sun and her joy was apparent in every step she took. It was amazing to watch ladies in rough homespun garments balancing great shopping baskets on their heads while school kids in their starched blue and whiteuniforms danced in an out of the chaos sipping from their little cartons of sour sop and sugar cane juice.In astonishment she watched half-naked Rastafarians wielding machetes high above their head to slice through the tops of coconuts and offer up the juice with a simple straw. She saw well-dressed and well-to-do Jamaicans haggling with the street vendors for the best prices. Exhilarated by the sights and sounds, she bombarded Tyrone with questions and tugged on his sleeve incessantly to point out the smallest little thing.
“Look at that!” She yelled pointing to a mini-bus packed to capacity with people. “How on earth is everyone going to fit?” She asked. Then she looked on in awe when several more men jumped onto the back of the bus as it careened out of sight.
Tyrone laughed and said, “As you see, the bus is only half full.”
Storm ran after him still looking back at the spectacle.
Not that it was the most amazing thing she would see for the day. By the time she was ready to go back to the hotel she would have seen many more sights amazing to a woman, who despite her wealth, had never been to the Caribbean; who had never experienced a country so teeming with life and energy, despite the poverty and strife. Storm had to be tugged away as she stared at a Rastafarian family with dreadlocks far past their waists. She listened in amazement to Chinese people who spoke fluent Jamaican patois. She saw “high yellow” Jamaicans with long wavy hair, blue-eyed, Jamaicans with frizzy blond hair, and deep ebony black Jamaicans with their hair in bushy Afros, braids, or intricate cornrows. She saw school children of every color, from white to the deepest black all laughing and playing together. She had no idea that Jamaica was a country with a wide range of people and cultures. She couldn’t have loved it more.
Laughing loudly, Storm and Tyrone entered the hotel arm in arm. Oblivious to everyone else, they made jokes and reveled in their newfound friendship. Immersed in one another they didn’t see anyone watching them.
“I see you’ve had a good time.” Cairo’s words sounded harsh.
Tyrone took one look at his cousin and seemed to recognize his mood. Unfortunately, Storm didn’t read the signs.
“Yes, we had a great time. She said playfully hugging Tyrone. “Your cousin is amazing. If I ever go back to the States, I’m taking him with me.”
Beside her, Tyrone groaned.
“Is that so?” Cairo asked softly.
“Yes, I mean it, Cairo. Your cousin is wonderful.” She went on with enthusiasm.
“He is wonderful, isn’t he?” Cairo agreed his eyes narrowing on Tyrone.
Reading some hidden meaning in the words that Storm couldn’t decipher, Tyrone tried to politely remove her arm from his butStorm held on for dear life.
“Oh no, you don’t, Tyrone.” She laughed looping her arms back through his. “You’re not getting away from me. You’re staying right here. There are still a million questions I want to ask you.”
Mumbling a quiet prayer, Tyrone stood where he was.
Cairo’s searing gaze rested on their entwined arms. Before she knew what was happening, he pulled her from Tyrone’s side, startling her. “What’s wrong with you?” She demanded snatching her arm away.
“I will not stand by and watch you try to seduce my cousin.”
Storm’s mouth fell open in surprise. She was about to
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