Jamaica…You CAN Go Home Again

Jamaica…You CAN Go Home Again

I recently went back to Jamaica for the first time since my grandmother passed sixteen years ago. It’s weird saying that considering the frequency with which I had visited before. But Ms. Thelma was the matriarch–that central figure that kept us all tied to the island, and once she was gone, I think we all felt a little less of that connection. But this trip proved something–that though things might change and people might go away, the connection never does. For me, the island is an umbilical cord of sorts. It’s the place I was born, and where my initial understanding of life and of the world was formed. It’s a place that will always have a hold on me. Here’s a little of my visit through pictures.

Schoolgirls in uniforms competing to out-blue the sky…

Little boys laughing through rain as they scurry on by…

Coconut water from fresh coconuts at a roadside stall…

The face of Bob Marley painted on seemingly every other wall…

Piquant fruits like sweetsop, mango, ackie, jackfruit, june plum…

Afternoons at a neighborhood bar sampling white rum…

Rainforests, rivers, natural arches of bamboo…

So much of that beauty emanating from our people too…

Land of wood and water–through our blood flows the Caribbean Sea…

A wonderful, emotion-filled reunion with the place that made me–me.

My first school–Holy Rosary Primary in Kingston; my grandmother’s tiny village house in the mountainous interior of St. Ann; a quiet moment at her grave in the family plot; with relatives in Kingston

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