I've got a few stories I could share. Some I've documented over the years and others are still in my head but probably should be put to paper someday. Here's one I wrote down several years ago. At the time there was a popular song on the radio called "Two White Girls on a Minibus." I call this story "Three White Girls on a Minibus".
This was in 89, when I was living at Miss Gloria's for several months.
A couple of us needed to get to MoBay to pick up a friend who had arrived
a day earlier from Canada. We were told to stand by the road in front of
Miss G's and wave down the bus as it approached. "Okay, we can do that.
And it will take us to MoBay, right?"
"No, you will get off in Lucea and change buses."
"How will we know which bus to get on in Lucea?"
"Don't worry, someone will grab you." Little did we realize that he meant someone would LITERALLY grab us. By the arms. And tug us in two different directions.
Mass confusion ensued at the bus park in Lucea, as we were nearly separated and loaded onto two different buses. After much yelling, we finally managed to insist on staying together and got settled in the bus. Seating arrangements were VERY cosy.
At one point I had a young schoolgirl on my lap for several miles. And later
on, my seatmate took a snooze on my shoulder. The back of the seat in front of me was broken, so I supported it with my knees. This was long before arthritis set in - I could never do that today.
Somewhere along the trip I caught a reaming out from my friend for leaving
the bag of cookies behind on the other bus. Too bad! Next time, you be
responsible for the cookies.
So we arrived in MoBay, none the worse for wear, although there was a
unanimous decision to head straight for the Far Bar for a couple of Red
Stripes before boarding a public transit bus up the hill to fetch our friend where she had spent the night. While standing up in rush hour traffic on the transit bus, I had my wallet lifted from my purse.
Fetched our friend, got a taxi back to the bus park to board the bus back
to Negril via Lucea. Now, the taxi driver who drove us back down the hill
decided to increase the amount of the fare he was charging us, so he
followed us on the bus in the bus park, where a screaming match ensued
between my friend and the taxi driver. I had no money now, being
wallet-less, so couldn't help out. I just gazed out the window till the
dust settled.
Finally we're on our way back to Lucea. Now we know the ropes! Get off the
bus in Lucea and stand around waiting for the next Negril bus. When it
arrived several minutes later, it was packed to the rafters, people dangling
out the windows. The conductor yells at us, "Negril?" Now picture this: here
we are, three white women, standing by the road in Lucea at 9:45 at night
with a lot of luggage. We say, "Oh, it looks like you're full, we'll just wait for the next bus, thanks!"
We are forever grateful to that driver, who didn't take no for an answer. The conductor leapt off the bus, grabbed our bags and told us in no uncertain terms, "Ladies, this is the last bus to Negril tonight - you're getting on". All three of us were somehow mashed into the bus for the remainder of the trip to Negril. My stomach was growling all the way. Someone took pity and gave me half a mango.
I would give anything to relive that day.