KINGSTON, 3/13/02 (My notes as I waited for the bus)

KINGSTON, 3/13/02 (My notes as I waited for the bus)

Slow deliberately metered music while I wait for the minibus to leave. I got a taxi at 6:30 AM, sure that I would get an early start for my ride to the country, but I must have just missed the early bus, and the one I was to take waited for hours till it was jam packed. So I tried to make the best of the wait in this old-train-station depot, observing with interest such features as the part-circular, partly paved-over rail turnaround point.

“Oh, you sweet man,” somebody said. To me? I don’t recall. People in downtown Kingston are starved for a polite gesture, and I might have made one to a woman on the bus.

Kingston early in the morning. I leave the house at 6:30 AM. Johnny, the taxi driver, is a friend of Stonewall. Lives near the stadium. At the bus depot, there is ganja everywhere. Are even the drivers smoking? The toilet was opened at seven. Before it opened, I came across a man taking a pee in a superbly private courtyard. He and I exchanged a pleasant greeting. I buy 20 “peanut brittles” from a boy.

American T-shirt, Wrigley’s gum, pepper mint, icy mint, reggae, orange juice. Strong rhythms out of sound systems, sunglasses, reading glasses. Vendors come by in five-minute intervals.. The minibus radio is on. KLAS. Mugabe has been returned to office in Zimbabwe. Pushcarts, revival music on the sound system. Or has revival music been co-opted by popular music?

Doughnuts, washrags, towels, a woman with a large facial scar. A knife wouind? Anthony B’s powerful rhythms. Orange juice, spring water. This is convenient short and long term shopping for country travelers. The pen I write with was given to me by a female attendant of the men’s restroom. A vendor in harness from which scores of vertically arranged belts and other items are suspended.

We’re well on our way. The beauty of the green before and after Flat Bridge. The rocks look precious. A metaphor for the beauty and preciousness of life