My first Impressions of Jamaica

by Angela Tait
(The Hague, The Netherlands)

Jamaica Independence Article/ Story Contest - Entry #06 - My first Impressions of Jamaica

In 1967, a young teenager by the name of Gela is about to embark on a journey of her life.

Gela is a first generation product of the Windrush migrants from the West Indies. She is 15 years old when her mother, miss Murie suddenly announces with pride, “Gela, it is time to meet your family in Jamaica.”

It is a bleak Thursday morning in the month of August I recall: we are making the journey from Brockley railway station - south east London to Gatwick airport.

I am about to board an aircraft for the very first time. I am excited but also a little apprehensive. Within a blink of an eye - I find myself sitting in the somewhat lonely area of the first class compartment of a British Airways flight bound for the Caribbean island of Jamaica.<

Some hours later, I am recovering from my slumber only to realize that the aircraft is making a landing. I hear the voice over the intercom say, “please fasten your seatbelt.”

After what seemed like an eternity, the aircraft door is suddenly flung open and I see a flurry of passengers boarding the plane?

There must have been such a panicked look on my face, because the friendly airline hostess quickly reassured me that - it was usual for some flights to make a stop in Montego Bay.

Within an hour we are about to land in Kingston. For some strange reason, the aircraft appeared to be hovering over the island before making its descent. I could hear some passengers gasping in amazed wonderment.

Realizing that there must be something to see, I quickly change my seat in order to take a look. My eyes were not prepared for the beautiful sight that I saw!

It was nightfall - early evening by my calculations - and there below was an exquisite formation of what looked like a tailless dragon: draped by a mesh of twinkling silver lights. The island of Jamaica looked like a galaxy. A beautiful artistic tapestry of ‘Christmas’ lighting. That image to this day has been imprinted in the deep crevices of my mind like a tattoo seal.

The second impression of Jamaica hit me like a thick heavy windstorm. I was unprepared for the force of such intense heat which I experienced as I made my way out of the aircraft.

My whole being was engulfed in a blanket of heat which, more-or-less stayed with me for the entire six-week holiday. By the time I reached customs I was perspiring from: my feet, my hands, my neck and my head…not to mention other parts of my anatomy.

The airport lounge not only created a somewhat lasting impression but the experience itself was a little frightening.

There were some skinny-winged objects flying around that appeared to be attacking my persona with much unwelcome relish. So much so, that I was forced to resort into my Irish-cockney (London school girl) slang: “bloody Nora, begoren bejezus!” I was starring with horror at ‘giant’ mosquitoes!

I tried in vain to arm myself with potions and lotions but, the scars from these winged enemies stayed etched on my lower legs for decades, yes, decades.

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