I called Donovan at seven o’clock the next morning, to tell him I’d be heading out within the hour.
The woman at the front desk wished me a happy Independence Day as I settled my bill.
“Are we really free though?” I asked quietly.
She did not respond.
The valet who delivered my rental to me gave me rudimentary directions to the Mavis Bank Police Station- he swore the roads were well marked.
“You’ll find it, no trouble,” he told me. “And if you think you’re lost, pull up and ask someone for directions.”
I handed him a five hundred dollar note and said “Thanks.”
I was off.
The route out of Kingston was fairly straightforward, if not particularly quick. I turned on to Old Hope Road and rode it uptown until Barbican, then I bore right to continue in the right direction. The drive through the city had been pleasant enough- I barely recognized any of the landmarks. Uptown had never been my world.
My ascent into the mountains began shortly after I passed through Papine. I stayed on Old Hope Road all the way up to Gordon Town Road. I’d effectively left Kingston behind.
From that point onward, things got tricky- the mountain route was full of sharp switchbacks, with sheer drop-offs on my left and treacherous blind spots on my right. Perhaps it would have been a good idea for Donovan to send a driver for me, but it was too late for that. And I still had nearly an hour to go.
I switched on the radio, searching for a news program to help settle my nerves, but all I could find was plummy voiced announcers prattling on about Jamaica’s independence and the new day that was about to dawn. I snapped the radio off and focused on the road.
By the time I reached the Mavis Bank police station I was covered in sweat, despite my having kept the air conditioner on full blast I told myself that was one of the stupidest things I’d done in a long time. However, on the positive side, I’d passed my own self-imposed stress test, and moving forward, there would be nothing to fear on any road ahead.
I parked my rental, mopped my forehead and called my cousin.
“You reach?” he asked.
“In one piece,” I replied.
“Alright,” he said. “Mi soon come. Just relax yuhself until then.”
I flipped through the radio, searching for something to soothe my mind, while I waited. I eventually landed on IrieFM- the deejay was juggling the Joyride riddim.
Cruising around wid a jeep full a honeys
Each one want to introduce ah me ah to their mummy
I couldn’t quite connect with that sentiment yet, but was willing to keep an open mind.
Seventy-five minutes later, a Chevrolet pick-up truck pulled up beside my car. Donovan jumped out of the passenger seat and waved to the driver, who honked his horn and sped off.
“Mi bredren’s on his way to Irish Town, so he gave me a lift,” my cousin explained. “I figured that way I could ride back with you. That’ll give us time to catch up.”
That was a very smart plan. I was looking forward to it.
“Give me your keys,” Donovan said, in a tone that left no room for discussion. “I’m driving.”
I handed over the keys with nary a word of protest and opened the passenger side door.
The harrowing mountain pass route to my aunt’s home made my time behind the wheel seem like a ride in a baby’s pram. At one point, Donovan glanced over at me and laughed, as a fully-loaded logging truck bore down on us at top speed.
“Yuh mad if you thought mi did ah go mek yuh drive” he said.
I ignored my cousin’s gibe and busied myself staring out the car window at the sheer drop-off just below me, a John Crow gliding across the sun dappled valley.
“That’s where I work,” Donovan said as we passed the coffee factory. He told me he was up for a promotion. “Collection supervisor,” he elaborated. “It’ll get me back out on the road. Mi tired of being cooped up inside, watching people sort berries all day long.”
“You like being out and about,” I noted.
“Yes, man,” he agreed. “Mi cyaan sit inside all day long, listening to people bullshitting about nothing. Checking up on me to make sure I’m giving the workers a hard enough time. I need to be free to do my business as I see fit.”
It sounded like the great management/labor divide existed far beyond my neck of the woods.
The rest of the ride was quicker than I expected- Donovan’s speed averaged about twice as fast as I’d managed. We made a quick food stop before reaching my aunt’s- Donovan ordered cow skin soup and roasted yams to go.
For some reason, consuming that meal in the car as my cousin drove me back to family made me feel it in my bones- I was truly on my way home.
