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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Culture / Heritage / Lifestyles
- Published: 04/04/2021
Living in The Bahamas-Going Home
Born 1954, M, from Cocoa Beach/FL, United StatesLIVING IN THE BAHAMAS
GOING HOME
Three weeks later, I put Annie and Lucy Belle on a plane back to the States. The next day, Embassy movers packed our belongings for a long journey through Customs and back to Florida. Doc’s cousin bought Boat Tales for salvage value. I had given her so much TLC that she never once failed to bring me home. I felt guilty for deserting her. As tears rolled down my cheeks, I watched my beloved boat disappear in my rearview mirror as I drove away. I never saw her again.
That night, Ministry ex-pats threw a farewell party for me, each bringing food from their native countries. I treasured their accents and the smell of familiar exotic spices. Once again, we joined in a short-lived brotherhood of ex-pats brought together to perform critical functions of a foreign government while living far from home. We drank beer, listened to stories of other countries, and made hopeful promises to visit one another in the future. Though I exchanged emails and phone numbers that would allow me to keep in touch with a few of my worldwide friends, this chapter of my life mostly closed with fond farewells when I left that night.
I drove Over the Hill, back through neighborhoods of a city I had grown to know so well. A clear night sky carried sweet perfume from blooming flowers. Streets had been cleaned after Hurricane Franklin, and life slowly returned to normal. Smiling, happy women in bright, batik sarongs walked alongside roads as cars drove by, booming reggae and calypso music out open windows. I stopped at a roadside shack to eat conch salad, savoring tropic smells and sounds one last time. I would miss this island, though its memories would always follow me.
I went to Willie Thompson’s police station to bid him farewell.
“You sure you want to leave, Boss? We need you here.”
"I know, Willie, but it's time to leave."
“This always happens. We gets a good ex-pat to help us run things right for a while, then he leaves us. I wish I could go back with you, Boss."
My voice cracked a little. “I wish you could too, Willie. I’ll come back soon enough. Make sure you take care of your equipment and drainage wells like I told you.”
“I will. I puts your big map on my wall to helps me out. Every day I tell my boys to clean those ditches like Mr. England told them to. But you know it won’t be the same around here once you leave.” His eyes misted. “I’ll remember you, Mr. England.”
“I’ll remember you too, Willie.” We shook hands, then hugged with a hard goodbye.
The next day I went to Doc Neil’s house to leave my car for him to sell. His family drove me to the airport one last time. Or rather, I took them. They piled into their van while I played taxi driver, taking them through town. They giggled at the idea of a white man driving a car full of Bahamians around Nassau. At the airport, I squeezed each one of them a long goodbye.
“England, I’ll call you when the fish are biting, and you come back," Doc said.
“Yes, I will.” I turned and smiled all the way through the airport.
As my plane lifted from the tarmac, it turned for my last pass over Nassau. I looked below with a mixture of sadness and fond memories for a land and people I respected and loved. We had found some of Buffet’s magic harbours and tiki bars on faraway islands and had our share of adventures. I had caught more big fish than anyone one man deserved. I would be back for more.
Living in The Bahamas-Going Home(Gordon England)
LIVING IN THE BAHAMAS
GOING HOME
Three weeks later, I put Annie and Lucy Belle on a plane back to the States. The next day, Embassy movers packed our belongings for a long journey through Customs and back to Florida. Doc’s cousin bought Boat Tales for salvage value. I had given her so much TLC that she never once failed to bring me home. I felt guilty for deserting her. As tears rolled down my cheeks, I watched my beloved boat disappear in my rearview mirror as I drove away. I never saw her again.
That night, Ministry ex-pats threw a farewell party for me, each bringing food from their native countries. I treasured their accents and the smell of familiar exotic spices. Once again, we joined in a short-lived brotherhood of ex-pats brought together to perform critical functions of a foreign government while living far from home. We drank beer, listened to stories of other countries, and made hopeful promises to visit one another in the future. Though I exchanged emails and phone numbers that would allow me to keep in touch with a few of my worldwide friends, this chapter of my life mostly closed with fond farewells when I left that night.
I drove Over the Hill, back through neighborhoods of a city I had grown to know so well. A clear night sky carried sweet perfume from blooming flowers. Streets had been cleaned after Hurricane Franklin, and life slowly returned to normal. Smiling, happy women in bright, batik sarongs walked alongside roads as cars drove by, booming reggae and calypso music out open windows. I stopped at a roadside shack to eat conch salad, savoring tropic smells and sounds one last time. I would miss this island, though its memories would always follow me.
I went to Willie Thompson’s police station to bid him farewell.
“You sure you want to leave, Boss? We need you here.”
"I know, Willie, but it's time to leave."
“This always happens. We gets a good ex-pat to help us run things right for a while, then he leaves us. I wish I could go back with you, Boss."
My voice cracked a little. “I wish you could too, Willie. I’ll come back soon enough. Make sure you take care of your equipment and drainage wells like I told you.”
“I will. I puts your big map on my wall to helps me out. Every day I tell my boys to clean those ditches like Mr. England told them to. But you know it won’t be the same around here once you leave.” His eyes misted. “I’ll remember you, Mr. England.”
“I’ll remember you too, Willie.” We shook hands, then hugged with a hard goodbye.
The next day I went to Doc Neil’s house to leave my car for him to sell. His family drove me to the airport one last time. Or rather, I took them. They piled into their van while I played taxi driver, taking them through town. They giggled at the idea of a white man driving a car full of Bahamians around Nassau. At the airport, I squeezed each one of them a long goodbye.
“England, I’ll call you when the fish are biting, and you come back," Doc said.
“Yes, I will.” I turned and smiled all the way through the airport.
As my plane lifted from the tarmac, it turned for my last pass over Nassau. I looked below with a mixture of sadness and fond memories for a land and people I respected and loved. We had found some of Buffet’s magic harbours and tiki bars on faraway islands and had our share of adventures. I had caught more big fish than anyone one man deserved. I would be back for more.
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