Airborne Dreams

I found this cool video online about an Indian engineer who has made a part of the air travel experience possible for local poor children. It brought up such an upswell of emotions for me. I had my own airborne dreams as a child and I saw myself in the faces of those Indian children.
Growing up in a rural area in Jamaica, we didn't have a lot of luxuries and the idea of flying on an airplane seemed beyond the reach of most oridinary people. Everytime we heard an airplane we'd rush outside to stare at it, with the naked eye or with our "spyer"--a surveyors scope that served as a telescope. We'd take turns staring at the miniature craft, imagining what it must be like to be way up there, free and flying. That was one way we got closer to the flying experience.
Another closer encounter with airplanes was through our infrequent visits to the airport to send off or pick up lucky relatives or friends enroute to " foreign". All the relatives, and always one village elder along for the ride, would cram into a festive motorcade, a caravan of jalopies with luggage hanging off the roof, for the hour- long trip along the potentially treacherous winding roads to "Palisados" Once at the airport, the non-travellers trooped up to the waving gallery--an open air deck looking out to the runway. When my own mother left Jamaica in 1978, I remember pressing my face into the chainlink fence, waving frantically as she disappeared up the stairs into the mysterious magical vehicle that was Evergreen Airlines. I could only imagine was as luxurious interior she was encountering. I was desperately sad but there was status to be gained from having a relative who had been on a plane and a so close a relative living abroad. Four years later it was my turn to take that ride. Funny I hardly remember the experience as it was so sad to be leaving my native country forever. I remember though waving frantically from the stairs to the people on the waving gallery--those whom I knew and others I didn't--it's like the grand marshall in a parade--you don't discriminate with the wave.
Nowadays air travel has become more of a bother than the marvel that it truly is. But every now and then, mid flight I catch myself thinking of what a wondrous thing it is for us earthbound creatures to be way up here. And sometimes I get excited by the cute little silverware and plates and the kitschy goodness that is inflight service (yes quite rare these days).

Chris-mus a come!

Christmas in Jamaica was sweet! It was about anticipation, not of gifts but just of Christmas--the pure joy of Christmas. Sweet, cool winter Christmas in the tropics.
As a child, Christmas took so long to come. It was an eternity--as long summer holidays. One way my sibs and I could tell that Christmas season was nearing, was by the white blooms on the "macca" (acacia) trees just on the ridge beyond our house. Whenever we saw those blooms we knew Christmas was just around the corner. Another way we could tell was by the sprucing up that began around the house. Christmas meant that we'd spring clean and paint the house in all new colors. I recall one Christmas we painted the house "duck egg blue." I think it was the last Christmas before my mother emigrated from the island. That blue didn't turn out quite like she wanted. It was the color in our house for all the years till we finally left and followed her "to foreign."
The slow approach of Christmas gave my father time to find and cure a nice ham leg. My aunties got the fruit drunk for the cake and pudding. And by the time Christmas eve rolled around, we kids would be knee deep in chores to make the house look good. Christmas Eve was for us, "Grand Market Night." In a place where most shops were closed by five and everything was scarce, Christmas Eve was the only time stores were opened late and stocked with stuff that was hard to get year round--stuff like dolls and all and sundry plastic toy goods made in China. (This was before lead was a care). Instead of presents, we kids traipsed around to the aunties and uncles with upturned palms into which would generously fall, the unheard of sums of $10s and $20s to fuel our Grand Market night shopping frenzy. We'd be our own Santa on this heady night. I never believed in Santa. It made no sense to me that this guy would traipse around dressed in furs, with reindeer and a sleigh. He'd be terribly hot there in Jamaica. Besides, we didn't have a chimney!
Christmas morning was filled with the smells of ham, cake and "new plastic toy" fumes. Oh yes and chocolate. Cadbury's Fruit and Nut! Pure olfactory joy. Church was involved and then a mighty feast of chicken or roast beef and "rice and peas." No turkey and stuffing for us. Not an island thing. A feast washed down with sweet, rum laced sorrel made from the dried fruit of the hibiscus plant. And a slice of black Jamaican fruit cake, laced with rum-drunk fruit.
Christmas was also the time for the annual school pageant of songs and plays. I loved getting the lead. I remember one year I wasn't chosen for the lead but went home and memorised it as if I were the understudy. Call it voodoo or wishful thinking, but the next day,Lanya Smith fell ill and there I was prepared with all the lines.
Christmas of my childhood was sweet indeed. I have no memories of gifts, just the anticipation of that lovely day upon which an entire year seemed wait! I miss those days of simplicity and joy!
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Click here to see what other J'cans miss about Christmas a "yaad" now dat dem deh abroad!
http://www.jamaicans.com/culture/christmas/MissJAatChristmas.shtml