Greetings!

There was a time, some months ago, when in trying to secure the required visa permit to make the trip to the Great North, I seriously contemplated ditching the whole idea. So invasively detailed were the questions on the application, added to the impersonal nature of the process, I was ready to yield to the temptation of reacting in an all too familiar manner. What or whose purpose would be served in my labouring on with something that seemd geared only towards assessing my capacity for the often-elusive virtue called patience?

The words…mi cyaan…were teetering on the tip of my tongue, just waiting to be uttered, followed swiftly thereafter, by…badda, the complete statement declaring unequivocally, in the heart language of Jamaica, that I had no intention of being mired into something which has little if any bearing on either my present or ultimate salvation! So, yes, I almost declared in word and related action, that I would not be bothered with this want that seemed determined to become a need, to visit the land of maple trees and long cold winters.

It had been some twenty years ago, that I last visited Canada, but for a number of unrelated reasons, there was a burning desire to not only see the place again, but to use the opportunity in doing so, to visit relatives and friends, with whom I had not been in physical touch, for some time.

Without boring you with the minutiae, I will say simply, that I persevered with the process, assisted by an amiable young associate at one of our local travel agencies. I was duly rewarded, having made that decision, because he expertly took charge and, guiding me with the ease of a seasoned professional, helped me in obtaining the needed document. Permit now secured, the next phase was to research airlines and ticket prices. Well, believe it or not, that was a many-layered task, requiring an entirely separate set of skills, including…patience.

Again, I will refrain from any further tranquilizing detail, except to say that the Lord…and you can take that as literally as you like; the Lord, through a beloved friend, assisted me in securing my ticket, and the rest, was in the excitement I could barely contain. I called loved ones and carefully prepared an itinerary, wanting to ensure that no one would be left off the radar, of my Canadian trip. That done, I packed my bags, and was on my way!

My two experiences of culture shock, upon arriving in Canada, began with seeing the large numbers of people, originating from the Indian sub-continent, who were clearly resident in the country. One could not miss the turbaned heads, of Sikh men, moving with ease among the crowds, unperturbed by curious onlookers, because there were none…except me, perhaps! Their bodies spoke the language of integration, whether or not they were first, second or third generation Canadian. Also seen were the beautiful women, a few of the older ones still opting for the traditional sari. It was a sight that Jamaica’s cultural icon, Miss Lou (who became a Canadian resident in her mature years) might have described as colonialization in reverse, although Canada was not considered a colonizer in the purest sense of the word; but…you get my meaning, I am sure.

My second shock, which should not have been, but the twenty-year hiatus seemed to have blurred my memory, was of the expansiveness of the land, with vast sections undeveloped, in a way that paid homage to the environment. It was a breath of fresh air, and believe me, the pun is well intended.

To describe my stay in Canada as merely enjoyable, would be to undervalue the spirituality of the experience. There was an almost ethereal quality to my time there, conveyed by the warmth and love with which everyone welcomed me, and on the day that I visited the Niagara Falls, a rainbow graced the skies over the cascading waters, bestowing as it were, heavenly approval, of my visit. I was away from home but felt very much at home. The less frenetic, more measured pace at which life seemed to happen, particularly on the roads, made me realise that the perpetual rush, which has become a way of life in Jamaica, is not normal!

As I prepared to return home, I was overcome by a deep sadness, a feeling I cannot, even now, adequately explain. You see, I am an unapologetic Jamaican for whom being a “yaadie” is a badge of honour I have worn and will always wear with pride. Life in Jamaica at the present time, however, has become akin to a difficult, at times, treacherous journey, along which the much-revered sights, sounds and even smells, have become obscured by unwieldy overgrowths of lawlessness, that will require much more than a little brushing, to reveal something of the ordered beauty, that is at its heart.

I suspect that growing older and arriving at that point in life where having seen, heard of, and participated in a good many activities and some escapades that were boundary-defying, and filled with the joie de vivre of youthful abandon, I like to think that the wisdom gathered along the way, has landed me at a physical, mental, but more especially, a spiritual place, where more than anything else, that which I desire now, is shalom.

I am by no means naïve to think that Canada is bereft of the social, economic, and other challenges of daily life and living, that would extract much more than an exasperated sigh from the lips of the average person living there. I saw, via my progressive Jamaican lens, things that had the potential to negatively impact my life, were I living there, whether in the short, medium, or long term.

There was, for example, a paucity of some of the things, we yaadies, take for granted – the ability to pick and eat freely from the variety of trees bearing the fruits every Jamaican within the diaspora, talks about with unbridled longing. I also appreciated the blessing of not needing several wardrobes, to deal with the changing seasons, beautiful as that phenomenon of nature can be, and the gift that is the tropical climate (this year being an anomaly) we in the Caribbean, take so much for granted.

I came to renewed awareness also, of how fortunate I am, given my decreasing physical strength, for having someone come to my home to take care of household chores. I gave thanks for my Novia, along with the faithful band of workers not easily found in the Great North, which Jamaicans know as household helpers. The seeming luxury of having these individuals do for us, what for obvious reasons, we are not able to do for ourselves, is a blessing. All told, I saw what made the Jamaica of my childhood and youth, the Jamaica that remains dear to my heart, juxtaposed with the Jamaica of today, and I knew immediately, why the pull to remain in Canada, was so strong!

I have, since returning to Jamaica, summarized my time away, using these words: I did not want to come home! Yes…I did not want to return to the madness that is an excuse for driving on our roadways, the corruption that pervades every sector and stratum of society and the barely veiled hypocrisy, in the denials of those at the helm of leadership. I did not want to return, but I am here, giving thanks for the many wonderful things that still happen in this beleaguered country and more so, for the countless good people who still reside here, some of whom are my very dear friends. I pray that somehow, miraculously, the good Lord will cause us to realize that if as a nation, we must facilitate the advancement of humankind’s welfare, then each Jamaican, socio-economic background, education, political or church affiliation notwithstanding, each one must internalize what it means to work diligently and creatively, always being generous and honest in our thinking and action, as we stand up for justice and peace.

Until next time, stay safe and well, whether here on the rock or in other places, by remaining in His grip.

Grace+