The Don Dapa

I know, I know, I know. I don't think I can finish The Papa Bear. At least not right now. It brings up so many memories and issues. A friend was like you're clearly not over it. I shook my head all around, screw face and declared that I had forgave and moved on. But, now that I tell the story...again....I am like remembering all the stuff that went on. We definitely had more good times than bad...But I don't think I've dated someone since him that has made an impression on my life. Well, The Scar did a pretty good job. But don't worry we have over 300 something odd number days leftover. I'll get back to them.

In the meantiiiiimmmeee.

Let me tell you this one! So my homegirl is from Jamaica and I decide that it's time for me to make a trip down there. She's going back and making it seem like "Big tings a gwan"!


"It's going to be so much fun," she says, "We're going to do this and that, and blah, blah, blah"

You already know I'm crazy so I agree.

Mind you, she's going to hook me up with one of her childhood friends to hang out with.

Really?

So she bigs this kid up, like oh they are this and that, and they are going to take you here and etc, etc.

I'm like tickle pink. I just know that I'm going to have a ball.

We get to Jamaica. My phone doesn't work. This is the first sign that my life is going to be a reality show. It's going in and out, only text messages, FML.

Now I don't know why in the hell I don't ask details from people, because when she said we weren't staying in the city, "per se" but in the country...I failed to get details. I should have. When she said her grandmother was going to hold our passports for safe keeping, I should have been aware that this is not Kansas anymore.

We are dead in the country. I mean there's a house and proper bathroom, but there are lizards...on the wall...and the ceiling. I need a hoodie.

Okay, I'm going to make the best of this. Or I'm going to try. Did something just bite me?

I've been to Jamaica a couple of times and I call my God Sister...she's like listen, whenever you're ready to leave, I will call the family to come and get you. But I don't want to be rude...I'm going to stick it out.

So let's meet the Don Dapa. He lives next door and him and his friends are cool. But first of all, he's asking me to send him clothes when I get home because his are not "fresh" anymore. Really?

Second of all, he asks me can he keep my birth certificate. You serious right now?

Third, we are chilling on the stoop and his little cousin asks me does the water there taste different in the states. I take a sip. My second mistake.

Then, her grandmother makes some porridge one morning and it's good. Until they tell me that it has goats milk in it. (My stomach just turned.)

By Thursday I am laying up with a fever, while her grandmother rubs rose water on my chest and I can't even eat anything and my stomach feels like it's about to fall out and disappear.

So The Don Dapa decides that he's going to keep me company. Really? Not only can I barely understand a word he's saying...I don't want to hear it right now. I'm like doubled over can't see and he's asking me what kind of t-shirts I can send to Jamaica.

Then he proceeds to tell me that, I better not go in the airport holding my stomach, otherwise they may think I've ingested something and am "trying" to get it to the states...but then asks do I want to. Really?

My final day arrives. I still can't see straight. Since we are in the freaking country we have to drive a ways to the airport. I'm crying the whole way. Okay not really, but I'm still sick. But, I remember to straighten up. The Don Dapa and his friend are dropping us off.

I'm literally running to the gate and I thought I heard, but not sure if I heard him say I should think about staying....

Dude. Really?