Serendipity

by Janae Waters (United States of America)

Making a local connection Jamaica

Here I was just one semester away from graduating college early with honors, successfully on the cusp of adulthood, and “entering the real world” as everyone said. I deserved to celebrate. For someone like me, who has an extreme case of wanderlust, I knew that there was no better way to celebrate than with a trip. And after weeks of research, I decided that I’d embark on a week-long, solo trip to Jamaica. As I readied myself for the trip, which was a month or so in the distance, I learned as much as I could about visiting Jamaica. I learned what to pack, the best places to visit, eat, and party, and most importantly, I learned about the culture itself. I educated myself on the overall personality of the people, their attitudes towards Americans, and local areas to avoid while exploring. I couldn’t have been more prepared for this leap into the unknown that had been on the horizon, or so I thought. The moment that I arrived in Jamaica, I realized that I had done everything to prepare for my arrival into a new country, but nothing to prepare for my departure from my own. Why hadn’t I read anywhere to make sure I called my phone company to tell them that I’d be out of town? Why hadn’t the Internet advised me to make sure that my bank knew I’d be out of town? Did I do my research on the wrong part of the internet? Was I looking for the wrong things? Surely I wasn't just supposed to know these things. I said I was on the cusp of adulthood, not that I was already there! But whatever the reason had been for missing such important information, I felt the repercussions of the mistake no sooner than the Jamaican sun shined on me as I exited the airport. By the time I reached my stay, I was overwhelmed and afraid. After realizing just how much trouble I’d be in without access to my phone and money for an entire week, I plopped face down on the bed and cried my heart out. I was defeated. This lasted for about five minutes, until a voice crept into my head—“you didn’t travel all the way here to stay in the room crying. Go have some fun, everything will work out!” So I listened. With no phone and no idea how I’d fix my mess, I headed to a beachside restaurant to try to loosen up. It was at this moment that I met a man who would single-handedly change the entire course of my trip. He approached me dressed in a lifeguard uniform and a smile that could put Colgate out of business, immediately sparking up a conversation. Minutes of talking turned into days of the same, as it soon became evident that we hadn’t met by chance. Based on our first encounter, I knew that he was a good person, but I had no idea just how true he’d prove that to be. For the next week, he was everything to me. My means of communicating with the outside world, allowing me to get my affairs in order. My personal chef, cooking me an authentic Jamaican breakfast nearly every morning. My personal driver, safely getting me to and from any place I desired. My personal tour guide, taking me not only to the places recommended during my research, but also to local places that I’d probably been advised against visiting during that very same research. For an entire week I was protected and cared for. I was grateful. As my week in paradise came to an end, it was safe to conclude that while this had undoubtedly been the best trip I’d ever been on, I was preparing for one of the hardest goodbyes I’d ever experience. At the airport, as we said our final farewell, the tears streamed down my cheeks like a scene from a movie. It finally hit me. I’d never again see the man who had just done so much for me. The man’s name was Max, and I’m still convinced that Max was an angel. Either that or the perfect stranger.