Being stranded is never fun. - Photo by Robert Lalah

Clink! Bang! Boing! After that, a quick rattle, then silence. The car was kaput. I managed to pull it to the side of the road just before it gave i After about a minute, I nervously tried starting it again, and for a second my heart rose with hope as the engine gave a valiant roar. It shook a while and rumbled for a second, then, with a final thud, seemed to give up the figh A puff of white steam rose from the engine like a distress signal and the smell of grease was overwhelming.

So there I was, alone in a car that had had it, stranded by the side of the road in a part of Clarendon I was not familiar with. Now by most accounts this was a horrible spot to be in but, as is so common in the Jamaican experience, even a bad situation can lead to a good story.

Stranded

I hopped out of the car and looked around. Nobody. The roads were particularly empty that day and there was not another human in sight. I could hear a dog barking in the distance. I walked around to the front of the car and gave the engine a look over, but couldn't figure out what the problem was. I sighed in frustration and began to silently contemplate my next move. I heard a faint rumble and noticed that a car was making its way in my direction. It was a tiny yellow car with butterfly and fairy stickers on the front bumper. It had a broken headlight and was puttering along the road rather reluctantly. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit weary of meeting the person who drove such a car, but the situation I found myself in didn't leave me with much choice.

The driver of the car seemed to realise that I was in distress so he pulled over in front of my car and hopped out. He was a tall, fair skinned man with a bushy, white beard and thick framed spectacles. The hair on his head was less than lustrous and showed signs of having seen thicker days. He was tall and getting on in age. He wore pants that didn't make it all the way to his ankles and thick brown shoes. "How you do?" he said.

Diagnosing the problem

The man walked over to the car and lifted his glasses over his eyes and rested them on the top of his forehead. "What's the problem now?" he said. I told him I hadn't figured it out yet. "Right, right. Well, let's take a look now," he said and then didn't make a move for another couple minutes. He just stood there in silence staring at the engine. I looked at him, then at the engine and then at him again, wondering what he was doing. I played with the idea of saying something to him ashe stood there, but decided against it when I saw the intense concentration in his eyes.

"It looks like the car overheat man," was all he came up with before saying he really didn't know much about cars. I tried to conceal my bewilderment and thanked him for his kindness. He hobbled back to his car and puttered off, leaving a cloud of smoke in his wake.

Almost immediately, a blue pickup pulled up and a huge fellow stepped out with a very angry expression on his face. He must have been close to 300lb and wore what looked like waterboots and a small cap. He rocked from side to side as he walked. "What happen to you, my youth?" he asked. I gave him the same response that I gave the bearded man ealier. "What happen is that yuh water hose buss man. Dem sinting yah always a happen to me. If you did know you woulda change it long time. But as dem seh, trouble nuh set like rain," he said. He told me his name was Jackson. "Bwoy a work mi a go, but hear wah, mi ago link one a mi bredren fi come give you a hand," he said. With that, he gave a goodbye wave and then walked back over to his pickup. He squeezed himself in and then drove off.

Barefooted stranger

I leaned on the side of the car and decided to wait until the 'bredren' showed up. But just then, I looked down the road and noticed that there was a man heading in my direction. He wasn't wearing any shoes and his shirt was torn. The colour of his pants was changed by dirt and he walked with a limp.

I swallowed hard as I contemplated the possibilities of dying at the hands of a shoeless serial killer by the side of the road in Clarendon. As the man got closer I toyed with the idea of picking up a rock to defend myself. I noticed that his hair was a mess and his facial expression showed that he was upset about something. He looked at me with his beady eyes and I was sure my final hour was fast approaching. "What a way to go" I thought to myself. The man was a few feet away from me now so I was ready for the worst. "Good morning Sar. How you do? You need mi fi help you wid anyting?" the man said in a surprisingly soft tone. "I ... ah ... er," was all I could mutter at first. I was caught by surprise, but managed to get myself together and thanked the gentleman for his offer. I told him I was ok and he smiled and walked off.

A minibus pulled up beside me. The conductor, hanging halfway out the bus shouted in my direction. "You run outta gas?" I told him that that was not the problem and he shook his head and the bus drove off without him saying another word.

Frustrated, I decided to have another look at the engine. I realised that the water hose was fine. Jackson had made a mistake after all. I went back inside the car to give it another try. I turned the key and this time, much to my relief, the engine roared to life. I couldn't figure it out, but I didn't hang around thinking about it. With great hurry I left that lonely spot on the Clarendon roadway and was on my way and not a moment too soon.

robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com