Chapter 16-Behind The Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets

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Actually it is deemed scandalous. This page contains some language that may be too strong for some adult and otherwise children under 16 years of age. Much Patois! </I></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>The Jamaica Gleaner reported:</B><B> </B></div> <div> <B>"Sen. Supt. Williams said the Narcotics Police and JDF personnel were able to pick up the speed boat at sea, after it was tracked from South America. They kept it under surveillance until it docked in Belmont where the traffickers unloaded the contraband and placed it in a house. </B></div> <div> <B>He said the police stayed with it all night until daybreak when they were able to move in and seize it." </B></div> <div> <B>"The boat and other equipment found are now in police custody and we are going to be pursuing our investigations," he noted. </B></div> <div> <B>Commenting on the satellite phones seized, Sen. Supt. Williams said the traffickers were able to by-pass local telecommunications networks and link the caller and the receiving party without possible outside interference."</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>If anyone recall the song: Inna this ya time...I sure do. I have played it on our juke-box when Mass Harold Watson passed away. I played it when Daddy passed away. The times had change,  and God helps us. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe </B></div> <div> <B>Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets: 102</B></div> <div> <B>                            </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>Welcome to the Real Deal: Reality</B><B> </B></div> <div> <B>A Serious Dialogue written in the Jamaican Dialect</B><B> </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Open narrator  to protect the Innicence: </B><B> You see them a build big house. Then a where the money a come from? A see some people truly have some big plans, and big- big heart. Well Girlfriend, Justice finally catch up with some. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Noamie: Well, Let's see. According to the reports, the high tech communication came from high up in the hills of Orange Hill. I wonder who is capable of all of that? </B></div> <div> <B>Ms. Bertha: Noamie ghal, wait a minute, no` Orange Hill you come from. Your grandfather didn't own all of them land up there? </B></div> <div> <B>Noamie: No, he use to be "caretaker for a whole heap of land." But I don't know nothing 'bout all of that. A foreign me` live. </B></div> <div> <B>Ms. Bertha: But me did a hear sey you was in Jamaica a few weeks ago for a whole month. </B></div> <div> <B>Say Noamie, you didn't see and hear 'bout any little runnings? </B></div> <div> <B>Noamie: Ms. Bertha, a liad you want me fe tun? I see Kings and Queens and ladies and, - and lawyers, and all of the above. But tell me what exactly you have in mind and I will try to answer... Listen, somebody tried to kill me already claiming me know too much, and me acting like me a Queen, (of course I am a Queen. That is why me name ~Noamie~) so` me` no` 'able fe people. I like my little flat (loft) just fine. It is nice and cozy for me. Big house too hard fe` clean and 'furniish. Plus, when night come, then have a way of looking like cemetery. </B></div> <div> <B>Ms. Bertha: ... "then have a way of looking like cemetery." </B></div> <div> <B>Lard Noamie, you bad! Well everybody wants to experience big house. You grew up in one, so you know the pain and headache of having fe clean and maintain them. </B></div> <div> <B>Don't mind the plushness! </B></div> <div> <B>Say ya` you ever see how them see-come-see a 'ack' when them find themselves ina big house? Lard, them nothing but embarrassment to society. </B></div> <div> <B>Noamie: Ms. Bertha, you more than me, here. But you know very well that I am a very good listener. So talk!</B><B> </B></div> <div> <B>Ms. Bertha: But tell me something Noamie. Me deh hear one next argument. And a know say you just come from dong de`, so you must when ketch some a the other gossip them. Me know sey nothing no` pass you when you ketch down a Negril and then gwahn up a Hills. Me hear say them have two batty boy up deh`, A true~! And me hear say it is well know people them. </B></div> <div> <B>Noamie: Bertha JockkoverKayan, Me` soom come...... </B></div> <div> <B>It is way past my bed-time... </B></div> <div> <B>But I will tell you this: In time, every evil Kingdom will fall. </B></div> <div> <B>Ms. Bertha: True, true, me` friend. Sleep tight. And Happy Forth Birthday to you! </B></div> <div> <B>But before you go`, me have one more question fe` ask you. Me` hear say one man up there sey him na` meke the little Gooden boy come tun the bigger Dan up there and mek him look like a boy. So me hear sey thisya big shipment a this whole heap a coke afe` him. Laud Noamie ghal, what a rass mussa wicked. Him no have no soul? You no` see how him do him friends them. He tu`n them all ina` `ediot and then use them. A soul him no have. Cause one man ca`an greedy so~.</B><B> </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe</B></div> <div> <B>Chapter 16</B></div> <div> <B>Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets:</B><B> 103</B><B>                            </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>Welcome to the Real Deal: Reality Continued...</B><B> </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Noamie: Ms. Burtha, you are a church believing church going Christian woman. And a know you read you bible; so you no` see sey a prelious times we living in? </B></div> <div> <B>You no see how Americans a tun pon each other and then a blame it pon foreigner who them think them can beat up pon? You no` see the wickedness whe` dey a wold` now? </B></div> <div> <B>So what you canna expect dong a little Jamdom. Ever so often in life; Eden get a visitor...Lucifer! </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>And you know sey, Lucifer can become a flesh and blood person, just like you and me. It's just that if you touch him, no heart and no soul no` ina` him. That's why he`m we` wride little boy batty and no` care. `he we tek` coke and mash up him own friends them and then mek them work like dog fe` him and no care. `he we` send man by night fe go thief eh` enemy them ganja and no care. Then when him finish with him thief them, police find them up ina next parish with 21 bullets. </B></div> <div> <B>So Ms. Bertha, you no` se` sey a perilous times we ina. You no see, see Revelation 16 a fulfill fast, fast! </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Noamie: But hear thisa one ya` Ms. Bertha. You no` see sey the blood a cry out from the earth. You no` hear the bible sey, every sin much be punish. So read thisya` story ya`. A long time things and wickedness a gwahn. The boy inna this ya story is real. A up a Little London him come from. But him family think sey a foreign him gone and no` come back. Poor thing them. And me hear sey, the man never give the boy family a penny out of all a this. So you kno` know sey, God naa` sleep. </B></div> <div> <B>A whole heap a people think sey sky dou` really burst open and God thou` come and then, them can have time fe` sey: Lord forgive me. Them no realize say: "Just like in the days of Noah, while they were eating and drinking, God come, tek who Him want, and kill who Him want." So Him tell man to get them souls' right. Look and see how many people from the WTC building jump to their death. Some Angel whe` up there. You should a sey them a fly~. Thank God Him know him people them. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>When God finish clean up this ya earth ya`, it will be like Paradise again. But Ms. Bertha, no bather plan fe` mek no` big house now you`no`, besaue Him sey: "In my father's house, there are many mansions. And I go to prepare a place for you." So you sit tight. Fe we` mansion is already build. And we no have fe` rob and teef anyone fe build it. </B></div> <div> <B>But see the lingo ya~ </B></div> <div> <B>Now after you read this, no bather tek off into the wilderness to fast and pray. It's fighting time, not praying time right now. And 'bush-tea' caan help you. Him rass ina whole heap a trouble as it is. </B></div> <div> <B>Ms. Bertha: Lard Noamie, me never know sey `eh sumoch! Thanks! </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe</B></div> <div> <B>Chapter 16</B></div> <div> <B> Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets:</B><B> 104</B></div> <div> <B>                            </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>1976: The Beginning of The Sen-si-mena  Orange Hill Ganga Trade.</B><B> </B></div> <div> <B>Pots of Gold</B></div> <div> <B>The first ganja deal that took place up in Orange Hill took place around my mother's dining table. I was young and still in high school, Manning's High Schools. Our family was an elite family who knew how to entertain, and accommodate. Therefore, mummy was approached to do the cooking. She can't really cook, so it was up to me to do all the cooking. The rich and powerful American Drug buyers had began flooding into Negril, looking for the high demand, grade A ganja to buy and shipped back to America. It was a time of renaissance so to speak for Orange Hill, Hills people. I learn to listen carefully. The year was 1976.  I must also points out that never once did my fhater got involved in the marijuana trade. For the most part, he was away in England.</B></div> <div> <B>As I sat back and watch and observe, over the years, I would come to know those who made it and those who didn't. I would come to know more than I care to know. My own experience of what evil dictates would have helped me to write now of my destiny with the town I will always call home. This is what I know... This was only the beginning..." </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>Rich, It was Splash, Splash, and Splash! </B></div> <div> <B>"</B><B>For a whole week, challis insisted that his friend wanted to meet me. However, I was not interested in meeting Trottie Weise. I did not care how popular he was. Neither did I care that he was the King of Negril then. Trottie Weise instructed, more like ordered Challis to bring me to him. I would come to learn that that is the ways of the Don's. This day, Challis who was giving my cousin and me a ride into Negril told us that he had to make a stop.  Soon come back! </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>As Jamaicans, we know that saying well. It was a holiday; so my cousin and I didn't mind the detour. The little drive-out was luxury as well. Then Challis drove to West End, and turned into Xtabi. Well, I had no fear going to Xtabi by the restaurant. Plus Challis is a cousin, 'so we cool.' Unbeknown to me, this was where Challis had planned to meet up with Mr. Trottie. I quickly realized the deception. Have no fear; Daddy might be somewhere, plus the owner was around. I start to tell Challis off. He knows better. Daddy wasn' t a man whose kids you should mess with. This is why I will hesitate to complain to him about anyone trying to make-big people talk to me. Nevertheless,  Trottie  himself  has a woman that he is living with along with his two children; plus he was now dating a girl up in Orange Hill. I was not interested for many reasons. No doubt, Challis had was to abandon the plan, and took my other cousin and me back up the beach, Tree House, where we were. Mr. Trottie, I guess came and realized that his orders  weren't obeyed.  </B></div> <div> <B>Soon after, everywhere Mr. Trottie saw me; his words would be unpleasant. Then his lucky break came. It was a Sunday afternoon when people in Orange Hill (all over Jamaica really) would dressed-up and take their Sunday evening little stroll. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Mr. Trottie came around this corner, saw me standing almost at my grandmother's gate, so he went into action. There about 10-12 feet from me, was a nasty puddle of water that had been there for weeks if not months; seriously stagnant. The boy suddenly charges his big-old boat car, into high gear, and went for it. I was splashed from head to toe with that stagnant filthy dirty water. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe</B></div> <div> <B>Chapter 16 </B></div> <div> <B>Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets:</B><B> 105</B></div> <div> <B>                           </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>Suddenly everyone came running. They all say that it was a deliberate act. My cousins and neighbors across the street quickly ran for towels and water. </B></div> <div> <B>However, the big question was why. His eyes and mine had connected right after from his rear-view mirror, as if he was saying; see what I can do to you! No explanation was necessary, since most of the guys had already know what I had done. One do not snub a Don, or the making of one. I must now explained it to my grandmother and elders. However, it was not before words to this effect came out of my mouth: "I hope that some day some-body splash that fucker to death." </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Well, not so long after, I was in New York when we learned that Trottie got killed. </B><B> </B><B>Trottie, it turned out, Mr. Bad-man, like to take other people stuff (ganja); and don't pay them. Instead he would live the high life; while telling these poor people that "the money no` come yet." Well, he told too many of those. Gunman did not want to hear that. When the police found him in his soundproof room; he was splashed! His blooded fingerprint, hand prints. would write his own name on the wall of his beautiful hide-away. And yes, they tortured him. Splash! Splash! Trottie Weise went splash, splash to his own death. Fucker! Yes. I believe in The Powers of Faith, as it was rather cruel for what Trottie did to me. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Noamie:</B><B> Today Challis can be seen as a 'coke-head' on the streets of Negril District. In many ways, he still gets respect from those who knew him before he got introduced to Cocaine. How did he get to that point? From the Head- person who sat around my mother's dining table as the "Don of the Deals" to his once best friend Trottie who met his death the way he had lived.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B> Challis's story is a sad one, all too familiar, and all part of the history. I saw Challis just last month on my visit to Negril. As I exited the taxi in the Negril's Bus Stop, he was the first person to spot me. He walked over. He said, "Nun, it is good to see you..."</B><B> [This year is 2001. The day was September 11.]</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>...Silently, inside, I will always cry for Challis and what had become of him. He wanted some money, as usual. I told him to walk with me from the bus stop into town so that I could get some cash from the ATM machine. As we walked we talked. Challis always felt proud that I had no problem to be seen either walking or talking with him. I never care what others in the Jamaica upper class, in the Society would think of me, because I knew his past. I know his history.</B><B> </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>We walked to the ATM machine. I gave him some money. He walked back with me to the bus stop. I did not care what he would do with the money. I have become too 'use to' not wanting to know if he would buy himself some breakfast as he always tells me he would. I did not care if he would take the money and go buy another hit. The pains in my heart had long since numb my inner strength of the road that got us here.  </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe</B></div> <div> <B>Chapter 16 </B></div> <div> <B>Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets:</B><B> 106</B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>This day, I was on my way to Mandeville. I know that I would see Challis again before I leave Jamaica. I was just glad to know that on this my recent visit, that he, Challis was not locked up in jail for trying to cash yet another fake (counterfeit) $100 bill that another dishonest American tourist had asked him to go to the bank and cash. I know that I would not be hearing my name been yelled from the Negril jail by this 'familiar voice' telling me that he was there sitting in jail and wanted someone to come and get him out. That was not the place I wanted to hear, "Nun you come," yelled to me; and that I 'know' that I did not have to go looking for Rickie Jackson and having to yell at him to go and get Challis out of jail ASAP, before I loose it (my cool). I know that I did not want to hear that Challis were been punish for his crime. After all, the crime is the reason Challis is where he's at.... Afterall, I was on vacation... </B><B>  </B></div> <div> <B>Ms. Bertha: I can't wait to hear more... </B></div> <div> <B>And a` know you will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, like no other person would. </B></div> <div> <B>Noamie I really want to hear more.</B><B> </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Well Ms Bertha: This was Something'</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Noamie: Ghas!  Ghas Jackson</B></div> <div> <B>It was Sunday evening. I was dressed and standing outside the gate when Ghas drove up in a rent a car, a car I knew all too well. Well I knew the owner. Ghas asked me to go with him to Sav-la-mar. I said OK. However, as it turns out, Ghas had no intention of stopping in Sav-la-mar. I found myself in St. Elizabeth. It was fine with me. I did not mind the Sunday evening drive out. We arrived back at Brim Hole. It was then that Ghas walked out and came back and told me that he would like to offer me some money for accompanying him. In the mean time David R. came out to help to thank me. I was shocked. There unloading from the trunk of the car were bales and bales of marijuana.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B> SHOCK! I was. I remembering when a guy came out of a house in St. Elizabeth to talk with Ghas, however, I never ever saw the ganja been loaded. William's my then boyfriend was a police stationed at Little London Police Station, and the only thing that start going through my mind was, would he had ever believe me that I was innocent. And did Ghas deliberately sought me out for this little trip, knowing that the car would have never gotten search, were we pulled over on the way back to Negril. Or was it because Daddy and the Police Chiefs was all good friend and because we were held in high esteem, and so it was easy to use someone like me as a diversion. I was not happy about the ordeal, however, what was done was done, and there were no use crying over spill milk. Instead, I have learnt a very valuable lesson. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>It is time to point out my position on and about marijuana/ganja. Yes, I grew up with it all around me, however, I was never interested in the production, or anything whatsoever to do with the drugs. I just happen to be born in this era. I had to live with that, and all that I could not change around me. After all, this is what and how History of a time, a place, a people came into being. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B> </B></div> <div> <B>West Cliffe </B></div> <div> <B>Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets:</B><B> 107</B></div> <div> <B>                            </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>After all, it was time for yet another part of history to be written. That night I took no money from Ghas. I didn't want any money, and I refuse to be blackmail. </B></div> <div> <B>The next year, after having broke up from my police boyfriend, because of a distant cousin, I began dating a doctor. He began complaining to me that his patients from Sheffield were all complaining to him that Ghas would come and take their ganja and then refuse to pay them. I could not go to Ghas. I got tired of listening to Eustace telling me that these people were serious in threatening to kill him, Ghas. I remember all too well his own deception. I kept my mouth shut. I thought about going to David R. and speak to him about and for these people. I wanted to silence Eustace my boyfriend. This was November 15, 1980, and I was home for my father funeral. I return to Jamaica to celebrate the New Year. I was in  Jamaica for Ghas's funeral.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>It was a night similar to the night Ghas died. Ghas was buried  with  half-of his head and and empty face. Ghas had walked right into the propeller of the small plane as it were been loaded with ganja, as his brother (another cokehead) watched. I think the hardest days of David R. lives was having to make a decision of having to tell Lollie, Ghas live-in girlfriend at the time what had happen and to Ghas. As I stand at a distance and watch the funeral procession, having made the decision not to look at the body, I stand in awe at the Orange Hill, Redany Catholic Church fence with Mr. Hogg and watched as history would unfold in front of our eyes. I watch the end of Ghas. Another chapter in a history that could not have been written by any one, other than someone who have seen it all. </B></div> <div> <B>I always believe that I was there only to look, observe, for this time in history was like a time when, time and destiny was like a motion picture, moving across a screen of another place, where no one has a clue as to what anything meant. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Greed, the love of the American ways had begun taking its roots into a people who believe that the Statue of Liberty has taken-up a new home,  and where instant wealth beckons. It became a time when Orange Hill begun taking the high road to where Challis in 2001, would be known to many all over the world, and where time had not stood still for people like Ghas, and many others, who would fall by the blade of a propeller. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Tenzie went even more brutal than Ghas. </B></div> <div> <B>I remember the night. I saw the grief on the faces the next day and days after. My father had asked me what had happen, however, I told him that I didn't hear anything, and they told me wasn't to come up to the house on the hill. So I obeyed. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>I tried desperately to find out what was the cause. No one would speak. No one spoke of it,  at least, not in details. Even while they all trusted me up in Orange Hill, no one dare speak of that night..  Orange Hill's dark secrets would take some to the grave. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe - </B></div> <div> <B>Chapter 16</B></div> <div> <B>Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets:</B><B> 108</B></div> <div> <B>                            </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>One by one I would watch the tell-tale of those who would become coke-head, of the ones who would turn people like Challis into coke-head, a means of trying to force their silence.</B></div> <div> <B> I watch the people who got rich from the sweat of the downtrodden. I would look in amazement into the face of enemies and watch them lower their eyes, in temporary shame. </B></div> <div> <B>Somehow, they all know that I know. It is not for them to tell me. No one wishes to become the first to break the code, the code of that dreadful night in the rrain, as they packaged the garbage-truck filled with Ganga, there in the dark; there down in the deeps of Rewany. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>Also, Here we address the issue of drugs/marijuana that is popular in Jamaica. </B></div> <div> <B>FOR THE RECORD HERE: GANJA, better known, as Marijuana is illegal both in Jamaica and most other countries. We at Noamies-Negril.com; www.thenewnegril.com do not encourage the use of the drug. All information(s) are used for discussion only. Visit our: www.thenewnegril.net website and view our page on "The Jamaica Law." </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>I have searched for information, never giving up. For indeed, Orange Hill has change. I have watched too many gone to the dogs, broken , lost and to the point of no returns. Secrets destroys. The pain of what should never have been would become unbearable for those who were already too weak to endure any of life's windy curves. [And ] Then one  day, I got the  break. I reply to a post on a message board. Someone wanted to talk; a foreigner who was there that night was talking. I was ready to listen:    </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe- </B></div> <div> <B>Chapter 16 </B></div> <div> <B>Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets:</B><B> 109</B></div> <div> <B>                            </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>Where Two Roads Meets...Why Here? </B></div> <div> <B>Smugglers Moon ~ A Touching Story-Highly Emotional </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>A Story of runnins in Westmoreland </B></div> <div> <B>The third trip down the twisting, turning trail was wearing me thin.Underfoot was a mixture of mashed-up slippery mud and razor sharp pointed white stone. One misstep meant more pain than possibly imaginable.The load across my shoulders was becoming unstable, unmanageable.A 50lb. box of handpressed ganja had rested there all day. The sweat pouring off my head, my shoulders, my arms, my hands was threatening to send it, and me crashing to the the jungle floor and that pain. Mosquito's were in every pore of my body. No way to lift a hand to drive them away to relieve my anguish. The night was dark.Pitch black. Stars blanketed by cloud.No moon. A smugglers moon. The twelve of us in the snaking line would have to finish the trek, no matter how terrible. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>This was November 1978. I was living in a community outside of Negril, Jamaica called Orangehill. I had gone to Sav-la-mar early in the mornin to do some bankin and make phone calls. The one bank in the plaza in Negril took forever to get through, and usually they got it wrong. Phones in Negril were a joke. While in Sav-la-mar I ran into my buddy Pablo,a guy who lived out in the bush with his family too.We had worked together planting and things, and had grown tight. Pablo was tense. He had come to town to speak to the doctor about his daughters upcoming surgery. She was four years old and his main focus in life. Some sort of intestinal thing with her.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>Probably easily corrected, but worrisome none the less. His tense demeanor went beyond that though. I couldn't get through to him, he wouldn't talk about it. I offered him a ride back to</B><B> </B><B>the hill and we left. Pablo hanging out the window of the truck in Little London cried "ANDY!!", and in a lower voice, "Mike, pull over". Andy was from the hill too. Leaning against the front of the bar, smiling, drinking Heineken he looked as if he had no care in the world. We went in and drank. The three of us must have killed thirty Heineken. We smoked hard. Mornin turned into afternoon, afternoon was threatinin to turn into evenin.Pablo & Andy had gone around back & I could see them talking in hushed tones, lookin around. They got me curious. </B></div> <div> <B>"Whazzup Guys?". All I got for a response was nothin. they looked at me, then at each other. Pablo finally said,"Mikes in. Tell Him".After a long glance at Pablo Andy finally said,"Mike you want to come with us on a work tonite? You see us plant the ting, you see us grow it, reap it, cure it, manicure it it, pack it and hide it. Come see where it go now . We need a hand." </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>It was getting late.I'd been up all day, drinking and smoking for most of it.Half of me wanted to go with my buddies, party,have some excitement.The other half wanted to go to my room and crash.Pablo talked me into it. Needing a hand they could trust. How could I say no and ever depend on these guys for anything again.Dosen't work like that. Pablo too had wanted to get home. His wife and daughter were expecting him, but he had just recieved word of this work in Sav.Tonite was THE nite.Everyone would make thier next few months livin on tonites runnins.</B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe </B></div> <div> <B>Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets:</B><B> 110</B></div> <div> <B>                            </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>I knew Pablo for a strong family man. If he would give up his nite for this work, so would I. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>We took my truck up Orangehill. Six guys we picked up along the way. When we reached the clearing we were seeking there were three more there. That made twelve, serious for business. </B></div> <div> <B>The trail snaked up from the clearing. We headed up.Three times up the trail to the cave. Each of us 12 lading a 50lb. box. Twice down already, the third soon come. 1800 lbs. of Grade "A" Orangehill ganja.BUMBACLOT.Coming down from the first trip a dumptruck was waiting for us.Load him up. Up again. The second trip, the third trip, dumptruck still waiting. Insatiable appetite. Thank Christ we were finished with the trail.None of us could have done another trip. All in. Soaking wet. Out of breath. Wasted. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>A half-ton pulled in, lites blazin. Everyone freaked, started to run, till the runnins were known.These guys were there to meet us. Two guys in the back with 4- 45 gallon drums. The bossman called me and a couple of the others over to him. He would be riding with me, upfront.The truck with the drums would follow close. The dumptruck would follow far back, lites out, watching for trouble. We get stopped, dumptruck leave. Let's Go!!. I thought I knew the area. Wrong. The back trails we took I had never encountered before. I'm drivin, Pablo beside me, Bossman at the window.Spliffs passin around everywhere.Fire in the nite. The only lite to be seen. Uphill, downhill, across fields.I had no idea where we were.Finally a smell of the sea, a lite sound of the sea, a muted "pull it in". My truck and the "drums" vehicle pulled to a halt. Behind us I could see/hear the dumptruck backing into the bushline. A general mutter went up. Groups of guys went off doing different things, organization or chaos? I was wasted. Didn't really get the idea of a cohesive setting. Pablo grabbed my arm and pointed me toward the sea. "Everyting under control mon. You work hard. You tired. Come sit." </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>We walked to the beach and sat, a hum of activity around us. Two dugouts launched from shore. Two men in each. The "drum" truck, backed down to the sand, tires spinning.Two guys fussing with a piece of gear on the beach.Perfectly dark. Black. Red spliff ends the only lite. </B></div> <div> <B>A hum from the sky. A distant drone, no way to get a directional fix. It's louder!! Coming from the south-east. The two dugouts are silhoetted about 500 feet from shore, about 100 feet apart.The piece of equipment beside me on the beach flashes to life. A search lite pointed out to sea with a red film over the lens. Immediately each dugout sprouts a yellow beam of lite cast upon the sea.The early drone from the sky is now a steady roar.</B></div> <div> <B>From the heavens comes a pair of lites piercing the sky three times. Wingtip lites flashing. The red searchlite on the beach flashes three times in return. The lites in the dugouts remain steady. Not much of a landing approach. Two lites 100 feet apart showing a glideway 500 feet to shore with a red lite for a backstop. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe  -</B></div> <div> <B>Chapter 16 </B></div> <div> <B> Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets:</B><B> 111</B></div> <div> <B>                            </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>This pilot has big balls. The plane is very close now, very loud, but difficult to see. Twin beams, intense, emerge from the belly of the plane. Landing lites. About 1500 feet out, 50 feet up, she comes in. In a huge water spray the twin-engined seaplane splashes down, roars, then taxi's towards the dugouts, kills the engines, drifts in. Guys from the dugouts jump in the sea, hook a rope to the assend of the plane, bring the rope to shore. The rope goes on the back of the "drum" truck. Very carefully the truck moves forward as the guys in the sea swing the plane backwards. In a matter of moments she is high and dry on the beach, poised outward for takeoff. </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>A beehive of activity. Pilot coming out cursing. Two guys entering plane thru other door. Two more guys up on wing. "Drum" truck rolling back down, two guys in back throwing hose which are taken up to the wingmen.Dumptruck diesel fired up and moving toward us. Sensory overload, attemting to make sense of it all. The "drum" truck, full of aviation fuel. Lines snaked from it, men pumping to the wing tanks, where others were holding the hoses. The two guys who had entered the aircraft were now throwing out seats, the co-pilot seat, rows of seats from the rear. No good for the plane anymore.This furniture would soon be adorning porches in Orangehill. Come Saturday nite old toothless men would be strapping themselves into these seats so as not to fall over from the effects of the "whites". Pablo beside me jumping with ectasy. He was thinking what every other man on the job was thinking, "PAYDAY!!PAYDAY!! After 5 months work, PAYDAY!! T.V, VCR, new clothes, gold, spoil the women and children, dance, party, PAYDAY!!" </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>The dumptruck backed down and we were called to it. A line stretched from truck to plane and ganja boxes were passed along in silence. The truck was soon emptied and gone, the plane full and waiting. Hoses came out of the wings, caps put in, "drum" truck gone too. The pilot, still cursing, climbed into the cockpit. Someone flashed on the headlites of my truck to the beach. The left engine sputtered, caught, and roared to life.</B></div> <div> <B>The same cycle for the right. Six of us on the wing of each side of the fuselage, pushing our guts out to move that baby into the sea. Engines gunned, it wouldn't move. The plane pulled so far up on the beach by the truck, then loaded with three thousand pounds of herb and aviation fuel refused to move. The engines red-lined we pushed. We pushed, we grunted, we cursed. Barely imperceptable at first she moved. Then an inch, then she must have hit a hard spot of sand because she jumped three feet ahead then she was free and gone. But not before she gave a moan from the right engine, like some mighty power had grabbed the prop and brought it to the point of stall. It was exhillerating to see the baby go. The guys on the other side appeared to be in a state of shock. We walked the few feet over as I smiled and looked for Pablo. Pablo was not there. Where the fuck was he? What the fuck was this mess on the beach? What was dripping off of everyone? Oh No, OhNo, fuck fuck fuck. </B></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>West Cliffe-   </B></div> <div> <B>Chapter16 </B></div> <div> <B>Behind the Great Mask- Where Two Roads Meets:</B><B> 112</B></div> <div> <B>                            </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>When the plane took the freeing jump, apparently Pablo lost his footing, slipped headfirst into the starboard prop. Not much left. The plane could be heard above circling to get it's fix on Bimini. This I was told was where the load was going, eventually to be distributed to the eastern caribbean nations. Good for them. Bad for Pablo.  </B><B>Wordlessly we left. The Boss-man would see that Pablo was buried quiet and proper. No one would say anything. That was the way. Rumors would start to circulate that he had gone to the states, to town, had killed himself. After a while they would die down and nothing would remain of Pablo but our memories.  He who lives it, knows it.  </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>This incident  cuts to my heart. The family haven't a clue as to the where about of the young man, the writer called, Pablo . They all assumed that he had taken off to Foreign on a ganja-plane. This is truly a sad story. [But] such is the life of drugs. </B></div> <div> <B>This is the meaning to "The Cross-Road," for indeed i was a living witness to many things; things that will become silence for ever...  </B></div> <div> <B>Bob Marley said it best; "Three Little Birds" </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>I always watch to see who would come after me. I came to know 'my 'potential' killers'   or those that would try to be. I knew those who would sought my life to silence me. I knew the faces of the enemies, the people who knew that I knew too much. I knew my number one enemy, Ricky Jackson, who tried to love me, then tried to kill me. I have come face to face with the devil ...Lucifer. I knew the house. I had long since seen the telltale signs. </B></div> <div> <B>Noamie: 1990: I travelled back into time, I went back to live in Jamaica.... </B></div> <div> <B>The Truth behind Jimmy Jackson's anger against me.... </B></div> <bR> <div> <B>The truth behind my decision to divorcing my mother's side of the family. The million(s) that went into Negril Tree House from Challis's pocket, from my brother, into Jimmy Jackson's pocket. Money stolen by his son Ricky Jackson. They never got their share of the money. The truth behind the many reasons as to why Negril's Tree House never truly belongs to Jimmy Jackson. The truth behind the reasons as to why he was willing to sign it away to his newest foreign wife, while pretending that it would undo a wrong that had gone terrible wrong, in another time, another era. The year was 1978. Where two roads would  finally meet.</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>"Everything must change. Nothing stays the same. Everyone will change, nothing and no one goes unchanged. There are not many things in life you can be sure of, except, sunshines in the sky, the moon will rise at night, and hummingbirds do fly. Winter turns to Spring, the wounded heart will heal, and ever much too soon, everything will change..." </B></div> <div> <B>John Milton, Paradise Lost, 1608-1674 </B></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <TABLE BORDER="2" CELLPADDING="1" CELLSPACING="1" WIDTH="688" BORDERCOLORLIGHT="#C0C0C0" BORDERCOLORDARK="#808080" FRAME="BOX" RULES="ALL" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" > <tR> <tD VALIGN=CENTER BGCOLOR=#000000 HEIGHT= 57 WIDTH="678"><div> <I><B>This site and its pages are Copyright 1998-2008. Noamie's Negril- Jamaican Tea Room. All Rights Reserved. Web site Designed by: Noamie</B></I></div> <bR> </tD> </tR> </TABLE></div> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>