Chapter 1 Pandoras Box Part 7

Once at the airport, I board a plane bound for the Bahamas.  I make a mental note to myself about which bag contains my suntan lotion.  I am sure that I will be using it a lot.

The plane flies first to Florida and there I have to switch to a plane they call an “Island Hopper.  Once I land in Florida I am directed by the crew to walk out on to the tarmac.  A balmy Florida breeze is blowing; I inhale and feel the sun on my face.

It’s a quick flight to the Bahamas and the plane lands in less than an hour.  I get off and quickly walk into the airport.  The airport in the Bahamas is lit by florescent lights and a steel band is playing “Living in America.”  There are no lines, no crowds and no happy women dressed in Bahamian garb welcoming us to the Bahamas.

At the gate I am met by Company Casting.  He is wearing a loud white and blue Hawaiian shirt with a straw hat.  He extends his hand and tells me that I have to go through Immigration before I can be taken to the hotel.  He asks me how my trip was and as we walk a couple of steps he whispers to me “Make sure you tell them that you are here as a tourist, whatever you do don’t mention that you are here to work!”  With that he takes me by the elbow and steers me towards an office.  My blood begins to freeze.

Being an Actor/Dancer we lie on a daily basis but not to Government officials and especially not Bahamian Government officials.  A large man dressed in green fatigues gestures for me to sit in a chair, he has a gun strapped to his waist, an unlit cigar in his mouth.  The air is dry and the air conditioner in his window sits silent.  I can feel a bead of sweat drip down my neck and onto my collar.

I am a rotten liar and expect them to see through everything that I say.  I am so nervous as I talk to Immigration that I will say anything to get through this.  I stammer and get caught on my words. Several times the man raises and eyebrow and looks over his glasses at me.  Instead of being arrested, I pass with flying colors and walk into the sunlight of the Island.

A friend of mine and fellow dancer who also got this job is there to greet me and drive me to my new home.  He has volunteered his services to get the performers to the right place and acclimated to their new homes.  I board the waiting van and he pulls out into the wrong side of the road. My friend screams as a car narrowly misses us.  Now I feel sick.  The Bahamas used to be under British rule so they drive on the left side of the road.  We laugh as he struggles to get in the correct lane.

Zipping through the Bahamas we pass many resorts that are very plush and have swimming pools.  I can see happy tourists standing around the hotels but most of the trip takes through the poorest of the poor. Chickens wander the street and a half naked child raises a cup to the car window at a stop light.

We enter a parking lot several miles from the airport; this is to be my new home.  I walk through a rickety wooden door that enters onto a patio it squeaks when I push it open.  My condo has white stucco walls on the outside and lizards run around my feet.  Somewhere an animal makes a noise that I have never heard, a cross between a growl and a scream.

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "Not Only Magic Floats". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.