Tourists at a Funeral

A man with a white hat was standing in the crowd, holding a sign with our last name written on it. My husband and I walked over to him and we all gave introductions. He said he was Winston, and he would be driving us to our rental house. He led us to a van, helped us get our luggage in, and politely opened the door for me. After he was seated and buckled up, we were off. We were in Eluethera, a small island in the Bahamas. It was our second trip to the island, because we had fallen in love with it two years prior.

This time our rental house was close to the little village of Gregory Town, on the northern end of the island. Last time we were more centrally located in Governor’s Harbor. Winston talked a lot on our van ride to the house. Right away, he explained that Phillip was our caretaker for the house. He said that usually Phillip would have picked us up, but unfortunately, his sister passed away, and he was at the funeral. We were saddened by this news, but Winston assured us that Phillip would take care of us on the island while we were here. When we arrived to the house, Winston showed us where everything was and then gave us our keys and left. Phillip’s business card with phone number was on the table.

We were finally at our destination! We were exhausted from traveling, but excited to finally be on our vacation at long last. Obviously, the first thing we did was attempt to christen the couch in the living room. More accurately, the futon. My husband was planning on having sex at least twice a day, every day, and he wasn’t wasting any time!

After only a few minutes into vacation sex, someone started knocking on our door! Our house was practically in the middle of nowhere, there was only one house anywhere close to us. I ran into the bathroom and closed the door most of the way, open enough so that I could hear. I couldn’t hear anything however, but the man that was knocking was a masseuse looking for the client that hired him. What!? Ugh, wrong house, dude. Ok, that was weird, but he was gone.

We stripped down to our birthday suits and were determined to capture the mood again. We made sure all of the many windows’ curtains were closed before we proceeded. The futon was right next to the door, and it was sitting under three windows. Hell, there were windows all the way around…it was the beach! Five minutes later, someone was pounding on the door again!

I grabbed a throw blanket that was laying there and wrapped it around me, and ran to the bathroom again. My husband quickly yanked his shorts up before he opens the door a second time. Well, it’s Phillip! He wanted to introduce himself and tell us if there was anything we needed to give him a call. Now he had to go to his sister’s funeral.

That was nice of him to do. But, to say that the mood was over is putting it mildly. No way, no sir, let’s try again later when we’re pretty sure no one will come knocking on our door. We decided we’d unpack and get settled in before we ventured out.

We rented a car from the same guy who rented us the house, so a little later after we’d rested, we decided to drive around and see exactly where we were. Eluethera is a poor little island, and Gregory Town is one of the poorest. The little roads in the villages run this way and that way. There are run down houses that have barely withstood hurricanes, but lack of funds prevented their total resurrection. There were chickens and cats running around everywhere. Two years, and nothing had changed in Gregory Town as far as we could tell.

We topped a hill and when we headed downward, there were people standing around everywhere. We slowed to a crawl so as not to hit anyone, and we noticed that there were people filing out of a church building on the left side of the road. Everyone had on their best Sunday clothes, and we figured it out, “It’s Phillip’s sisters funeral!” Oh, man, that’s unexpected. We drive around on the skinny little road, trying to be respectful of the funeral goers. There were people in little groups and clusters all over the place, talking and visiting. Little girls with bows in their hair twirled around in their pretty dresses. Boys chased each other across the patches of grass that grew here and there.

We crept along, and I look up and notice, to our left (which is the side you drive on over there), there was a light-skinned black man with dread locks talking to three white men. He turned his head and casually glanced over at us as we slowly rode by.

“Oh. My. God. That’s Lenny Mother Fucking Kravitz.” I said incredibly.
“Are you sure?” my husband asked.
“Yep. I’m positive.” I said.

He had on pants that were blue, but not blue jeans. They were skinny, so they had that tight fit. He wore ankle boots that were a light leather, almost yellow-ish in color. His dreads were loosely secured in some kind of wrap or band, and he had on sunglasses that struck me as Hollywood style, if that’s a thing. I have no idea what kind of shirt he had on, I didn’t get to look long enough. He was talking to the only three white people in the whole place. They looked like some kind of music people, you know, agents, managers, etc.

We drove on by and decided that turning around and going back so that I could get a picture would be in bad taste, especially since it was a funeral.

“Lenny Mother Fucking Kravitz. I cannot believe we just saw Lenny Mother Fucking Kravitz.” I said an annoying amount of times throughout the day. But I couldn’t! This island was tiny and poor and the last thing you’d expect to see is a celebrity like him!

I did some looking, and apparently Lenny’s mother was from the Bahamas, though it didn’t specifically name Gregory Town where I looked. Also, we found out that there’s a nude beach on the island that you can only get to by boat. Guess what it’s called? Kravitz Beach! No, we didn’t go there! Ew!

When our vacation was over, Winston showed up to take us back to the airport. We chatted on the ride there, and eventually the subject of Phillip came up. We inquired about his well-being, since we hadn’t seen him since he knocked on our door and messed up our…well, you know. Winston said, “Oh, well, he be doing fine, yes. But he at funeral today. His cousin died.” Holy shit! Sister then cousin in the same week! That’s terrible! Maybe we should drive by and pay our respects? My husband narrowed his eyes, looked at me and mouthed, “No.”



One thought on “Tourists at a Funeral

  1. I admit that I’m TERRIBLE at recognizing people out of context. I wouldn’t know a celebrity if I fell over one … I don’t care how famous they are.
    … but I would have wanted to go back for another look, and a photo!! 😉


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