Kamille D. Whittaker
The first text I dashed off to my mom and brother right before I walked in to the Goombay Festival for Junkanoo was "I am Bahamian now." We laughed. Indeed, I've said that about an island before, but it's usually once I get settled back stateside and am reflective with a tinge of nostalgia. This time, it was before I sat on the curb in Freeport -- crowd before me, sea behind -- and took my time eating fried fish and bread hand to mouth; before the drums ... before the storm. The evening before, we saw what it looked like when the squall rolls in.
It cooled. It came. It thrashed about. It left.
We see what it looks like when the storm stays.
Waiting, now, for after.