Pinkie...

Note : didn't mean to write two posts today, but yes, this has been stewing and begging to be blogged since I arrived.

I first noticed her when we were waiting on our flight in London. Actually, I wonder who didn't. Her hair was the most usual shade of pink - hot pink - that I had ever seen. Twisted up in a most elegant coil it stood heads above the weaves, braids, dreadlocks, and bald-heads that seem to dominate as the preferred coiffures of choice on this Jamaica-bound flight.

It didn't end there.

Her shades, were rimmed in - you guessed it - pink. And her shaped two-piece hot pink skirt suit was complimented by an inner baby pink shirt. The handbag and shoes finished the ode to pink ensemble. Or so I thought. Seeing but not really believing and having to look twice it was only then then I noticed her pearl pink cell phone into which she was drawling ' mi haffi go, wi a go board di plane now, mi call you when mi reach Jamaica yu 'ear'.

Waiting for our luggage I again saw her heading towards - can it get any more predictable? - her pink suitcases!

Jamaicans have a way of looking at you and naming you on the spot. It can be based on how you look e.g. 'Fatty' or 'Browning' , by what you are wearing e.g. ' Missa White Shirt', your ethnic orientation ' Injun' or 'Pocohantas' - both reserved for persons who look as if they have Indian descent. What ever comes to mind is fair game for an instant naming ceremony. Mine for example this trip seems to be 'Empress' - everywhere I went this was how I was referred to - with the occasional 'Ras' , short for Rasta, being thrown in for good measure. Little surprise therefore when one of the baggage handlers said ' Pinkie, yu waa some help?' Without even batting an eye (complete with pink eyeshadow!) she said' Yeah man, come tek up dem bag here fi mi'.

Leaving me to wonder if everything in the suitcases were also pink.