Checkpoint

Heading west on the A1 toward Montego Bay, a military checkpoint reduced traffic to a slow crawl. Most of the parish of St. James was under a state of emergency, a fact I’d forgotten during our week-long vacation. When I saw the line of brake lights ahead, I knew what was going on, even before I saw the soldiers.

“What’s going on?” asked my daughter from the back seat.

“Just a roadblock,” I said. “You guys roll your windows down and let me do the talking. They probably won’t even stop us.”

“Who?” my wife asked.

“It’s the JDF. Soldiers. Nothing to worry about, though. Remember, I told you about the state of emergency before we came down here?”

My wife nodded her understanding, but a look flashed briefly across her face. I don’t if that look has a name, but I imagine it’s the sort of look people get when they aren’t accustomed to going through military checkpoints. As for my daughter, she was unphased. If I said it was no big deal, that was good enough for her. Truth is, I didn’t think it was a big deal. Nevertheless, I felt my grip instinctively tighten on the steering wheel.

*****

We were on our way home from somewhere way out in Manchester. It was late and most of us kids piled into the back of the van and were fast asleep. When we came to a stop, I was halfway roused by voices. My face was smushed up against the window and I cracked my eyelids to see what was going on. I came fully awake in that instant. About a foot away, at eye level, was the barrel of a machine gun. Lots of soldiers were standing around with uneasy expressions on their faces.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“It’s just a checkpoint,” my mom answered.

The other kids whispered among themselves, a mixture of curiosity, fear, and excitement. At eleven years old, I was one of the oldest. Debbie, thirteen, sat beside me and we exchanged silent looks of concern. My mom shushed the smaller ones and I could tell from the back row that she was nervous. Dad was outside talking to the soldiers as they checked his paperwork.

“Where are you coming from?” a female officer asked him, for at least the second time.

“We were at a church event in Manchester,” Dad said. “We’re on our way home now.”

The woman looked around, eyes scanning the passengers of the van. She was shaking her head slightly, almost unconsciously. Turning to my father, she handed his papers back.

“Man, you know you shouldn’t be out here like this.”

“I know, I know. We got a late start. We’re just trying to get home.”

“We’re all just trying to get home,” the officer said. “Are you a preacher?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dad answered. “I am.”

“Will you pray for us?” she asked.

“I will,” he said.

“Thank you,” said the officer. I thought I heard her voice crack a little. A couple of the other soldiers mumbled their thanks, too. “You can go now. Be careful.”

We were back on the road a minute later. From the landmarks, I could tell we were only as far as Spanish Town. We were still nearly an hour from home and it was late. Kingston was still ahead and it was late, indeed, on that dark October night. The elections were less than a month away and the island ran red as a near-civil war burned like a gas fire.

After the polls closed on October 30th, the guns fell silent. There was no more falling asleep to the rat-a-tat of automatic rifles echoing across the valley below our house. Never before, or since, did the death toll match that of 1980, as the years-long political violence reached its grotesque crescendo. On that October night, though, coming back home way too late for decent folk to be on the road, the end was still a dream. Soldiers were still seeking the prayers of strangers at lonely checkpoints where death could be lurking in every approaching vehicle.

*****

Quicker than expected, it was our turn to approach the soldier standing on the shoulder of the highway. I had not even come to a complete halt before he waved me through. No big deal, just like I’d said. I nodded and gave him a wave, accelerating the car toward the airport and our journey home. The sun was shining and the breeze felt good through the open windows. My fingers relaxed on the wheel and I stole a glance back at my daughter.

“See. It was nothing to worry about. Just a checkpoint.”

“Yeah, Dad. You said that already.” She never looked up from her phone.