The current rules for quarantine in Barbados dictate that each new arrival spend five days in isolation before being re-tested for covid. I say re-tested because each new arrival is also required to produce a negative PCR test result upon touchdown, so travelers to the island will be tested twice in the space of eight days. Thanks to the unpredictable weather of the American Northeast, snow and ice delayed my flight for a few days, meaning that I was tested twice in six days prior to leaving. These details will become relevant in a minute, I promise.
The afternoon of Friday, February 12th will be a memory that sticks with me for a long time. I had been in quarantine at the Moonraker since the previous Saturday afternoon, and I had taken my second covid test. I was waiting on my test results because I was desperate to leave the spartan confines of the beach shack for the more comfortable amenities of my posh apartment. There is a lot to love about the Moonraker, and my dog and I visit the grounds often to say hello to the friends we made there. But to this American, it was just too much of a shock in too short a time. I left all of my comfort and ideas of convenience behind, and I just wasn't prepared mentally for the disruption that island life would pose. I began to adopt a bratty attitude. I wanted the comforts of home, and I was tired of waiting.
So when Friday afternoon rolled around and I still didn't have my test results, I started agitating. I contacted the national monitoring center, and they heard my complaints and very politely gave me the email address of Dr. Anton Best, chief medical officer of Barbados. I emailed Dr. Best with my two negative results prior to my departure. I explained my work-from-home status, and that there was an apartment waiting for me, its sole occupant. After hearing my plea, Dr. Best asked that I agree, in writing, to continue my solitary quarantine at my apartment. I agreed, and he released me to the Lighthouse Look Apartments.
I was free!
Sort of!
Steve, the manager of the Moonraker, got the news before I did. I looked up from my laptop and saw him walking toward me, a strange smile on his lips and a pair of scissors in his hand. Ignoring my protests, he picked up my arm and cut both tracking bracelets off my wrist.
"You're free!"
"Steve, what if I still need those?"
"Ah, you won't need them. I'm going to run to the grocery store. I'll drop you and Roo at your place when I get back, all right?"
"Ok, sounds good," I lie. In fact, this does not sound good.
Internally, I scream and freak out a little.
It is 3 o'clock on a Friday afternoon. Grocery stores close at 4pm, and won't re-open until Monday morning. I had given Steve a grocery list the previous night because he promised he would get to the store today. To be headed there at 3pm seemed to be cutting it awfully close - I had heard stories of how long the lines could be.
Sure enough, Steve is back in less than thirty minutes. The line was too long and the manager of the store told everyone outside that they would have to try again on Monday.
"Sorry, mate. You all ready to go?"
I check my grocery inventory.
Half a bag of white rice
Two eggs
Jar of guava jam, about a third full
6 slices of bread
That's it.
I breathe in through my nose. "Ok, ok, don't panic. That's not a lot of food, but you can last two days on that. You've got to learn to ration," I tell myself. But then the next thought hits me - what about Roo?
It so happened that the day I arrived on the island, a Labrador retriever named Pork Chop passed away. I know this because Pork Chop was the pet of a man named Barry Skinner. Barry Skinner was a frequent visitor to the Moonraker, owing to a friendship with Steve that went back for years. As Roo and I were getting settled on the day of our arrival, Barry happened to be at the Moonraker, delivering the sad news about Pork Chop to Steve. Barry had said to me then, "If you need anything for your dog, just let me know."
And so now, Barry becomes my lifeline. I get in touch with him and he agrees to put together a care package for Roo. I am over the moon at the news. At least my buddy is going to be okay, and I breathe a little easier.
Steve and Roo and I pile into a 1980s Mitsubishi van and make our way across rolling, seaside fields to the neighborhood of Atlantic Shores. Steve shows me around, pointing out the houses of other visitors I've met while at the Moonraker. We pull up to Barry's house and he comes to meet us at the gate. Two huge German shepherds are pacing the length of the gate - they can smell Roo, but they can't see him. Barry drops a box into my hands for Roo - enough dog food to last a week, heart-shaped dog treats for Valentine's Day, and some wet food to mix in, in case he gets picky about what he eats. Barry then turns to me and looks at my meager collection of groceries.
"Are you good?"
Immediately, two thoughts fight for control of the microphone in my head.
Thought A: "No! Ask if he has any food! We're gonna starve on what you have in that box! The dog got a nicer care package than this! Ask for help!"
Thought B: "Don't impose. No one in your circle got to go to the grocery store today. They're all trying to make it through the weekend, just like you. They've helped you enough already. Don't be a burden."
Thought B wins.
"Yeah, I'm good."
Barry laughs.
"Hang on a second, let me see what I can dig up."
He disappears into his house for a few minutes before returning with a bag. He gifts me chicken tenders, frozen burgers, a butternut squash, a couple of cans of beans, a loaf of bread, two frozen steaks, and a brick of local butter. I almost cry.
"No one goes hungry around here. Give me a shout tomorrow morning, let me know how you made it through your first night."
It wasn't until later, after I had showered off and begun running the air conditioning and adjusting to my more-permanent space, that it hits me - Americans wouldn't have done that. I don't mean that to be a knock against my countrymen. Most people are good, by nature. But Americans in 2021 are a hateful, mistrustful lot. Being given the contact information for a high-ranking medical officer to give my case personal attention? Would never happen. The idea of gifting a box of food to an incoming immigrant, in the age of Trump? That wouldn't compute. It occurred to me how screwed I would have been, in almost any other situation. But the hospitable nature of Bajans and all those who visit their island won the day then, and it continues to astonish me. It is so antithetical to how I grew up.
I keep extra supplies stocked now, just in case someone lands themselves in the same hot water I did. I have more potatoes than I need. I keep canned vegetables around, and boxes of pasta. I don't know when I might be called upon to help, but I want to be ready. I want to be an angel to someone like Barry Skinner was to me. We all function so much better when we can work together and rely on the kindness of strangers.
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