Kalik signs are everywhere. I mean everywhere… Between the construction of new hope and the destruction of old, the faith on an island hangs by a simple alcoholic beverage. I was told, “Bahamians import everything but export Kalik, and customer service.” They were right.
I didn’t know what to expect when coming here. I was told that the island was a struggling nation of lacking tourism. The Bahamians didn’t want us invading their home, and they they hated the fact that people from the States were here. In my short time here, they only thing I’ve noticed, is that they embrace us. Want us. Need us. Just like we need a break from the 9 to 5 daily automaton routine, they need the tourism dollars. They need jobs, food, cars, houses, water…. Just like us. As oxymoronic as it sounds, they need us as much as we need them.
As I type this, I’m kind of at a loss for words. I was given a personal tour of the island by a guy named Jarod…. Of all names. He called me his brother. He took me through the heart of the residential areas, met a man named “Rasta” who sold juice on the side of the road in plastic bottles. Plantains and Mangos hanging from the side of his just popped up “business”. I ate Chicken Sous and Johnny Cake from a Bahamian women in a Roach Coach, and we laughed at how the white guy finally found her as well.
Even though this nation lacks the fast paced lifestyle that I’m used to… I can’t help but sit back and watch the time pass by…….. With a Kalik in hand.
