life, memoir

Jamaican Juju

cold-art-4-640x427Long before the hoarder house two doors down and the crop-circle house around the corner, a young couple lived next door to us. The man was an Arab, Muslim. His girlfriend, from Colombia, wore low-cut shirts freely displaying her bouncy double D’s. Hey, don’t ask me, I have no idea how that relationship worked with him being Muslim.

Aside from their Pitbull and Boxer who got loose frequently and rammed our fence when we let our dog out, we got along with them okay. Sometimes we’d chat with them out in our yards. On one of those occasions, the Arab man, WL, told us he had a dream about a black man with dread locks living in his house. Then, a couple of days later, he thought he saw that same man sitting at his kitchen table, but only for a second. He blinked and the image disappeared. Probably just a leftover memory of his dream.

A black family did live there before him. I knew them. The young wife was from the islands. They had two children ages three and one. The father was a broad-built, handsome Jamaican man with dread locks.

You might think WL had some kind of a premonition about who lived there before, or perhaps it was just a coincidence.

WL, and his Columbian, lived next door for about four or five years. When they moved out, the house remained empty for close to a year. The silence next door was nice. I secretly hoped it would remain empty forever … or, so I thought it was empty.

On a Saturday evening, my husband and I dressed up to go out for dinner. As we drove by the empty house beside ours, I saw someone standing in the driveway out of the corner of my eye. I turned and saw a quick flash of the handsome Jamaican man with dread locks, wearing orange Bermuda shorts, sandals and a beige t-shirt. A flash. Just a flash. He was gone.

Okay, I’ll let you in on the secret about the family who lived there before WL. The Jamaican man’s wife, MC, and her two little children moved to Illinois. She had said she needed to get away, because the tragedy of the past was weighing her down in that house. You see, her husband had gone on a trip to Jamaica for a weekend to visit his family. While there, he was gunned down and killed by a thief who robbed him. I remember MC coming over to my house to tell me the news. It was a nightmare.

We have new neighbors who live next door now. A young, handsome African-American father with dreadlocks. Pretty young wife. Two little children the same ages as the Jamaican’s children. They are not apparitions or the brain recreating something from memory, but flesh and blood real people. Who’s to say how such a similar family found their way to that house. But, perhaps our Jamaican friend can rest in peace.

Read more crazy neighborhood stories here.

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16 thoughts on “Jamaican Juju”

    1. I know. I was shocked when he told us that he had a dream about a black man with dread locks living in his house. I knew who lived there before and what happened, but he didn’t. Crazy. Thanks for reading, Kourtney.

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  1. You certainly have some writing material from your neighbourhood 🙂 I think there are explanations for such ponderable things but it’s just that we may know what they are right here and now. We understand the possibilities but we don’t/can’t/won’t use all the sensibilities and knowing available to us. But I prefer possibilities to a deny/disbelieve approach.

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    1. Hi EllaDee. Yep, there may be explanations from things we aren’t aware of yet. At one time, we weren’t aware of the sound waves we use to carry cell phone signals either. Who knows. But, it’s fun to imagine things. Yes, I sure do have writing material from my neighborhood, and I still have more.

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  2. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for all unexplained events, but who knows—when we do find the explanations they might still be mind-bending! I’d hate to think that after we die we’d be stuck to a place we didn’t enjoy. I hope we can all move on. But I think it’s possible for an imprint of events and people to remain in a place. Maybe that’s what some people can perceive as ghosts….

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    1. Hey JM. I’ve thought that same thing … that our energies can leave imprints like a negative on the old film photos. Or, something like that. You know what I mean. Anyway, if the Jamaican did return there as a ghost, I think it would be because it was a place he DID enjoy. That house was where they lived as a happy family together. It was so sad. He was only in his twenties. Thanks for stopping by to read it.

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  3. That’s a fun story in a creepy sort of way. In reality, I don’t believe in ghosts, but in a fictional world, I enjoy pondering the possibility. Interesting to see how it came full circle with the new family moving in.

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    1. I love ghost stories, if they aren’t too scary. I’m not real sure what to believe about ghosts. I do believe energy doesn’t die and we live on in some form. I didn’t know what to make of the flash I saw in that driveway, but it makes for a good mystery. The crazy happenings in this neighborhood still are not over. 😛

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      1. Definitely makes for a good mystery. And just because I don’t believe in ghosts doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I always joke that a ghost could bash me upside the head with a bat, and I’d still find a way to scientifically explain it. 🙂

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