• Read PART TEN - What a close call
• Read PART ELEVEN - How I lost my blackberry

When I headed back to civilization the first thing I did was head down to Pastor Fox to beg a few phone calls. Thankfully Fal-e had written his number on a piece of paper, so I at least had that. I called him and asked him to call Tami and give her directions to where I was staying, to let her know my phone was lost and I could not receive her call. I called my mother to let her know there would be no more daily calls. She tried to stay as calm as possible, probably so not to freak me out, but I know she was tripping out. I did not tell her the story at the time of how I lost the phone, so she must have been thinking all kinds of things. Pastor Fox treated me to cold water and shared his story about the explosion.

• Read PART NINE - Stuck in the Sand
• Read PART TEN - What a close call

What a fucking morning! I dropped my damn blackberry in the friggin ocean dread. Not on the beach, where I could fish it out and possibly salvage it, but off a cliff onto some rocks with waves from the Atlantic Ocean crashing on top of them. I still jumped in to try fish it out, but the visibility was so poor between the crashing waves and me disturbing the sand. I thought I found it, but it was only the rubber casing.

Last night I almost lost my journal and now this. At the time I said the worst thing that could happen was for me to lose my picture of Steele. When I jumped in after the phone I forgot in my other pocked was my NCB debit card holder containing cash, my credit card, driver’s license, and most importantly my picture of Steele. The moment before my panic attack took over I fished the pseudo billfold out of my pocket and flung it up on the rocks.

After thrashing around in the water I decided my search was futile. It was gone. That was the end of the blackberry: one of my last physical items connecting me to Steele. He used that to communicate with people when he could not talk. That had the picture of the wedding ring I picked out. It had the last text messages we sent to each other.

“You’re so stupid Noelle. How fucking stupid of you. And the damn pictures were a piece of shit. You’re so fucking stupid,” I said out loud. I was taking photos of the rock formations on the cliffs when the phone dislodged itself from my swimsuit. It plopped right off the edge into the water. I started to cry and curse myself.

• Read PART EIGHT - Trailing Columbus and working for my keep
• Read PART NINE - Stuck in the Sand

It was getting late and I had to get to Salt Pond before dark. This morning I told Pastor Fox I would reach in at about 6 o’clock. When it was about 5 pm and we were still on the boat fishing I called him with a new estimated time of arrival: before sundown. He was kindly accommodating me on the church property with a plot of land to pitch my tent. His sister was a work colleague with my God Mother in Nassau. They had arranged for me to hook up with him.

Ali had offered to drive me down there so we did not have to cut our day short. Since they were cooking the fish we caught, he even offered to drive me back up, so I could eat dinner with them. And then drop me back at the end of the night. This was a perfect plan, but I had to play it cool, not seem too eager, and show I had a conscience.

“That sounds good, but I don’t want to become a burden on yall,” I said.

“Whatever you want miss,” said Fal-e. “You’s like family to us nah bey. Whatever you want to do, whatever makes you happy.”

I realised they were as kind to me as I was trusting of them. I could have just stayed to eat dinner and then go down to Salt Pond one time at the end of the night. But I already felt bad about changing plans with Pastor Fox with respect to the time and it would have been inconsiderate to pull up in the church at midnight or beyond, which would have been the case, to meet him and find my sleeping area. It was better that I meet him now, setup my tent and be free to do my thing. So I accepted the offer.

• Read PART SEVEN - A beach in the belly of a cave
• Read PART EIGHT - Trailing Columbus and working for my keep

As we cruised back into shore, I was lying on the bow, listening to my three old dirty men telling stories and talking foolishness.

Someone started telling a story about how to detect if a man has been jerking off by the look of his toilette bowl. I can't remember how the conversation got there.

“After I used his bathroom I asked him: you jerk off a lot ehy?” said Big Bog, recounting the story of a conversation he had with one of his friends.

“How you know dat bey?” said his friend.

Apparently when a man jerks off a lot it leaves residue, pieces of dead brown skin, on the inside lining of the toilette seat.

• Read PART SIX - Me and my three old dirty men
• Read PART SEVEN - A beach in the belly of a cave

Our next stop was the Columbus Monument. Historians agree Christopher Columbus first happened upon the Bahamas in October 1492, before making his way down to Cuba and Hispaniola, but of the 700 islands in the Bahamas, there is still debate about which one is the true Guanahani. The transcripts of Columbus’ logs indicate Guanahani is the Lucayan name for their first landing site. According to Columbus the lands were the most fertile, level, temperate and beautiful in the world. 

While San Salvador was accepted in 1942 as The Guanahani, many skeptics still remained, especially considering the convenient name change of the island in 1926 from Watlings Island to San Salvador. National Geographic magazine commissioned a five-year study in the 1980s that claimed to prove with infallible evidence that Samana Cay, a Bahamian island southeast of San Salvador, was The Guanahani. They used modern computer models to recreate Columbus’ route and landed on Samana Cay.

Long Island is just one of the many Bahamian islands with monuments recognizing the country as the first stop on Columbus’ maiden voyage to the New World. It claims to be one of the four other Bahamian islands Columbus reported stopping at after leaving Guanahani.

The monument sits on a hill at the mouth of a one-mile long inlet, characteristic for its shallow waters and protruding sandbars, sometimes only visible at low tide. We carted around the inlet for a while, with Big Dog trailing at the side of the boat: one hand on a rope, the other hand steadying his body, as he prowled the floor for hidden conch shells. We weren’t having great success, and decided to walk to another area, as the boat skirted around in a deeper part. I jumped out and walked with Big Dog, passing a grey stingray with an amputated tale, and a silver barracuda.

• Read PART FIVE - How not to make a fire alone in the wilderness
• Read PART SIX - Me and my three old dirty men

As we banked around the corner, I observed large holes in the rocks. I took a picture thinking perhaps those were the caves. And then we slowly pulled up to this open mouth. The water at the entrance was cyan, deeply contrasting with the ultramarine blue surrounding it. The boat pulled right up to the mouth of the cave, crossing over into the belly. The large cavern was the size of a house. The deeper we went, the darker it got, as the sunlight reached only so deep.

My head was tilting back, stretching my neck to an almost uncomfortable position, staring at the rock formations in the ceiling, when Fal-e instructed me to look down. The water was as clear as a looking glass. The sand undulated like miniature sand dunes, snaking unevenly, in not so parallel mounds. The water was glowing turquoise, in an uneven way, as the shadows from the sand dunes textured the canvas. It was a stunning piece of treasure.

• Read PART FOUR - Reggae music and ‘mountains’ does not Jamaica make  
• Read PART FIVE - How not to make a fire alone in the wilderness  

Dear God: Thank you for love, thank you for life, thank you for friends, thank you for family. Tell Steele I say hi, I miss him and I love him. I woke up and recited my daily good morning meditation.

By the time I ate, changed and packed up, Fal-e was already on his way for me. It was boat day. The breeze was blowing again, the sun was just rising and the water was calm, perfect for jet skiing. I had one more task to perform before we headed out. These guys were being awfully nice to me and we only just met. So just in case it was a setup, I decided to leave a note in my tent.

It read: “Gone on boat with Ali and Fal-e to see caves and Columbus Monument on South end. We plan to be back by 3 pm so I can head off to Salt Pond. Friday, 23 July 2009, 9.30 am. Emergency Contact: Donna Nicolls (Mother). Telephone…”

I figured, I told Mr. Foresight I was going to be in his gazebo for one night. If three, four nights passed and I was still there, he would surely decide to investigate and come snooping around. When he found the note inside my tent that was signed and dated he might get suspicious and call the emergency number. I might be dead, but at least people would know.

• Read PART THREE - Looking stranded and distressed
• Read PART FOUR - Reggae music and ‘mountains’ does not Jamaica make
  

“Is there any particular reason you want to use my gazebo?” Mr Foresight asked, once I tracked him down to get permission. I suppose I didn’t have to, but I met a couple on the beach who were from the area, and they drove me around to find the tourist office and knock on doors until we located Mr. Foresight.

“I like the fact that the breeze blows strong, so that will help keep away mosquitoes; your neighbours have a bunch of dogs, which makes me feel more secure, and it’s just beautiful,” I said. How could he possibly say no after that?

I wasted little time to attack the fire. I was excited about the challenge. The tent took a few minutes to setup, and I left my backpack to air out, since ants had taken it over to feast on granola bar crumbs. I quickly realized there were three things I completely miscalculated on the trip: bicycle seats are horrendously uncomfortable, fresh water is scare on an island with no mountains or rivers, and fires are hard to start. 

• Read PART TWO of the story - My first friend left me all alone
• Read PART THREE of the story - Looking stranded and distressed

It was not long before a car pulled up in front of the shop. I recognized the two men inside as the ones who helped me cut the string up the road. They said the Columbus monument was still far away, confirming what the cashier told me. They also told me about a really pretty beach, but that was also supposedly really far away. I inquired if they were headed in that direction.

“You sure that’s okay? And you would be able to drop me back here?” I said. They insisted it was no problem to take me to see the beach and bring me back to the shop. I chained my bike to a column and jumped in the car.

The more I explored Long Island the more I felt like I was in Jamaica. I grew up thinking the entire Bahamas was flat, except for the one ‘mountain’ on Cat Island, Mount Alvernia, which is the highest point in the country standing at 206 feet. Long Island is filled with hills that look deceptively like large mountain ranges, and there are lots of farm lands, livestock and open space. The only music I had heard so far was reggae.

• Read PART ONE of the story - One Woman, One Island, One Mission: Freedom
• Read PART TWO of the story - My first friend left me all alone

I was about to leave the gazebo, when I remembered I forgot to brush my teeth at home. When I took out my small water bottle from the side of my backpack, it slipped out of my hands and fell in the sea. After some quick thinking I kicked off my sneakers, yanked off my socks and prepared myself to get wet. After some more quick thinking I changed course: I lied down on the rocks and stretched my body over the edge to reach down and grab the bottle. That was the first disaster. I wondered what else the next seven days would bring.

Once I set off I was feeling lighter and cleaner. I ran through the plan in my head one more time: Ride for approximately two hours to the north coast; explore and rest for about three hours; ride back to campsite to setup tent, cook and watch the sunset; then, consider calling Jerry for link up.

While I was riding, I recalled what a friend of mine in Nassau had said: “Bey Noelle, Long Island long ya know. It’s just open road, ain like dere is any sightseeing on the road, and da sun over dere ain like Nassau. You sure you wanna do dat?” He thought I was crazy, so even though his family was from Long Island, I wasn’t keen on taking advice from him. My godfather on the other hand didn’t ask any questions when I asked him to borrow the bike.