A Rasta Ride to the Airport

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Rastafarian FlagFor those of you who give a damn, we made it safely to Japan. The trip itself had quite an interesting start in the form of a cab ride to the airport with a, ahem, slightly odd-in-the-head fellow.

It started off innocuously enough as we called a cab to take us to the airport. When the driver called to let us know he was outside, we hurried out looking for the cab, but had difficulty finding it. We then noticed this dark Suburban pull out and the driver gruffly barked that we needed to come over to the other side. Gee, it should have been obvious to look for a dark Suburban, as opposed to, say, a bright yellow or green vehicle.

Nonetheles, he lightened up as he put Akumi’s suitcase in the back. It had a red, yellow, and green striped band around it which he loved. When we stepped in the car, it became apparent why, the back of the front seats were covered in laminated Rastafarian writings, the kind you might pick up in Venice beach. This guy was a Rastafarian. You know, a movement of Jah people.

As we stepped into the vehicle, I noticed some political material as well, such as a picture of Bush and the Saudi Crown Prince hand in hand next to a poem about how the author dreamed he ran into two devils holding hands. Odd to have such religious and political writings all over the back of a cab, but hey, it’s Los Angeles! In any case, once he started playing some Reggae, my trepidations were put at ease as I relaxed to the rasta beat, intent on enjoying the ride.

However, that only lasted a few minutes. He started furiously shuffling through a huge pile of CDs in the midst of driving. He seemed to find what he was looking for without hitting anybody, and started playing some instrumental reggae. At this point, he started singing out loud, filling in the missing words to the music!

Ok, I consider myself a very tolerant and understanding person, but this came across as a bit odd, even for Los Angeles. But hey, they man was feeling it, so we sat back and tried to relax again and enjoy the ride. The only problem was as we pulled onto the freeway, the driver got more and more into the music. He started pounding out the drum beats on the panel between his seat and the shotgun seat. He turned up the music and sang louder, gesticulating wildly with his right hand in the mode of a rapper feeling the flow.

His song selection began with repeating…

Jah Rastafari, he is my sheperd. Jah Rastafari, he is my sheperd…

…transitioning into such favorite classics as…

Why why why why why Why why? We have no social security. We have no social justice. Social inequality. How much longer? Why why why why Why why…

He was briefly interrupted by a phone call in which he had to relay a phone number for a customer in his Jamaican drawl that the customer had trouble understanding. He soon grew impatient and exclaimed, “Do you want me ta drive over tere ta write it down for you?” (imagine Jamaican accent). He then repeated the number and said, “I hope you got it.” *click*.

He soon resumed the show, ending the trip on…

True Love. True Love. True Love. I will love you tenderly. I will love you Sincerely. I will love you gently. A love that is transparent….

At this point, I looked over at Akumi and she had lost it. The entire ride, we fought hard to keep our composure, be respectful, and not laugh. But this was too much and she was nearly in tears. I nearly lost it seeing her lose it, but as I was in his line of sight via the rear view mirror, I struggled with great effort to keep it together. This guy is driving us rapidly down a Los Angeles Freeway and seems a bit loose in the head. I don’t want to piss him off.

What put us over the edge wasn’t just that he was singing. I seriously love Reggae music. The kicker was just how awful he was. I mean, he would give William Hung a run for his money. What a relief to finally exit the cab and plant our feet safely in the airport. As a memento, I secretly recorded a snippet using the voice note recording feature on my cell phone. If I can figure out how to get it off the phone, maybe I’ll share it sometime.

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One response

  1. Avatar for Mike
    Mike November 11th, 2007

    Pretty common among Rastas, its called a chant, often times they will do it to dub or even a rasta drum circle called a nyabinghi.