I miss Passa Passa.

Not the Passa Passa o the DVD fame, the one with the camera so much under girls skirts, it seemed like a tampon. No, I miss Passa Passa, the social gathering. I caught the Passa Passa bug right in the middle. My first experience was an anniversary dance in 2004. I was right on stage when the judging was taking place for the skimpiest outfit. The winner a young woman with her jeans jumper cut so close, you could see her pubic hair. But, that was not my Passa. My Friend, Big Black Barry was genetically tied to Passa Passa, and in the summer of 2004, I was bored a lot. That was not a good combination. Most Wednesday nights, we would make our way down, round about 1 in the morning. From 1 to 7, you could find me leaning against the wall of Miles drug store on Spanish Town Rd. Passa Passa was an interesting experience for me. From my vantage point, against the wall, it was like a diorama - I watched as a multitude of relationships played out in front my eyes. The Wannabe, Hype Artisttrying to get the DJ to play his CD, certain that if it got a forward at Passa, it would be a certain hit, locally and overseas. The Thug Wannabe, making sure he passed in front of the light, the corner of his mouth approaching his ear, trying to seem to the world like the new tough kid on the block. The real thugs, never seen in the lime light, but who could be found on the outskirts, their easy smiles belying their harsh realities. The Video Vixens fresh from Quad certain that being caught on video and shown on Hype TV, or on DVDs overseas would cement there position as the hottest thing ever to wear fur lined boots. They all came to Tivoli. There was a feeling of peace and security. As long as your vehicle was parked out of the road, and not blocking anyone, and you observed the norms of decency and civility, you felt that all was well, and the party would continue until you left. In a country with high rates of police shootings, murders and motor vehicle accidents, I was painfully aware of the fact that it was very likely that several of the persons there partying on any one night might not be there the next week. However, that did not stop you from living in the present. Passa Passa was the place where I could led down my guard and be me. Guinness or Rum and Cranberry in hand, weed smoke blowing in the wind, Genius or Maestro on the mic, between 1 and 7 on a Thursday morning, all was well with the world. Never once did I witness an incident. (Me, who had to run from House of Leo, during the Willy Haggart Period, ducked from bottles at multiple Stings, shootings at several dances). Never once did I feel that my personal security, nor my property was in danger. I was content to lean against the wall, and watch the world over the wall and flowers a bloom.

I never really knew the Passa Passa popularized by the DVDs. Later, when I moved to live to another country, I realized the world only knew Passa Passa between the hours of 6 and 7, or as it is known, cratches morning. So, I encountered a foreign version of Passa, where the focus was on girls taking their underwear off, and dry humping on asphalt. Understandably, the culture rejected this, and the name of Passa Passa is forever tarnished in at least one country. But, I woke up missing the Passa I knew. Those days are probably gone, but I miss them, and I am the better for having had them.