I could see the headlines………..

European Jamaican family held at airport for smuggling marijuana.

Montego Bay, Jamaica

source
Mona Benjamens, 31, a deacon’s daughter and her 34-year-old husband Jan Benjamens, were arrested at the Sangster International Airport in Montego Jamaica. Accompanying them were their 3 children, ages 10, 8 and 6 years old. The police detained the couple after they were caught with 20 grams of marijuana in a black plastic; locally known as a “scandal” bag. It is a scandal indeed. The police found the bag in the suitcase of the youngest child, Rose. The suitcases of the other children, Maria and Marley, did not contain any marijuana only bags with wet swimwear. The couple claimed to have no knowledge of how the marijuana got into the child’s suitcase. However, they said that the luggage had not left their sight since it was packed.

The innocence of the couple is questionable as the cannabis sativa found is reputed to be the best quality money can buy. Although from Jamaican roots, Mona allegedly has never smoked marijuana but could have inhaled it unintentionally at parties. The story seemed unlikely as Mona and her family resides in the center of the marijuana-smoking haven, Amsterdam; a city reputed to have 173 coffee-shops. The name of these shops is misleading because they are alcohol free establishments which are licensed to sell cannabis. However, it is ironic, marijuana is in abundance in Jamaica – but it is not for sale in a licensed environment and possession of more than 5 grams is also deemed illegal.
source

The Benjamens family had travelled around Jamaica for 3 weeks on their annual vacation. They settled at a small, relaxed hotel on the famous 7-Miles Negril beach. Coincidentally, Negril was well known for its laid-back lifestyle with marijuana smoking, psychedelic mushroom eating hippies. The area has preserved its hypnotic natural charm and pristine beaches. This was the family’s final destination after visiting the famous Dunn’s River Falls. The adults said that hey “chilled out” and enjoyed the sun, sea and the delicious cuisine. One could assume that they enjoyed more than just the culinary skills of the hotel’s masterchef.

The police contacted Mona’s local family for the safety of the children. Mona’s father, Deacon Beckford of the Baptist Church of Trelawny, is a respected and well-known community leader. Upon his arrival at the airport, he had no comment when questioned by our reporter on the scene. As the police ushered the children away – Mona and Jan were visibly shaken as the children screamed “Mommieee.” Tears streamed down Mona’s face.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, “Mommie, why are you crying in your sleep?” asks Rose. I turned to Rose and hugged her as tightly as possible. “Aww my sweetie, it is ok. Just a bad dream.” I said trying to ensure that Rose would not be concerned. “Oh you have those too – now it is my turn to take care of you,” said the child with a wide smile.
The rest of the family sitting across the aisle in the airplane are now aware that I was crying. Jan comes over to find out what is happening. I explained my dream - my nightmare. Then we both smiled and embraced each other.

---

As luck would have it, we averted disaster some hours earlier before our departure from Jamaica. Truth would seem stranger than fiction if I was not borderline obsessive compulsive as Jan lovingly teased me. Jan and I had packed all wet swimsuits in scandal bags, after the family’s last dip in the azure blue Caribbean Sea. We also wrapped any item that could spill in transit in scandal bags. I divided all plastic bags over the five suitcases. I was double-checking all the bags and noticed that one seemed smaller than the rest. Curiously, I opened the bag to find a stash of compressed marijuana. My eyes almost popped out of my head. Where did it come from? Then I recalled that Jan had emptied the bedside drawers as well.

Excitedly I summoned Jan to look at my discovery. “Where did you get this?” Jan gasped, hardly believing his eyes. I explained that the size drew my attention. I thought we could go to management. However, Jan thought the best thing was to give it to the pleasant security guard. He would know what to do with it.

The security guard, amicably referred to as Guardy, was a tall, wiry man who was full of muscles. He clearly had a six-pack under his very fitted uniform and he moved like a gazelle. He was reputed to be able to run as fast as Usain Bolt. He had a quick wit and was friendly to us since our arrival at the hotel. He always greeted us with “Every t’ing irie” whenever he saw us. He told us that we could ask him any questions, if we needed help getting around.

We approached Guardy, somewhat sheepishly and handed him the plastic bag. We nervously explained how we found it. Guardy opened the bag and exclaimed using some Jamaican expletives “4@#%8 - this is the real McCoy!” He further explained that he knew a lot about ganja (another name for marijuana) in his line of work. He said it was top quality ganja and that he could get a nice sum of money for this stash. He added “Since u leaving, should I give you a “likkle (little) somet’ing”?.” We smiled and told him that we do not need anything. Guardy’s usual grin became wider as he thanked us, then added, “Man, there is no way in hell that u would convince customs at the airport that this is not yours.” I breathe a sigh of relief that I found the bag. For the first time, Jan did not tease me about my obsessive-compulsive inclinations.