When I got up this morning, I saw a message on my phone from New York that was left at 5:43 AM. It was from Donette, Sheila’s daughter. Sheila is one of our wonderful workers (and good friend) who takes care of the outside of our house – landscaping, painting, maintenance, etc. It’s Sheila’s birthday today and Donette has contracted with Dream Cakes, here in Grenada, to make her a birthday cake.

One of Sheila’s other daughters is in on the birthday cake surprise and was planning to pick it up and bring it to their house but her college class changed their schedule for today and she won’t be available to get it. So Donette has WhatsApp’ed me to see if Michael or I can pick it up. (WhatsApp is a free phone, and text messaging app). Michael is already out for the morning and we both have afternoon appointments that can’t be broken. I’ve got time this morning, but I need more information and I can’t call Donette back because it is after 8:00 AM and she is working at a school where they are not allowed to use their phones during classroom hours. In her original message, she says she will see if she can get permission at lunchtime to call me. This is going to be too late, so I begin to investigate on my own.

I look up Dream Cakes on the internet and find that they have a Facebook page. I learn they are located in Mt. Parnassus but I’m only vaguely familiar with where that is – somewhere in the middle of Grenada, HA! I get their phone number and make a call.

I get the baker and try to explain the situation. I don’t know what name it is under – Donette, Sheila, Shenell, her other daughter? Actually, it’s not under any name and no cake has the name Sheila on it. The baker then wants to know the phone number that was used when the order was called in. I don’t know that either. I make a guess that it will be Donette’s number so I tell her I think it was a call from the USA with a 917 area code and that the cake was supposed to be ready today at 11:00 AM. With that information the baker figures out the right cake. Of course, it’s inscribed, Happy Birthday, MOM!

Next, I have to find the baker. Do I know where Mt. Parnassus is? (No. In fact, I needed to look up the spelling for this post) but I do know where the Tempe road is and she says that Mt. Parnassus is close by. I ask for directions, hear a long hesitation and then the baker asks me if I have WhatsApp. I say yes and she asks me to send her a message and she will reply with directions. I spend 10 minutes, or more, trying to figure out how to send a message to someone who is not already in my WhatsApp contacts. I try adding a new contact, typing the number directly in the new message bar, but nothing is working. Finally, I add a new contact into my Outlook contacts, the apps synch and THEN I can send the message. I also WhatsApp Donette so if she does get access to her phone, she will know everything is in the works

Since it is already 10:45, I decide to head out and I’ll pick up the directions on the way. I drive through town, get on the Tempe road and drive until I see a sign that says welcome to Mt. Parnassus. I haven’t received directions yet. I drive a little further, hoping the house I’m looking for is on the main road and has a sign (dream on, Candi). I see some men working on the road but I don’t stop because I figure they are not from the area so I keep going, looking for someone to ask. I see a couple of young men on the side of the road and I ask them. They look uncertain but one guy comes to the car and tells me to back up to the road workers and talk to the man in the blue shirt. Now I look uncertain and he says, ‘No, do it. He knows cakes.’ Whatever that means! He shouts down the street to the man and I start to back up.

I pull along the side of the man and ask him if he knows where Dream Cakes is located. He smiles and says that is his sister. I guess he does know cakes. Then I ask how to get there. Another uncertain look. This time it’s one of – ‘I know how to get there but how do I tell you so you can get here.’

If you’ve read my blog, you know Grenadians are famous for saying things like – go up two gaps, turn right at the mango tree, go over a bridge, etc. and think these are perfectly fine directions. He’s not even telling me that!

Instead, he looks around and calls a young boy over. He tells the boy to get in the car and drive with me to his sister’s house. Then he looks at me and says, ‘Bring him back on the way down’. Well, OK. I look at the boy and ask him if he can get me there and he says yes. We drive a bit up the road, come to a fork and he tells me to go left. We drive for a bit more and as we turn up a dirt road that I didn’t even see, I’m certain I would have never found this place. We drive past a few houses, turn right and he says to park the car. We walk by a field and come to a house – no sign or anything.

I walk to the door and meet a woman. She is not the person I talked to on the phone so I tell her the info and she disappears inside. Maybe 10 minutes later the baker comes out. She’s surprised I found the house so I tell her about my copilot and she breaks into a huge smile and says, ‘That’s my nephew.’ She shows me the cake (which is beautiful) and I head back out.

I drive back to the road construction and give the boy a couple of dollars for being my guide and he beams. He definitely didn’t expect anything but I’m thankful that I didn’t have to drive around and around trying to find the house. I stop by the man and thank him for his help as well.

As I’m driving home, I hear a WhatsApp ping. I pull over and get a thumbs-up from the baker. She has just read my message asking for directions. As I drive on, Donette calls. She’s on her break, she’s called Dream Cakes, knows I’ve picked up the cake and thanks me for helping out. It’s no problem, I say. And it’s true, because I’d do most anything for Sheila and making her birthday surprise happen is my pleasure.

 

I love being part of a community of people who help each other. Helping a stranger by letting your son get into a foreigner’s car, trusting that he will be well taken care of and saying essentially – just bring him back – THIS is why I love Grenada!