'Olympically', and otherwise, I personally encountered many wonderful Jamaicans these last five days.

At the airport in Toronto last Wednesday I met a bright, confident, young man named Liam Robertson who's clearly a star. He was travelling with his auntie Jianne and Miss Joy. Liam was the centre of their attention as the ladies engaged in friendly discussion, laughing like old friends with Beverley Brown, whom they'd just met. Prompted by the adults' comments and the sudden shift of attention to me, young Liam remarked "you're famous".

"No" I argued, "you are famous". He ended the debate with the declaration; "We are famous." He's only three, but considering our exploits in Beijing, I think Liam was speaking for all Jamaicans.

Beverley was returning home for her father's funeral. I knew she'd be 'bawling' before the trip's done, but at that moment she was full of the joy of expectation, looking forward to seeing the country, touching the people and reuniting with family and friends. I was hugged and kissed by Bev and Miss Joy. Jianne gave encouragement, advice and the promise of prayer for my success; and I got Liam's autograph.

The next day I was in St Ann where I always seem to 'buck-up' people I met while at Ferncourt High School in the '80s. I met two successful professionals who made me feel good about my years in the classroom. One's a tour operator. The other's a police officer who reminded me that I gave students a hard time for constantly saying 'Ochi Ryus'; so he made a point of telling me 'welcome to Ocho Rios'.

Then I watched the men's 4x100m relay finals and as the foreigners would say, I 'teared' up! Yeah man, mi bawl di living eye water, when Usain handed the baton to Asafa, shouted encouragement and kept on running behind him. The tears flowed as I watched Asafa storming through as if he was running down a man who tief him wallet. At that point I knew that not even a sudden injury could stop Asafa. If he pulled a muscle in one leg he would've hopped on one foot to victory, and if his two feet gave up, Usain woulda lift up him an di baton and run wid dem past di tape.

Eye water returned as I listened to the post-race interviews and realised the real magic of that moment. No man was running with selfish motivation. For Nesta Carter and Michael Frater the thought wasn't just on finally getting a medal for themselves. For Usain who already conquered all, this wasn't just about brawta. Like all Jamaica, they felt that Asafa deserved to come back home with something metallic. But according to Asafa, he was also thinking about one more medal and one more record for Usain.

Returning to Toronto on Sunday, the plane was taxiing and about to start lifting when we heard a sudden explosive sound. Something blew in the engine and the pilot had to draw brakes and abort the flight. Everyone was relieved that we were now late again, but clearly safe. One lady who works at a big hospital in Toronto almost spoil di ting though. No amount of apology and explanation could satisfy her. Instead of being thankful that danger was averted, she used the incident as reason to put down Jamaica. Well I tek har on! But because I wasn't blinging out like she was, she attempted to dismiss me and disparage a whole country by declaring that I look more Haitian than Jamaican. But with the week I had and the feelings inside, she couldn't spoil my joy or dent my pride. Jamaica to the worl!

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