My family

My little Family

As hard as it is to believe, I remembered the bright lights…, the moving from hand to hand…, the warm milk down my throat, then… it all went silent…

The next moment of awareness was a dark warm night when my dad arrived home bearing gifts, some of which made funny noises, and others that enticed me to chew on them. I must have been a toddler when I had my first taste of chocolate wrapped in colored paper, shaped like the letters of the alphabet. While my siblings were busy playing with their flying saucer and their remote car, I was seated on the floor and was allowed to play with what were thought to be magnetic letters. Learning letters and their use of them started when I was young but at that stage, all I knew to do with letters was to eat them, and so I did. In the far distance of my recollection, I remembered the laughter after discovering that my new toys were actual food – Plain creamy chocolate -hmm, and an awesome moment was when we all ate what was left of it.

Flashes of events surrounding my family I relished dearly and would give anything to take me back to those days. I felt secure and complete, they were all here, what more could I have asked for?

I grew up in the suburban community of Goodwill and migrated to the second town of Portsmouth to attend the last two years of high school. By the end of my formidable years, I had gone through two major disasters:

Disaster 1-

It may have been the morning of August 31, 1979, that I remember standing between the living room and the staircase of my childhood home, looking up at the sky. Dad climbed up a ladder to assess damage that was done to the roof of the house from the renowned hurricane David. The next few weeks seemed to have been the busiest that I have ever seen at our dwelling home. Neighbors and family members had come to wait out the category 5 monster, for fear of not being able to survive it where they lived. The sound of pots and pans, chatters, and the running up and down of children on the wet slippery floor did not feel like our country Dominica had just gone through 1.54-billion-dollar mutilation, but a long vacation in the countryside, using the bare minimum for survival. It was not long before we heard helicopters landing on the nearby savannah to bring wounded individuals and dead bodies to the public hospital, which was located a few meters away from where we lived. At that time, Goodwill was one of the most envied living areas in the city, luckily my dad had secured property there and had already completed what was then a solid concrete two-story structure he called home, which housed his family and anyone who needed a place to sleep.

From our northern door stairway, we had a front-row view of every action taking the place of air liftings and landings, up to the point where food supplies were being brought into the country by the same means. There were days when my siblings and I strode the street to a nearby dwelling house to collect food supply called “rashan.” Unknowing to me, the word was a bonified English vocabulary that spelled “ration,” but who would have known? At the time, it just felt like I was on a long journey away from home to collect our survival food during our countryside escapade. It was not until I became older that I realized how close the location was.

From the corner approaching the location, there were long lines that filled the streets with people waiting their turn, with bags and trolleys, to gather the allocations that were being given. Klim (full cream milk) had become a household name and a Sunday staple for most Dominicans. From my recollection, it was the most abundant commodity being shared at the time. While the origination of these events was undesirable, they all looked like fun times to me. The hurricane had indeed stripped us of what life used to be and showered some tough times on the populist; however, it did not seem like it affected us that much.

Living at home was my mum, a then registered nurse at the public hospital, my dad who was a building contractor with the government of Dominica, my only brother, my big sister, and my half older sister whom my mum accepted as her daughter when her mum sent her to live with us. Her mother may have been one of those unsatisfied mums who decided to relieve herself of the responsibility for her lack of financial dexterity at the time. Nonetheless, she is my bigger sister, and I loved her all the same.

Unfortunately for her, amidst the fun that we children were all having, she was one of those that did not record many pleasantries during the aftermath of the hurricane; Rodents and pests had made residents together with all who sought rescue at our home, so that unforgettable night dinner was served. My bigger sister bit into her homemade bread only to crush a deep brown, pus-filled creature we all know as the “cockroach.” My tiny mind did not quite understand the grossness of it, but I could see her spitting out what was left of the fat juicy unwanted guest and running quickly to wash out her mouth. Now, I can alone imagine what she had felt back then.

On the lighter side, I would remember our gram turntable that my dad used to play his favorite tunes every Sunday. Country western music seemed to have been his favorite then and still is now.

Seated on the gram, my dad held me in discussion on how I viewed the disaster, being the naive little one year plus I was, it appeared that my answer caught him off guard when I told him, I was not afraid. The truth is, I was not, maybe because my mind was not at the stage to comprehend the danger or that our home was a haven physically, to this day, and emotionally then.

It suddenly dawned on me that he may not have been there during that tragic moment, which brought me to my second major disaster.

Disaster 2-

Pretty little moon, Dancy lay lay, look at the moon Dancy lay lay…, was my favorite Saturday night tune followed by my favorite bedtime story; Little red riding hood. Oh, how I loved that story and would ask my mum to tell it over and over. I enjoyed hearing the different intonations in her voice when trying to mimic the voice of the mean old wolf who wanted to destroy the little red riding hood, and the little red riding hood responding to the wolf. The favorite of them all was; …what big nose you have, said little red riding hood. Those were fun times as I remember mummy trying so hard to make her children the happiest that she could.

Once mummy was not on duty, Saturday nights was our favorite family pass time by taking walks to the savannah. I always looked forward to those regular evening strolls, just to have these special moments. In addition, sky-gazing had become a regular activity during that time; viewing the wonders of the moon and her favorite constellation (Orion), where she believes with all her heart that her Lord will soon appear.

At times I would see her gazing at length into the sky and would regain her attention by calling out to her. She always seemed deep in thought, but I never understood why. It was so regular that I just thought to myself, that’s how adults behave. …. It felt normal to me.

During our Saturday night walks we always sat on the same bench, under the same “bois kwaib” tree (the national tree of Dominica), directly opposite a tall white gate that was the entrance to my childhood preschool. The facility housed the church and the school named C.U.M Church and C.U.M Preschool- now known as the Christian Union Primary School (C.U.P.S). My recollection of preschool is few and far in between but I vividly recall my grand aunt- aunty Burto (Albertina) walking me to school every morning. Most days I arrived at school while assembly was already in progress, nonetheless, I was always present. I cannot remember many of my grand aunt’s features, but that she smelt different from other people that I knew.

Because mum was an early sleeper, our departure time from the Savanah was always at the end of the CUM church’s praise team Saturday night practice, in preparation for their Sunday morning service. I have always enjoyed the worship sessions that I was privy to and hoped that one day I would be able to perform just like they did.

Life seemed perfect, in fact, life was perfect, but something was missing, someone was missing…

It might have been my second or third Christmas in existence when my dad called my siblings and myself on our then heavy-duty dial phone to ask what we wanted for Christmas. I could hear him jokingly say to me, “last year you wanted a doll, and you want a doll again this year?” After we had all been given our list of items, our next stop was - Play world - a famous toy store located in the heart of the city. It was there I received my doll and my first piece of dark brown mackintosh and had had any acknowledgement that I was a “bed wetter.”

There were days that my dad’s presence was felt and there were days I just could not recall him being there. I am unclear of the reasons why he spent some much time away from home, but I do remember his visits to the house and the trips that we took to visit my granddad who lived about an hours’ drive from where we lived.

At the time, it did not matter that he was there or not, it was my normal way of life, and I had no say in the matter. I would not have known the difference until I began to understand what his role should have been at this tender age.

During those years, my character and personality was forming. I was becoming more aware of my environment; I began observing my way of living compared to other children who lived on the street. I had no control it was just the way of life for me.