I'm somewhere between numbness and heartbreak. A grandmother and her three young grandchildren in St. Thomas, were burned alive in the grandmother's home on Sunday night.
The children were 2, 3, and 5-years old. The grandmother was shot before the house was set afire. A mother is left mourning the loss of her 3 children AND her own mother, in one fell swoop.
The police suspect murder. Apparently the grandmother, a Ms. Lynch, was involved in a dispute.
There must be a better way. We can't continue to shoot and stab and burn and hack each other as a solution to disagreements. And those of us who are adults MUST lead the way, because our children are reaping the whirlwind from the wind we are sowing.
We MUST understand that in life, people will disagree with us. We will have conflict. That there are ways to resolve conflict that are constructive. We can attempt to explain our point of view. We can listen to the other person's perspective. We don't have to agree with it, but we can respect it. We can work towards a mutually beneficial solution if we talk, and listen, and figure out what the issue really is, and how best to deal with it.
We can agree to disagree. We can walk away if realize that the disagreement is fundamental, based on our own principles, our value system.
We can choose our battles.
We can choose peace. Not denial, but an adult decision to do what is necessary to preserve dignity, relationship, community.
With divine help, we can forgive. Forgiveness means letting go. Forgiveness means acknowledging that someone harmed us, but we will not take revenge. Forgiveness means we will acknowledge our hurt, but we will not keep stoking the flames of the pain.
I am saddened that, in a time when crime and violence have overtaken our beautiful country, there are increasingly fewer resources available to those agencies that can actually help us to figure out non-violent means of settling conflict.
I've been a part of PALS (Peace and Love in Society), training various groups of people in conflict management and resolution. The principles and skills I learned and taught, have actually been useful in my everyday life as I face conflict in interpersonal relationships as well as at the organizational level.
I'm rambling, because I'm hurt. I know there is a better way. I know that many of us are angry, and when our hearts bleed, we want someone else to physically bleed, to go through pain because they have made us feel pain.
But folks, there IS a better way. A divine way. A practical way. And we must, we MUST, take it.
Or else WE. WILL. ALL. DIE.
I wish I could go to the market. Coronation Market, specifically. It's so much cheaper to buy your fruits and vegetables there, rather than the supermarket.
But I can't go to the market. At least, not by myself. Because I simply do not speak the language necessary to get the market prices. I do not speak patois.
Now hear mi good: I LOVE Patois. It's just that I'm a HORRIBLE patois-speaker. I understand patois quite well - after all, I was born in Jamaica, raised in Jamaica. Never lived anywhere else but Yaad. But for some inexplicable reason, when I try to speak patois, I sound very... uhm... you know, wrong. No matter how hard I try to sound like what I am, a Yaadie, within 3 milliseconds of attempting to speak patois, I'm outed as the fake that I am.
Which is what happened on my very first trip to Coronation Market. I went with a good friend of mine, a seasoned Coronation-Market-Goer. I had dressed very carefully in my most raggedy pair of jeans, complete with strategically-placed holes and frayed hems; a t-shirt; white sneakers, which I stepped on for a bit to make them look less white.
My girlfriend, a seamstress and designer, was dressed in a outfit she'd made for herself that very morning. Coordinated shorts and blouse. Green piped with deep orange. Complementary shoes and bag.
So we hit the Market and began to shop. I was quite proud of myself, walking with my little crocus-bag thingy, asking market women for so many pounds of this and that, pulling the exact change from various pockets in my jeans.
Proud of myself... Until my girlfriend came to check on me. She didn't think I was doing so well. I was spending too much money. Then she heard me address a woman selling vegetables:
"Excuse me," I said politely. "How much a pound is it for your tomatoes?"
My friend immediately pushed me away from the scene of my crime, and took over the shopping process. "You hold the bag, Nicky. I will shop. Yuh nuh bodda talk. When yuh talk a beer tourist price yuh a go get."
Then she returned to the market lady.
"Mawnin'. How yuh ah sell di salad dem todeh?"
My friend bought my tomatoes at a much lower price than what I was quoted. I kid you not.
I've gone to the market on other occasions, but always with someone else. They do all the bargaining. I give them my list, I hold my bag, I hand them the money for each purchase. I follow backa dem as they push their way through the crowded market stalls. They shout, "Gimme way! Mi a pass! Oy deh!"
I barely manage to restrain myself from saying "Excuse me please... Sorry I stepped on your toe... Uhm, sir, your cart is in my way... Could you nudge it to the left just a touch, so I can pass?"
But now my Coronation Market-going friends have moved away. So... until someone else in my circle decides to start shopping at the market, I am doomed to paying higher prices in the supermarkets in Upper Senawndru (St. Andrew, in case that was too hard to read).
Sigh.
Smaddy help mi nuh. Do.
O-BA-MA!!! O-BA-MA!!! O-BA-MA!!!
Tomorrow, the Lord willing, we will see history being made.
A Black Man will take the oath of office and will be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States of America.
What a suppm!!!
I must confess, I am one of the ones who never thought it would happen. And when I stayed up late, eschewing my beauty sleep (which really isn't working anyway) to follow the US election blow by nail-biting blow, I couldn't believe it when they declared that Obama Had Won.
The next morning I watched the re-runs of the Obamas taking the stage and waving to the throngs of excited fans - sorry, voters, supporters - who had gathered to celebrate the Obama victory. And as I watched Barack (yes, we're on first name terms; is mi bonafide) and Michelle (she's cool) walk hand-in-hand, with their children, my eyes misted over.
OK. I bawled. Snot and everything. I had lived to see the USA vote for a Black Man to become President.
I know that reality is already setting in. This is the worst possible time to become head-of-state of the most powerful nation in the world (that's what they say about themselves). Mr. Obama barely has a honeymoon period. Majorly serious tings a gwaan outta street. Personally I'm glad I don't have the kinds of ambitions he has. I can barely rule my doggie, much less an entire nation.
But I am still allowing myself to wallow in the euphoria of this moment. The word 'milestone' is almost inadequate. I'll be on Facebook and CNN. Hopefully I'll get some work done in between, cause, Obama or no Obama, I still got bills to pay.
But... what a day, what a day.
What will we learn from this as Jamaicans? Hopefully not just "Is black man time now!" Or, like I've heard secondhand: "Wi nuh need nuh visa fi go a farrin... Black man ova deh a run TINGS!"
Hopefully Jamaicans my age and younger will look on and understand that Obama and the black race in the USA are reaping today, what was sown in blood, sweat and a deluge of tears in years gone by. And the sowing and sacrifice must continue today if we - or more accurately, our children - are to reap tomorrow.
When we turn off our television sets tomorrow night, let's reflect on our own heroes, on whose backs this nation was built.
Nanny.
Paul Bogle.
Sam Sharpe.
George William Gordon.
Marcus Garvey.
Norman Manley.
Alexander Bustamante.
The unsung heroes living among us today. Are we fashioning a Jamaica that's worthy of them?
